A little foam bubble formed at the corner of my mouth.
Wet. Awkward.
It happens when I stutter.
I am very aware of the way my lips move when I speak.
Deformity.
I try to hide them.
Those two hideous rows of yellow tainted with plaque.
But they show regardless.
I stutter again.
This time because I am aware of the little bubble increasing in size.
My tongue slowly slithers out.
Covered in white bumps.
Creeping over the cracked surfaces, filling them with spit.
Gurgle. Gurgle.
I clear my throat.
My voice fails me.
The little foam bubble still lingers there.
Mocking me.
I try, and fail. And fail.
And fail.
Written by Neda Hegazi.
Cover illustration by Neda Hegazi.