Squawk Back
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From Issue 40: "The child, now neither fish nor fowl, nor he nor she, as it's too early to really tell, too early to guess, to trust any intuition on the matter, informed or otherwise—the child, as it is yet a child, not merely an insentient mass of cells but something thriving, pullulating within Shawna's uterus—something tugging its new hairs, trying its new limbs, contracting its new muscles, masturbating—not merely some sainted idiot but a functioning, flawed, often redeeming, often disgusting being—less tabula rasa than feral kid, wild caged animal, circumscribed by the pit of Shawna, the belly of Shawna, that warm dark place that he or she or it would never regain, try as it may—"