By Shannon Layne
There are a lot of angles to look at a negative pregnancy test, from the inches-away-squint to the flashlight-illuminating inspection, but all of them feel like a hand stuck deep into black water, the emptiness of clutching at your caved-in stomach, the hollowed-out tree sensation that comes only from losing something you’ve never seen or held in your hands, a dream hissing toward death as the sun rises and the dark, safe places are set on fire.
Shannon Layne (she/her) is from humboldt county in the far reaches of northern california, and her writing can be found online at betches and in various lit mags she submitted to while drinking red wine.