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Weekly Contest #294
The words echo in my thoughts. Grief and fear. I think about what C.S. Lewis once wrote, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” I walk past her door. It is an obstinate reminder of the distance between us now. An impenetrable solid barrier. I place my hand against it, feeling the wood grain agitate my fingers. It tells me no. “She’s sleeping.” Trevor’s voice startles me, and I turn my head, my hand still pressed firmly against the door. “I know.” I drop my hand, like a useless talisman dangling limply now by my side. “She was as...
“Well, we know where we're goin' * But we don't know where we've been * And we know what we're knowin' * But we can't say what we've seen * And we're not little children * And we know what we want * And the future is certain * Give us time to work it out…” -Talking Heads 1985. "Honestly, Michael, I can work this out," Victor's best friend stands on my porch stoop, shame-faced for my husband. It sucks delivering the news, I know. He shuffles his feet and places a hand on the door frame, leaning in. “It’s no trouble, I’m here. Let me pac...
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