The clock on the wall foretells a storm. She picked up the pen and teased the paper. Letters didn’t flow; her sluggish pen was slapped, and the ink froze inside. She searched the chaos of the room for another pen, finding a clean one that lay dormant in the depths of memory. Its sharp tip was thrust between her ribs, and it sighed, diving into ecstasy. It drank to the point of intoxication, then began to weep. The next day, she was running naked through the city streets.

Publishing house: Dar Madarek for Publishing
Number of Pages: 127
Year of publication: 2018