Marion, Arkansas, United States
“Go home,” Mark replied. He waved off the door. “See your kids.”
Why aren't you married? Margaret's voice asked, pleading, incriminating, bursting through his personal, mental privacy with a sledgehammer called Sleep Deprivation. No place, no date attached. Just an echo from the dust.
I know you’re a grown man and a Senator and everything, Mark Andrew, but could you please, just ONCE call me Mom?
No, Mark thought. He wondered if anyone realized exactly why they sounded so much like their goddamn folks, and decided that no, they probably didn’t. They thought they were honest-to-goodness alone, piping along on their own steam, their own thoughts, never wondering who it was that reminded them to brush their teeth three times a day, or why “Jesus loves me” came so naturally, while “Jesus hates me” stumped the mind.
Published writer: No