Growing Up At first, we were microscopic, brothers throwing punches with fists that neither of us could feel, and we swam through the primordial soup until we grew a little bigger, evolving like the pink mammals who crawled up from the crucible, and we were as small as household pets, still biting with gnarled teeth and trying to edge a nail into the other’s throat, and we grew even more until we stood like adults, kicking and screaming into the evening sun, teeth meeting flesh, growling into skin, and by then we realized that our only language was violence, and we tried to talk it out with more sharp edges and metal points, and soon we were so large and bloody that we towered over buildings, falling backward through their walls, spilling into the world and coating it with ourselves, metal and wood alike splintering into dust beneath our large and calloused feet, and still, we kept growing, until our heads periscoped out of t...
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.