Sial!

(Trigger Warning:

This story unwraps around themes of

suicide, colonialism, fascism and gore.

Reader discretion is advised.)

Sial! was born once in a black moon (or month) when the abandonment of a prison, coincided with the suicide of a fascist.

I first met her as I was staring at a dried-up spot, not sure if it was spit or blood, on my journey, trapped by a dead station from the embassy to my workplace in the propaganda ministry. In the sea of people in the train, standing while sleeping out of exhaustion, Sial! [1] was chewing on the soul that had caused that dried spot. She saw me watching and offered me a piece of fresh flesh smelling of gas.