by Brittany Redd

I waited impatiently for that first blood, the one I knew would mean freedom. For years, I hid my ambitions in the shadows of corners, tucked under pillows, buried beneath blackberry bushes. By day, I played the part of the obedient child; by night, I whispered my prayers to the moon. Left offerings of bread, milk, and sun-ripened peaches.

When I got my blood the night of the equinox, I knew I had been chosen. I climbed through the window, barely managing to slip on my shoes before running for the grove of trees where I knew my coven would be waiting. The beady red eyes of my kin watched in silence from behind the trees as I stepped into the moonlight.

Hands trembling, I removed my human trappings. Cold, sky-clad, free, I felt the impulse to dance to the beat of tides rising and falling and felt myself settle into the shape of my second skin. Children of the moon, my sisters and I turn to the fields, leaping fast into the night to take what will be ours.

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Brittany Redd (she/her) is a teacher and writer in Thailand. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Pithead Chapel, Flash Fiction Magazine, Corvid Queen, and elsewhere.