Susan is crushed after years of coming home to her boyfriend’s crying. Her emotions feel like glass. She has a job that abuses rather than nurtures, her employer doesn’t want to invest in people, he wants a battery. As she opens the front door her boyfriend’s tears roll over her and she chokes on the salt. ‘There is no space for me’, she tells him, and crawls under the bed. To her surprise she finds a party of woodlice, accepts their hospitality and drinks from their flagon of cider, pleased that she’s found a peer group. When they show her how to eat wood she realises she’s never going to have to come out from beneath the bed again. When her boyfriend begs, she excretes ammonia and curls into a ball.
– Benjamin F Jones