Beth Sherman

so I try. A zebra. He shows up after breakfast, munching the grass on my lawn. His gums are prominent. His breath smells like a gym locker. Familiar but not. What did you expect, he asks. The neighbors gather round, snapping pictures and the zebra lifts his head and barks at them. Not the most malleable creature. After dinner we watch a National Geographic special I found on YouTube. A dazzle of zebras gallop across the savannah, pursued by a cheetah. The announcer says the stripes create an optical illusion, confusing predators. Is that why I’m here, the zebra asks. Am I a metaphor for adaptation? Or do I represent some eco-critical message about the lost wilderness, couched in sensory details? Good questions. I watch as the zebra kicks over my coffee table, nibbles a half-dead houseplant. I don’t know what to do with him. The next day, for lack of a better idea, we visit the zoo. There are five zebras in Africa World, lazing under a tree, looking bored. I read aloud from a plaque on the fence: Their stripes are nature’s barcodes, helping zebras recognize one another. Is this a story about community, the zebra asks. He’s starting to get on my nerves, to be honest. What am I going to do with you? I say. I look up to see zookeepers in tan uniforms running towards us, armed with tranquilizer guns. The zebra sighs. Get on, he commands. I haul myself onto his back. It would be nice to have a saddle. Not to mention reins. We gallop past the other zebras, a kaleidoscope of stripes. Past the warthogs and sea lions, past Barbie pink flamingos and blue-throated macaws. We’re going so fast that I cling to his mane, dropping structure, plot, style. The ground is shaking, the sky a distant scar. This, I think. This. This. This.  

Beth Sherman’s writing has been published in more than 100 literary magazines, including Flash Frog, Gone Lawn, Tiny Molecules,, Fictive Dream, and Bending Genres. She’s a submissions editor at Smokelong Quarterly and the winner of Smokelong’s 2024 Workshop prize. Her work is featured in Best Microfiction 2024 and the upcoming Best Small Fictions 2025. A multiple Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, she can be reached on X, Bluesky or Instagram @bsherm36.

Read more from Beth:

On Trash Cat Lit – ‘Good for a Dead Girl’
Milk Candy Review – ‘Natural‘
Inkfish – ‘Two Flash Pieces‘