Places by Danielle Hagerty

You’re walking up your normal stairs, smokey brown and old chipped, and you turn right at the top and into the bathroom, when the light is turned off. You see that it’s dark. It’s dark but still twilight blue hazy glowing, inhaling, and the curtains look haunting and you wonder what this room is or what it means or feels, even, or if it’s anything at all. Like what has happened in it and when someone who used to live here, if they think about it ever when they happen to hear a certain song or something. It’s only a bathroom, you might think. Yet you know it’s lonely. But right now, you are still there standing, staring, and the sight of the deep room somewhat suddenly makes you wonder what it would feel like if you did not exist, really how would that feel? It makes you look down at your right arm pale wispy long light hairs freckles and certain flesh, veins under running with blood that you can’t even feel and bones that don’t seem to breathe right there in front of you. It’s real, and you wish you knew what that meant. You reach your arm up — you don’t even have to think — through the air that is always there. You turn on the light.





Danielle Hagerty lives in Philadelphia with her identical twin sister whom she loves very much. She graduated from Temple University with a degree in English and currently works at the Chamber of Commerce for Greater Philadelphia. Danielle is obsessed with bread, dogs, and speaking French.

Germ Magazine guest author
… is a contributing guest author for Germ, which means the following criteria (and then some) have been met: possessor of a fresh, original voice; creator of fresh, original content; genius storyteller; superlative speller; fantastic dancer; expert joke teller; handy with a toolbox; brilliant at parties; loves us as much as we love them.


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