I Am Not I

There was only one aisle, wide enough to spread out my arms and brush the shelves with my fingertips—not that I wanted to get too close. The shelves creaked under the weight of thousands of dusty jars containing hands tinted amber by formaldehyde; eyeballs trailing optic kelp; and butter bean fœtuses that watched me with milky, unformed eyes.

Sap parts, all of them.

First published in F&SF – July/August 2017