ways to disappear by Tarah Knaresboro

Second runner-up in the 2020 Los Angeles Review Literary Awards, in the category of flash fiction.
Final Judge: Ellen Meeropol

I covered my eyes. I hid in the circular clothing racks. I trimmed off a small portion every day for weeks, pruning my form like a bonsai tree. I hired an artist to paint me into the scenery. I did not move a muscle. 

I combined myself, a wet ingredient, with an equal amount of dry organic waste, and curled up into the compost bin. I did not protest when interrupted. I rattled chains, pulled out rugs, screamed in the attic, dropped banana peels. 

I studied the habits and stylings of other people such that I might become their perfect composite. I scooped out the eyes of every living thing with eyes. I put them all into a bag. I buried the bag. 

I told her I loved her, as a friend. Piece by piece, I swallowed up the world such that it all existed within me, and me around it, such that no one could behold my entirety in any given moment.

Tarah Knaresboro is a new-ish fiction writer based out of Mexico City. Her day job is in digital health communications (mostly designing chatbots and voice applications), and she enjoys bringing aspects of bodies, health, and AI into her fiction. Her work has recently been featured in Electric Literature, Muff Magazine, and in Vermont Studio Center’s Red Mill Gallery. She is working on a series of literary chatbots.