Shaking out the dreamcatcher, releasing an imagine of myself as a soldier walking over a field of unburied bodies. Dark clouds of flies form a trail behind me and beneath the heel of my boots wrists snap, teeth fall away like gravel, cartilage in noses crackle, soft and wet. Stopping, I crouch down to rest. Then, I see that the bodies belong to the same woman. Her features replicated onto each face. Reflected in the dark dead eyes, I see that I’m not a soldier but that woman. A woman walking on her past selves.

Wilde said give a man a mask and he will tell you the truth. But I am a woman and I need more than a mask to hide behind. Complete transformation, a regeneration, after the fact: that is what I require. In order to tell the truth, I must throw myself off, start again. Like a snake shedding a skin. Here is Amarie, now she is Anthony. A new identity, so that I can deny that it was ever me that told you whatever it is that you remember I said.