Z. K. Abraham (she/her) is a writer and psychiatrist. She recently completed a Master’s in Creative Writing with distinction from the University of Edinburgh. She has been published before in Fantasy Magazine, The Rumpus, Apparition Lit, and more. She is in SFWA. She can be found on Twitter @pegasusunder1 and zkabraham.com.
The sun draped itself over the left armrest of the couch at dawn, while Zella sat waiting for the typewriter’s tapping to commence next door. Even though she’d tossed and turned all night in the summer heat, she still found herself rising early, expectant.
I’m excited about this new apartment, its shining glass windows overlooking Harlem, until I see her peeing in the park one morning, shortly after we move in. Insulated glass dampens the screech of taxi honks and sirens below and gives us a great view of the nearby park: a huge swath of hilly green in the middle of the city, where evergreens reach up like pining lovers and silent figures walk along its paths. And yet one morning, while sipping my cinnamon coffee, I see her.
