Severed

Severed. I hate that word. My sister Nancy’s head, removed by a psychopath. Severed. A man obsessed with heads, who took. Severed, Nancy once filled with cynicism and love, sharp tongue, an easy response, yet helpless to a man, so mysterious, vile. Severed from bodies, dreams she once held, of becoming a writer, dissecting the shit out of humanity, as she put it.

I still dream of that psycho, look that rushed to my sister, as he skillfully decapitated. Severed her from me, Mother. I can never escape that word. Maybe that’s what I need, the force of being severed.

About The Author

Mir-Yashar is a graduate of Colorado State’s MFA program in fiction.

His work has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as Terror House Magazine, Unstamatic, Scarlet Leaf Review, and Ariel Chart. He lives in Garden Valley, Idaho.

If you want to see what else Mir-Yashar is up to, you can follow him on Twitter @dudesosad

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