Until then, I’ll be in the corner. Back to the wall. Held together by pins and principle. And if you see me struggling, for the love of all that is holy—come help me zip.
By someone who has drawn blood
You twist your right arm at an angle that would impress an owl. Your left hand is pressing the fabric flat against your spine—a spine you suddenly realize you cannot see or feel properly. You pull again. The zipper moves one inch. A victory roar dies in your throat as it immediately snags on a loose thread the size of a caterpillar. Stupid Bloody Fairytale Zip