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Corpuscular
Michael is shouting again. He’s holding his sandwich open so we can see the mess inside. I watch him thrust it around his head, see mayonnaise spill onto the floor. He’s saying, “This is disgusting.”
Mom is saying, “What?”
He’s saying, “Mom, don’t you know how to make a sandwich?”
Mom is saying, “What?”
He’s saying, “You have to spread it around, make it even. Jesus Christ, not just glop it all in one spot.”
Mom is saying, “I made it for you.”
He throws the sandwich on the floor and makes a new one for himself. He demonstrates how to spread mayonnaise on the bread the correct way, slowly, the way someone might teach a child.
Mom picks the old sandwich off the ground and throws it away.
Afterwards, she still makes Michael’s sandwiches for him.
The argument ends with Catherine rolling up her sleeves and showing us what she has hidden underneath. It is summer, and she is still wearing long sleeves. The middle school counselor has called. He's heard rumors about Catherine and her friends, rumors about what she does in the girls’ restroom.
I watch Catherine pull up her sleeves and show Mom her arms. She shouts, “I cut myself all the time.”
Mom stands up, and looks, and sits, facing away. She is saying, “But why?”
Catherine rolls her sleeves down. She says, “I hate you.”
Mom is saying, “Why?”
Catherine is saying, “I hate you and I want to live with Dad.”
Afterwards, Catherine still lives with Mom, and Mom still assures the school counselor that everything is fine at home.
I stand in our living room, and their voices rage all about me. It can’t have been, but I remember them racing circles around the room, blinking in and out of sight, now on the couch, now by the front door, now in the hall, and me in the center of it, spinning till I made myself dizzy. Them sprinting in and out doorways, stomping up and down stairs, slamming cabinets shut and slinging them open, dancing up the walls, jumping on the ceiling, and me in the center, standing in the living room, bare toes massaging the frilly fibers of the carpet, not making sense of any of it.
And their voices.
The house shook, I think. The glass in every window of the house rumbled, like a summer thunderstorm had rolled in and wind tore at the walls. They screamed, did nothing else, not even words as far as I could tell, just screams. What aroused such fury, I don’t want to know.
And then my Mom lifting the framed pen and ink drawing of some Victorian manor off the wall beside the front door, where it had hung for as long as I could remember. And then Mom standing in front of me, and the framed drawing raised high over her head, and her shouting all her loss and frustration out her throat (forgive her, she was under a lot of stress), and the frame smashing into the floor by my feet, and the glass shattering to pieces, too many pieces to ever be put back together.
Maybe it was because another thing from our old lives that had once seemed stable and permanent had been torn from its place, or maybe it was because it was scary and kids cry when scary things happen. Either way, I cried and ran away.
My sister, Catherine, followed me. She caught me. She asked, “Why are you crying? What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
It's a feeling of being outside yourself, of observing events but not taking part in them. It's a feeling of being outside of and apart from your family.
I called it corpuscular.
This was not the correct word for it. I was wrong about a great many things. I was just a kid.
We are all in our twenties now. Except for Mom—she is in her fifties. On Mom’s birthday, we send her happy birthday texts. On Mother’s Day, we send her happy Mother’s Day texts. We don’t see each other very often, and when we do, we drink craft beer. We make jokes and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. We never talk about sandwiches with too much glopped mayonnaise or wearing long sleeves in summer or that drawing that used to hang by the front door. We forget.
We assume we’re pretty good people, pretty decent sorts of people.
Mom is saying, “What?”
He’s saying, “Mom, don’t you know how to make a sandwich?”
Mom is saying, “What?”
He’s saying, “You have to spread it around, make it even. Jesus Christ, not just glop it all in one spot.”
Mom is saying, “I made it for you.”
He throws the sandwich on the floor and makes a new one for himself. He demonstrates how to spread mayonnaise on the bread the correct way, slowly, the way someone might teach a child.
Mom picks the old sandwich off the ground and throws it away.
Afterwards, she still makes Michael’s sandwiches for him.
