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Her Body, The Ship by Z. K. Abraham (audio)

Clarkesworld Magazine

Clarkesworld Magazine

Fiction, Science Fiction

4.61.1K Ratings

🗓️ 25 April 2024

⏱️ 39 minutes

🧾️ Download transcript


This episode features "Her Body, The Ship" written by Z. K. Abraham. Published in the March 2024 issue of Clarkesworld Magazine and read by Kate Baker. The text version of this story can be found at: https://clarkesworldmagazine.com/abraham_03_24 Support us on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/join/clarkesworld?

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You are listening to a Clark's World magazine podcast with your host and narrator Kate Baker.


Greetings Clark World Citizens and welcome to the third to the last story for the month of March 2024 issue of 210. How have these stories been treating you?


Have you liked what you've been hearing? Are you here for more? Is this your first time?


How have you supported the magazine? Has it been through telling a friend, through subscriptions, through Patreon.com forward slash Clark's World?


Drop me a line, I'm from Kate at Clarks World magazine. That is Clark


with an knee and I love hearing from you guys. You help us sometimes remind us


why we're doing this and we cannot do this without you so thank you. Our story is titled Her Body of the Ship and is by ZK Abraham.


Z.K Abraham, she, her, is a writer and psychiatrist.


She has been published in Fantasy magazine, Necessary Fiction, The Chestnut Review, Podcast, and Moore.


She will be completing the Tin House Online Winter Workshop in Winter




So my dear listener, I hope that you can sit back, relax, and let me tell you a story.


A woman with terracotta skin and a multi-colored shift over her black nanosuit eyed me from across the aisle of the shuttle.


I'd left my Natella, my tribe's white shawl with edges of delicate green embroidery at home. She looked at me with that terrible


mix of judgment and pity and sorrow I'd become accustomed to over the last ten years. My neck


prickled as I stared back at her, determined not to look away until she did.


Pulling my braids into a ponytail, I cracked my neck. My head pulsed from a hangover,


gifted by late night party in one of the defunct loading bays. The shuttle across


the Zanzib seemed to move at half speed despite the flash of silver tunnels


flickering past the windows.


As I disembarked and rushed down the bright hall, polymerized flooring dampened the


sound of my feet, dodging the looks of others as I ran, how ungraceful I was, my mother had always joked.


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