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When asked what she wanted to be, a young Georgia Hase said she’d go to university, study English Literature and become an author (adult Georgia is rather envious of her confidence). Despite being briefly tempted away by Geography (she soon realised how much maths would be involved), she quickly returned to books and writing: step one complete (with a First no less). 

Georgia chose Manchester for her MA because the course offered modules in poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Having previously been more interested in poetry, she was excited to try prose in its various iterations. In the short-lived time when live events were a thing, Georgia enjoyed writing for the Manchester Review (post MA, Georgia will definitely continue exploring the world of non-fiction). Her themes range from magical realism to horror to a more realist perspective (basically, she hides her indecisiveness by trying as many avenues as possible).


This short story is part of a wider collection she is working on. All the stories are written from a female perspective and explore the connection between the female body and psyche, from erotomania to anorexia.

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The weather forecast was wrong the day Dr. Harmon told me about you. Clear skies with a light south-westerly wind, only a five percent chance of rain. Normally I would’ve stood in front of my kitchen window and watched the clouds. I would’ve checked for frost, for rain, for sun, my chamomile tea warming my hands, its steam unfurling towards the ceiling. But thanks to Luke switching off my alarm (apparently I needed the sleep), I’d been running behind my planned schedule all day. I didn’t have time to check the clouds that morning and blamed the BBC for my decision to leave my umbrella in its ceramic stand by my front door. My favourite suede shoes, heavy with the rain that wasn’t supposed to have fallen, squeaked on the linoleum floor as I walked to Dr. Harmon’s room. When she first gave me a tissue from the box on her desk, it was to wipe away the water trickling from my hairline into my eyes. The second tissue caught the tears that fell when she said you were growing inside me.

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