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— Bobby! Bobby! I’m home. You call Liston yet? — Bobby? Must be gone. Curtains closed. Sunlight through curtains, like when — oh. No color. White? Blue? Not breathing. What do you do when someone dies? Call 911? He’s already dead! You have a drink, that’s what you do. Mark the occasion. What though? Got what he wanted — or did he? Spite? Escape? That’s it? Ran away from |
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Death in the Afternoon by Guy Yasko
Filed under Guy Yasko
52|250 A Year of Flash 
Guy, this is perfect. It faces head-on one of our biggest fears, one of our secret desires.
I wonder who they were to each other…
Thanks for the reads & feedback you two.
very interesting space.
it reads to me like simultaneously shock/indeterminacy and shock/recognition, so to be moving in contrary directions—at the same time, the movement of the narrator through the situation is also a movement of the reader away from it, i think, because as the first dyad gives way to the second, what you reading do not know comes to replace the initial immersive engagement in the space of the piece.
pretty slick business.
Thanks, comrade. I’m flattered.
This is whittled down from a larger piece that had been in-festering a number of my hard drives for many years. That movement isn’t in the other versions. Addition by subtraction.
read this three times, wanting to know more about these two, the reason for the calvados: grief, shock, a modicum of joy. superb. peace…
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