| I dropped my infant brother on his head, and although he screamed for two hours, I didn’t tell anyone; the lump went away before anyone came home. I rifled through the bedside table until I found dirty magazines; I I watched from the darkness of the landing as he told my mother he didn’t I read his email when he left his laptop on while he went to the store. I saw the cat’s collar glint in the headlights before it thudded under my I sobbed alone in the elevator on the way back to my hotel room; we were both flying home the next day, me to my empty house and him to his husband. I fished his cell phone out of the toilet and put it on the bedside table and didn’t tell him. I slipped the photographs under the front door of my ex’s parents’ house The accumulated weight of what has gone unseen is more than I can bear. |
| . |
So, “The accumulated weight of what has gone unseen is more than I can bear” is because you are drunk and remorseful or … ?
I liked the neat structure and not wanting to be a goddamn cash cow anymore!
I just read this over at Fictionaut since I’m only an enth of the way through the stories here, so I’ll post my comment here as well:
This, John, is absolutely awesome. Even as a series of statements, it tells a linear story, a horrible confession of things that somehow seem not as bad had we known the circumstances yet together, are truly unbearable. I love the way you’ve simplified each to its core. Personally, I like the ending as it is. It’s both a wrap-up and a potential lead-in to one more final, horrifying act. If I could give you an armload of stars on this, I would.
“Well-crafted” comes to mind. I love how it begins seemingly random, and slowly reveals the edges of a full story. And “accumulated” – perfect word.
Very powerful. If you don’t mind a small suggestion, you don’t even need the last line. The point is abundantly clear without it.
Extremely well done.
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