I am just a suitcase. The kind with two wheels that has to be pulled. Packed with blood and ribs. A liver. Heavy, impossible for one person to zip closed. There will be an extra fee at the airport.
The least essential organs are the ones that come in pairs. Kidneys and lungs. We think we need each other.
It’s easy to discard the weight of wanting. That vestigial feeling. Let it atrophy. Without it I am fifty pounds exactly. No additional charge.
They say you won’t even notice I’m gone.
Megan Magers is a creative writer in the Los Angeles area working on her debut novel. Her fiction has won The Lesley Johnstone Memorial Award twice and has been published by Monkeybicycle and Cleaver Magazine. Find her on Twitter @megmagers.
Image Credit: ©/ Dollar Photo Club