“But there’s something different about her today. I can see in the bright, afternoon sun that she’s nude beneath her robe. Her milkless breasts are as shrunken and hollow as her belly, which once burst forth with the promise of new life, but is now just burst open — or ripped open — below her navel.
Five months. Close to six. The baby would have just started kicking.
She was pregnant. Was.
Yet, she is still a musician. As she walks, her feet beat a moist, muted portato below her pianissimo loopings of purpled bowel. Her hands drip a watery, crimson coda onto the roadway. And her torn uterus and severed umbilicus dance thickly against her thighs.”
– From The Changed by Anthony Jay Blackwell