Sangue By Aimee Terravechia

My nail bed bleeds. I hear her movement through the speaker — electric sound waves masked by static perfection. I pick when I am nervous. I cut away at the cuticle on the thumb of my right hand. Fleece rubs against crib sheets. The sound scratches in my ear. I scratch at my thumb. A whimper, then a cry — my lashes tangle themselves when I press my lids closed. She stills, she stirs, she stills again. Every night I lie awake and listen to nothingness, hoping that it will continue on forever. Blood flows into the creases of my knuckle.

© 2015 Aimee Terravechia

When Aimee Terravechia isn’t writing, she’s either teaching, or wrangling her toddler. Her experiences as woman and mother influence much of her writing. Her first novel, Sickening, is a speculative piece currently in the editing stages. She resides in New Hampshire with her husband, daughter, and two cats. You can read more of her writing at www.aimeeterra.com

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