time travel is terrifying (even for a day). we play gravity falls on our ancient box TV set, transfixed by a nightmarish weird-maggedon ("it's jam!" we laugh maniacally at a waterfall of blood) before being called to a dinner we made. that is, a salad composed of every ingredient under the sun coated in a thick layer of creamy green dressing an old classmate of mine once called radioactive. pops of sweet corn & cherry tomatoes, salty olives & salmon (the mercury-filled canned kind) find a home atop our quivering taste buds. i still remember how to pick dandelions perfect for the birds living in our attic & it scares me, white heads hiding beneath hats of rotting yellow petals. i present a ripe bunch to the father who taught us all we know. he thanks me without meeting my eyes. i cry myself to sleep that night. nostalgic childhood's turned into a horror
(or maybe it was one all along).
Natalie D.C. (she/her) is a 20-year-old artist and writer based in Pittsburgh, PA. Her writing grapples with her erratic mental health and paradoxical queer half-Moroccan identity. She has been published in The Echo, Porridge Magazine, Pile Press, Art, Strike! and elsewhere. When she isn’t busy working towards her BA in Public & Professional Writing, you can usually find her re-reading her favorite book over and over, watching K-dramas with her little sister or filling her walls with anything and everything that makes her smile. Her debut poetry chapbook, blue pearl, is available for purchase from Bottlecap Press.
