Lena Ng
I travelled to Venus for a new figure. They pulled, nipped, and tucked, and after a 24-hour recuperation, I now have an hourglass shape. I went to Mars for a new face. They lasered, pulled, and welded until I have a cut-glass jawline. I went to Pluto for some new legs. They stretched and added until I was tall and arachnoid. More time passed, and the mirror told me it was time for more improvements. I rented an inexpensive transformographer and let the machine surprise me. As I stretched my wings, I wondered if I would finally soar out happy.
Lena Ng lurks in Toronto, Canada. "Under an Autumn Moon" is her short story collection.
The gardeners opened his torso and emptied it of organs. In its centre, they planted tulip bulbs. On his skull, green chia grass grew. His mouth spilled vines like vegetative tentacles. Where his eyes were, daisies sprouted. His legs grew roots and insects squirmed over the skin. Worms crawled in moist ear canals. Friends came for afternoon tea and to admire the blossoming garden.