Novel Excerpt by David Biddle
Help us understand what you think we don't.
Help us understand what you think we don't.
As if you had claimed your voice before it was silenced.
Better to live alone than with this kind of emotional wreckage, I counseled myself.
I’d been living in a mine field, it seemed, and now all the bombs were going off at once.
Running was a secret identity known only to my closest family—with me donning spandex tights to go for early morning jogs.
The statues were fakes: hollow, plaster-like replicas designed to raise the social status of the owners.
Perhaps the fact of her mother’s death was real to her, as real as it could get, whether or not she ever saw the body.