Late one night when no-one was looking I swallowed a hyphen. The one from the middle of your silly surname. I felt it scrape the walls of my throat on the way down. I felt it sink into my stomach, weighing that sack lower in my body. It was not easy or quick to digest. I recalled my mother’s warnings about going to bed too soon after certain foods - all talk of things ‘laying on your chest’. I dreamed of cream and chocolate sauces smearing the bed sheets.
When I woke I’d forgotten my sudden snack. But in the morning mirror I noticed a dashed black line running down the length of my body, all the way from head to tail. And when you got up you were no-one I recognised. Just a someone broken in two.