Bug, tooth, moon

There once was a woman who gave up financial security, doctor’s appointments, decent living conditions not involving very large bugs, and other important things in order to become the true version of herself.

And the true version of herself was a version that no one was particularly interested in. Aside from a handful of men who correctly surmised that her struggle to become who she really was left her exhausted and her exhaustion left her desperate and her desperation made her available to them in ways they could enjoy.

Until the teeth started wobbling in her jaw, that is, and the circles darkened under her eyes into night.

And then she was alone. Unless you counted the very large bugs.

And one of the bugs said, “I guess you feel pretty stupid now.”

The woman took a rotten tooth and threw it at the bug and missed. Then the woman started to laugh. The bug also started to laugh.

The woman and the bug became very good friends and the woman wrote a play about their friendship and it didn’t sell. Winter came, the heating pipes froze solid, the bug died of old age.

Moonlight fell through the window, fell on the woman as her lovers had done before. She watched the smoke from her pipe curl upward and upward. One day, she thought, human beings would live on the moon. And the bugs would follow. She wouldn’t live long enough to see it happen, but she still wished all of them well.

No guilt-trip, just good times

5 thoughts on “Bug, tooth, moon

  1. Wow even your fiction is thoroughly anti-feminist.

    As someone who repeatedly stated that she started her career as a “feminist blogger”, I wish you would have more respect for your intrinsic roots.

    I wish talented people strove to paint realistic but strong portraits of women in their art. This just feels like such a letdown. Instead you have a protagonist who is sad that she is no longer being used by men now that she is past her sell-by date.

    Sorry if I’m ripping into you, but I expect better of strong Ukrainian women. I grew up with an image in my head of what these women are like (being distantly descended from Ukrainians), and you’re just not it.

  2. Ok, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re, like, fifteen and don’t know any better.

    First of all, there’s the image you have in your head, and then there is reality. Ukraine is a real country where people go through real shit every day. Scolding someone because they don’t live up to your fantasy of strong Ukrainian women isn’t much different from being one of those men with fantasies of obedient Ukrainian women, or whatever. To put it another way, it reduces another person’s humanity. It is offensive.

    Second of all, there is nothing inherently anti-feminist about a story of fiction in which a woman suffers due to men. Neither is it inherently feminist. I’m not so naive that I believe that women won’t see politics in my work. But there isn’t a “correct” way to read this, and implying that there is is just kind of reductive, and boring, and sad.

    In other words – grow up.

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