My Name is Lamia
2 min readMar 5, 2021
My captors can’t figure out why I am gestating. They said it was preposterous. I am too old. My insides are rotting like an apple core left out in the sun. My womb is full of mutating gummy polyps, and yellow and green pus-filled cysts. The lining, now thickened, with scar tissue from my unborn. My uterus is an inhospitable host.
No males will lay with me in my true form. I must twist and turn, concealing my shriveled scaly skin…
