Sunday, 1 June 2014


by Christina Im

Death told me her name.

I kept it, because she will bring me to my knees someday. I was born halfway into the coffin, dearest, where none can touch me but her.

It was more a word than a name, a word that would shatter my skull if she didn’t whisper. A farewell. It lives, now that I've heard it, in that secret shuddering space between the crook of my neck and my windpipe.

She will collect me soon.

Summer solstice, she said. Her shadow will grace our porch. Her first breath will stop my heart, even as you tremble.

Author bio: Christina Im is an aspirant wordsmith and a believer in madness. She received a gold and silver medal in the 2014 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and her work has appeared in several publications, including Hogglepot, Foxglove Hymnal, and The Plum Collection. Christina can be visited online at

Christening is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.

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