BITCH CLAWS

BY JOHANNAH SIMON

October 15, 2025

Coco knew she was a damn delight, so it shocked her when Lacey, her girlfriend, dumped her on the first day of fall. After three weeks of mascara running down her cheeks, Coco was done crying, transitioning to an angry-as-hell and needing-answers phase. She had questions… Why was her girlfriend such a bitch-ass heifer psycho? Why would anyone in their right mind dump her, the hottest piece of ass in Mercer County?

In a sea of tractor-riding, trucker-hat-wearing, tobacco-dipping ex-boyfriends, Lacey had been her first girlfriend. Coco missed how her grape lip gloss mixed with Lacey’s cola lip balm when they kissed. They tasted good together. Like a movie theater ICEE. And Lacey knew things… knew the right ways to make her feel good in all the wrong ways. Knew how to press the buttons farm boys could never find.

Coco was determined to get closure, even if that meant wearing her pa’s deer-urine-scented tactical hunting hoodie to sleuth for answers. Under October’s Hunter Moon, Coco crept through the back alley behind Lacey’s townhouse, rifling through her ex’s garbage. She was a regular Nancy Drew, solving The Case of the Cunt Who Dumped Her. Rummaging through junk food wrappers, crushed hard seltzer cans, and disposable vapes, she was certain she’d find some answers. If there was one thing she learned from true crime podcasts, it was that people always lie, but garbage never does.

At the bottom of the trashcan, Coco found her first and only clue: two crystal-embellished, leopard-print press-on nails. Definitely not Lacey’s style. These were fancy nails that Coco knew weren’t available at the Dollar General or local Quickie Mart. These were big city nails. Bitch claws. All the evidence pointed to a single, undeniable fact: Lacey dumped her for a rancid tramp with no taste.

Bathed in moonlight and clutching the discarded nails in her hand, Coco formed a plan. Mercer County wasn’t that big and she knew almost everyone around town. She’d get answers soon. Figure out which slut stole her Lacey away.

Smirking at the two unused press-on nails like they were found treasure, she wondered how hard could it be to track down an eight-fingered whore?

Johannah Simon (she/her) is a corporate strategist, adjunct professor, and (sometimes) creative. A Midwest GenX multi-genre writer, her tiny pieces have appeared in BULL, The Hooghly Review, Underbelly Press, A Sufferer’s Digest, and Fahmidan Journal. You can find her on X @JohannahWrites, @johannah.bsky.social, and at www.thewritingtype.com.