Air puckers like tiny lips in the shallows all around us, kissing, hissing, whistling. Holes open at our hands and feet. Between my splayed fingers, spread legs. He jerks the bottle away from his face, swearing under his breath. “What’s wrong?” I say, reaching for him.

I chose to write from the perspective of a slug and centre the piece around body dysmorphia and the idea of the speaker exploring their own body through unusual language and voice.