Lincoln Wimbley writes a story at 37,000 feet

About the author

Adrian Todd Zuniga

Adrian Todd Zuniga is the host and creator of Literary Death Match, which he’s brought to seventy-three cities around the world. He’s author of...

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Poetry The superego’s unvarying verdict: you have failed, you deserve it, get over it! Stay in your own psychotic micro-enclave, opining about enactment and re-enactment. Now and again there’s...

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Non-fiction ONCE, ON A first date, a man asked me if I knew about attachment styles. He caught himself before he finished the sentence and...

Non-fictionI’ve now watched quite a few doctors sketch my thyroid on office pads, something they all seem to love to do, relishing that butterfly shape, the two spreading wings. They do shade-hatching on the left or right lobe, colour in a dark circle to represent the tumour and draw four little dots for the parathyroid glands. I have started to look forward to this moment when a medical specialist transforms suddenly into an artist, taking pride in their drawing, picking up a special pen with a thin black nib, concentrating on making this invisible organ real to me. They are maybe unaware that through their own idiosyncratic drawing styles, they become instantly more interesting as people. They hand over the piece of paper and explain the next steps, and I take their drawings home, magnet them to the fridge beside the more exuberant pictures done by my kids, start making the necessary calls, and turn up on time to the next appointment, curious as a child in kindergarten. Which is how I first learnt that there is an octopus within.