The argument ends with Catherine rolling up her sleeves and showing us what she has hidden underneath. It is summer, and she is still wearing long sleeves. The middle school counselor has called. He's heard rumors about Catherine and her friends, rumors about what she does in the girls’ restroom.
I watch Catherine pull up her sleeves and show Mom her arms. She shouts, “I cut myself all the time.”
Mom stands up, and looks, and sits, facing away. She is saying, “But why?”
Catherine rolls her sleeves down. She says, “I hate you.”
Mom is saying, “Why?”
Catherine is saying, “I hate you and I want to live with Dad.”
Afterwards, Catherine still lives with Mom, and Mom still assures the school counselor that everything is fine at home.
I stand in our living room, and their voices rage all about me. It can’t have been, but I remember them racing circles around the room, blinking in and out of sight, now on the couch, now by the front door, now in the hall, and me in the center of it, spinning till I made myself dizzy. Them sprinting in and out doorways, stomping up and down stairs, slamming cabinets shut and slinging them open, dancing up the walls, jumping on the ceiling, and me in the center, standing in the living room, bare toes massaging the frilly fibers of the carpet, not making sense of any of it.
And their voices.
The house shook, I think. The glass in every window of the house rumbled, like a summer thunderstorm had rolled in and wind tore at the walls. They screamed, did nothing else, not even words as far as I could tell, just screams. What aroused such fury, I don’t want to know.
And then my Mom lifting the framed pen and ink drawing of some Victorian manor off the wall beside the front door, where it had hung for as long as I could remember. And then Mom standing in front of me, and the framed drawing raised high over her head, and her shouting all her loss and frustration out her throat (forgive her, she was under a lot of stress), and the frame smashing into the floor by my feet, and the glass shattering to pieces, too many pieces to ever be put back together.
Maybe it was because another thing from our old lives that had once seemed stable and permanent had been torn from its place, or maybe it was because it was scary and kids cry when scary things happen. Either way, I cried and ran away.
My sister, Catherine, followed me. She caught me. She asked, “Why are you crying? What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
It's a feeling of being outside yourself, of observing events but not taking part in them. It's a feeling of being outside of and apart from your family.
I called it corpuscular.
This was not the correct word for it. I was wrong about a great many things. I was just a kid.
We are all in our twenties now. Except for Mom—she is in her fifties. On Mom’s birthday, we send her happy birthday texts. On Mother’s Day, we send her happy Mother’s Day texts. We don’t see each other very often, and when we do, we drink craft beer. We make jokes and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. We never talk about sandwiches with too much glopped mayonnaise or wearing long sleeves in summer or that drawing that used to hang by the front door. We forget.
We assume we’re pretty good people, pretty decent sorts of people.
Well this was a beautiful story. It was a grand idea that makes sense of the sudden prompt being somewhat strange to cater too. What we here is a story that makes something of itself without hitting too much on what the topic of the competition is.
NEGATIVES
Topic-I feel as though you completely avoided the whole “I want my sandwich” topic. The characters in this piece tend to just ignore it altogether. Even though it felt like a miss, you added the topic well enough into what seems to be a very well written story about a slice of life that could have gotten so much more content. What I think would have made the sandwich more concrete in this story is a moment when the narrator herself/himself, could sit down and enjoy his own sandwich. Rather than being traumatized of such moments when dinner consisted of messy floors and broken bread pieces. If it wasn’t for the sandwich and the small word length this story would have made gold easy.
Time Skip-I understand that you were working with what you have. You did well and wrote well, but I just feel like you didn’t work with what was given to you. Instead you seemed to have done your own thing instead of adjusting to the limits given. Which is not bad. In fact I wish you weren’t limited so I can read this story it it’s full unforced-sandwiched glory! I want to read more and understand what exactly made this family what they are right now. A family that had trust issues, but they had each other. Nonetheless the love and agony of real life shines here and I wish it wasn’t so hidden by the handicaps given to you.
