There was a frantic tone in her voice that I recognized, the same tone that she used every time she would be gone for days on end, leaving me here with a few dollars and Mr. Bunny, my ragged stuffed animal, as my only provider. She'd return disheveled and reeking of alcohol. Then her voice had a different tension. The one where it was my fault so and so left her. For years I lived like this because I knew no better.
It's okay I thought. This time, before she comes back, I'll burn this hellhole down. And I'll be gone.
3 comments:
what i like is the empathy you have in each of these little pieces. I think the hardest part of writing narrative is creating realities and characters a reader can believe, and what impresses me is how you manage to feel so many different things and communicate it so well. this reminds me of when i was sitting today in the union and some of the employees were eating lunch; one of the women was drink a beer around noon and talking about how she had woken up drunk and couldn't wait to send her kids off to their dad's for the summer...anyway..
I concur with Tu.
For me, I see a picture in my mind. I guess I think in movies or theatre. Everything I write I can see happening around me, it's all a show that's unfolding.
Another thing is that I also really like little moments, and if there is something I see, I try to expand on that.
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