Today is June 7th, and that means you only have 23 more days to pre-order the special edition of CHROMOPHOBIA. You can place your order HERE.
by Chelsea Pumpkins
“Yellow?” she whispered.
Her pantyliner was covered in a bruise, multi-colored and festering. But when blood dripped from her vagina into the toilet water, it was vibrant. The ripples spread radially as droplets sank to the porcelain—a cerulean center, ringed with canary yellow, and encircled by burnt sienna, the color of dried blood she was used to seeing.
She recalled memories of Yellowstone as remnants of her uterine lining turned the clear water into the Grand Prismatic Spring. Normally she would call for Jeff to provide reassurance. He would organize her symptoms into a logical sequence, ground her in probabilities, and hold her shaking hands until they steadied. But her hands weren’t shaking. There was no way Jeff could come up with a rational explanation for this. Instead of panic, she was overwhelmed with serenity. She sat and stared at the masterpiece beneath her, a masterpiece she created. She was bleeding in technicolor, and she was utterly mesmerized.
“You okay?” Jeff asked as Carrie walked out of the bathroom, “You were in there a while.”
“Yeah, just shark week.”
“Bummer.” He looked at her with pity.
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