I recently had the pleasure of chatting with Jasper Kerkau, co-founder of Sudden Denouement. Sudden Denouement Anthology Vol 1 will be releasing soon!
Sometimes I imagine myself not plummeting, but falling slowly, spiraling uncontrolled into the black; the nonentity is dizzying and cold like outer space, unsympathetic.
So Dad opened the door to the dark January night. The sky was black as pitch and cloudless, the stars brilliant, perfect white dots. He picked up his suitcase, and he said nothing as he crossed the threshold, shutting the door gently behind him. Back then, Dad looked exactly like the Renaissance era’s personification of Jesus Christ.
I feel sorry for her because she doesn’t know. The last time she saw our house, she was watching it grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. But I have driven by nearly every Sunday afternoon since Mom and I moved away, and I have watched it decompose.
Our old house is a corpse. Maybe I should burn it down and dump its ashes in the lake.
© Kindra M. Austin/cover design by Allane Sinclair
Available on Amazon and Amazon UK.
“We’ve eaten lots of breakfasts as a family, but this one is the most important to me, and that morning is alive too, sharing space with my guilt.
Strange how trivial things, the details of a single morning in five-thousand and some can so cruelly become the richest, most bittersweet of memories.”
“The sun is shining colorless through layers of drifting clouds. I’m looking for traces of blue within the holes, but I only catch glimpses of a sky silvery white.”
Here I am, pulling into the resort, and I can’t remember passing a single landmark these last two miles. Mom hasn’t spoken at all since leaving the city beach. At least I didn’t hear her say anything.
No, she’s just been smoking, riding along, and losing time of her own; wandering her corridors. She’s found another dark place to hang about. I know because she’s crying again, though dry and silent.
Coming here is a challenge for her, too. I don’t acknowledge that fact nearly enough.
“I’ll go get our key.” I’m not going to wait for her to answer. Let her be alone in the quiet car to sweat, if that’s what she wants to do.
The passing storm has taken most of the humidity, but not the heat. August has quickly recovered. The swimming pool is full of noisy bodies, and so is the lake, stretching impossibly wide before me.
If I close my eyes and pretend with all of my might that I am someone else, could I revel in the sounds of laughter, of water splashing, waves breaking, and gulls calling? Could my bare feet love the touch of sand? Could my heart sing if I swam out to dive into the deep of the lake, to feel my body cool and weightless?
At least you left me the sun, Renny; the sun still does shine, godlike in the firmament, and I can still love the warmth on my face.
She has my head in her lap. Her fingers are raking through my sweat tangled hair; it kind of hurts, but I don’t want to pull away. All I need now is my little yellow plastic cup filled with apple or grape juice.
I’m crushing ants with my thumb as they speed along the cracks in the concrete. Some of them are carrying dead insects.
Hurry home, little ants. Run for your lives.
I hope I’m not doing anything important when I die. I can’t stand the thought that it might happen while I’m in the middle of something with Peter, or even doing something mundane, like driving home with a Saturday night pizza and movie rental. I guess I can’t stand the thought of dying, period. Not that I’m afraid of my own death. I just don’t want the people I love to be sad.
My thumb is so fast, the ants don’t have time to realize they’re about to die. What’s it like, Renny? Or maybe drowning doesn’t work that way. Your death happened so quickly, maybe you were just like these ants; unaware of God’s thumb poised overhead.