After the Breakup by Nicki Youngsma
A woman had a breakup and called her best friend to tell her about it and then said, “Let’s get tattoos together,” because she heard once that feeling a needle’s micro-lances can be cathartic, the burn leaving something in its wake.
The friend said okay because that’s what friends do, so they went to get tatted up, and when the artist asked what they wanted, they both spoke at once, saying different things: “A dead bunny;” “A tree.”
The artist didn’t know who said what so tattooed a bunny and a dead tree on both women, which wasn’t quite right for several reasons, and after the woman parted ways with her friend, she went home to lay down. Sleep came at her like a swamp on legs.
Within the muck a dream emerged, and in it the woman wasn’t there as herself but rather as a presence that observed a handful of other women: other women who were loud and laughing and lounging on bright inflatable floaties in an outdoor pool, and she knew them but couldn’t recall names or pinpoint who, exactly, they were. Maybe she was one of them and couldn’t tell.
The candy-colored floaties carried a hint of that chemical smell, the kind that said, Summer is here, with each lungful digging deeper, creating a pit that grew in essence while the voices grew distant. Laughter was a thing to lose. The woman herself took form, materializing like a god, and the pool-women disappeared, as if they’d never existed… Wasn’t there something claiming her attention, just a moment ago?
The woman didn’t know but her limbs moved, taking her to a thicket of trees while her thoughts rattled with something she couldn’t capture, her feet guiding her through the underbrush, and she crouched on all fours when the foliage became too dense, going on. She hoped for the end of whatever was happening, but when the woods murmured and the sky swelled and the trees dropped their leaves, just as her clothes dropped from her body, she stopped… Had she been naked this whole time?
The trees shrank back and there she was, standing alone in shadowless, overcast light, every hair follicle and pore of her skin on display. She wanted to shield her most private parts, but her arms didn’t move. Her body stayed erect, unmoving, unflinching, as if it didn’t sense her panic, and she couldn’t see the eyes—there were hundreds—but could hear the chanting: More… More… More…
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Nicki Youngsma 2026
Image Source: Marina Vitale from Unsplash.com
As with many short stories with nameless characters, there is something basic, something stripped-down about the plot. I found this fiction both intriguiing and puzzling. I confess I read it three times, so elusive was the meaning. I wouldn’t have done so, had it not be so well-crafted. I am left with the impression that the MC suffered an extraordinary trauma following the breakup and her fitful dream was in reaction to that. Standing naked before a thousand inquisitive eyes is an often-experienced nightmare, so that fit right in. The final chanting is a little more mysterious. I’m not a shrink, only a reader, but I enjoyed this story a lot
Brief, punchy story about changes.
Within the muck a dream emerged, I like that.