Making it through another screaming year, not as a girl this time but a fox. I am a scruffy London fox and I’m here for your bins. 

I’m God and I’m a pest. I stare at you from the hedge, you in your shabby gown, your worn slippers. I see you smoking in earnest. I’m just a fox but I love you. 

I can’t believe a car hasn’t gotten me either. I’m not a careful fox and I wasn’t a careful girl. 

Sometimes I wish you suffered from near-sightedness. You might think I was a cat and you’d let me in, coo over me and marvel at my clever little paws, my pert black ears.

If I were a girl again and had hands, I’d make you a drink. I’d make you a sloe gin fizz and I’d make myself one too. Would you drink with a beast? 

Being a fox is kind of like being a girl. People are excited to see me but don’t want me to come any closer. I never figured out what the correct distance to be near someone is. 

I’ve been like this for months now. I guess I haven’t learned the lesson yet.

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Jasminique Harris lives in New York and spends her time having great ideas at the worst times and forgetting to write them down. She received her MA in Comparative Literature at University of Kent and won't shut up about it. Jasminique is currently trying to figure out how to write scripts that are good. It's a challenge.