Vanishing Twin

by Frances Gapper

You stuck to her like a Post-It, the womb-fellow she gorged on. People sniff the air, puzzled – can you smell burning? Her old cat Fred watches you-in-her like a blackbird. You’re so alike, same lips. Until she made you up she never guessed you existed, some swell, the cause of her frequent tiredness and agitation. A herbalist told her it’s your brother’s ghost.

Frances Gapper is a queer femme in her 60s, married and living in the Black Country, UK. Work recent and forthcoming in Twin Pies, Truffle, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Sledgehammer. Micro ‘She’s Gone’ in Best Microfiction 2021.