Petrichor

A feminist, short speculative fiction

Photo by Tino from Pexels

The dream came to her every night now, insistent like the tug of a rip current. It wouldn’t let her go. As soon as her thoughts grew hazy with sleep, she would be opening and swallowing. The dream was always the same. She swallowed the earth whole.

She stirred in bed. Still in the mirage of a wakeful dream, she felt her body full and ripe, heavy against the…