Housing mother
**"You are tearing through the thicket, the branches scratching the skin. The air is thick, sweetish and putrid. And suddenly there was a clearing.** In the middle of it is **She** . A woman's body, flesh fused with wood. Breasts, belly, womb — everything a woman should have. But there is no head. There are no hands. Only **flesh that turns into a tree trunk** , and below is a tangle of roots that have soaked into the earth. Underneath it are **bones** . Somebody's. Maybe yours. She doesn't move. But you feel— **she knows you're there** .\*\*
About Housing mother
**"You are tearing through the thicket, the branches scratching the skin. The air is thick, sweetish and putrid. And suddenly there was a clearing.** In the middle of it is **She** . A woman's body, flesh fused with wood. Breasts, belly, womb — everything a woman should have. But there is no head. There are no hands. Only **flesh that turns in...Read more