POSITIVES
Slice of Life-You hit this on the nail. This is exactly the type of slice of life genre content that grabs people by their ears and tells them to pay attention. Not only were there separate stories with each individual member of the family, there was potential to really dive into what kind of things they do to cope with their lives and one another. The past relationship between mother and the father who abandoned them. There is a lot of potential here and so much more I want to read. But I didn’t get that here. You highlighted the family so much, that I just didn’t understand if it even fit with the topic at hand. And it didn’t need to, gosh! I loved reading it!
Compression-The way you were able to convey so much information for you events without having to place too much detail is amazing. I got so much from reading just the first few passages about the family that it completely enthralled me into the story. Now my only issue with this is, it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to read on and alas! The page ends on a note of a sandwich that induces PTSD. I just wasn’t convinced with the beginning and the ending of this story. In fact I don’t even know how the bread piece comes into the picture without explaining how the mother is in treating her family up to the point where it becomes dysfunctional. Maybe if you explain more, which you couldn’t, about what the mother does in this family, or doesn’t do. It would all come together.
Again! Let me address that my reviews usually have five major points that I myself can see in every story I look over. Because the fics here are so short, I have to shorten it down to four points to point out. While they may not be the strongest or weakest points of the story, it’s my opinion of what made the story good and what the author can do to take the weaker points to improve, not to place the hammer down on them or tag which stories will win or lose. I respect the authors here for what they take the courage to do, against all the odds and judgements they may face while doing it. So that is why I do these with love. Everyone can write. Now with that pushed aside, this story was just great. I wished it didn’t end as it felt like a roller coaster and ended with a small downhill slope. It just didn’t feel worth it for what it is now. I wanna see it extended and brought about in a bigger format! I’m so rooting for this one. We have our work cut out for us everyone if we’re to top the charts.
NEGATIVES
Topic-I feel as though you completely avoided the whole “I want my sandwich” topic. The characters in this piece tend to just ignore it altogether. Even though it felt like a miss, you added the topic well enough into what seems to be a very well written story about a slice of life that could have gotten so much more content. What I think would have made the sandwich more concrete in this story is a moment when the narrator herself/himself, could sit down and enjoy his own sandwich. Rather than being traumatized of such moments when dinner consisted of messy floors and broken bread pieces. If it wasn’t for the sandwich and the small word length this story would have made gold easy.
Time Skip-I understand that you were working with what you have. You did well and wrote well, but I just feel like you didn’t work with what was given to you. Instead you seemed to have done your own thing instead of adjusting to the limits given. Which is not bad. In fact I wish you weren’t limited so I can read this story it it’s full unforced-sandwiched glory! I want to read more and understand what exactly made this family what they are right now. A family that had trust issues, but they had each other. Nonetheless the love and agony of real life shines here and I wish it wasn’t so hidden by the handicaps given to you.
POSITIVES
Slice of Life-You hit this on the nail. This is exactly the type of slice of life genre content that grabs people by their ears and tells them to pay attention. Not only were there separate stories with each individual member of the family, there was potential to really dive into what kind of things they do to cope with their lives and one another. The past relationship between mother and the father who abandoned them. There is a lot of potential here and so much more I want to read. But I didn’t get that here. You highlighted the family so much, that I just didn’t understand if it even fit with the topic at hand. And it didn’t need to, gosh! I loved reading it!
Compression-The way you were able to convey so much information for you events without having to place too much detail is amazing. I got so much from reading just the first few passages about the family that it completely enthralled me into the story. Now my only issue with this is, it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to read on and alas! The page ends on a note of a sandwich that induces PTSD. I just wasn’t convinced with the beginning and the ending of this story. In fact I don’t even know how the bread piece comes into the picture without explaining how the mother is in treating her family up to the point where it becomes dysfunctional. Maybe if you explain more, which you couldn’t, about what the mother does in this family, or doesn’t do. It would all come together.
Again! Let me address that my reviews usually have five major points that I myself can see in every story I look over. Because the fics here are so short, I have to shorten it down to four points to point out. While they may not be the strongest or weakest points of the story, it’s my opinion of what made the story good and what the author can do to take the weaker points to improve, not to place the hammer down on them or tag which stories will win or lose. I respect the authors here for what they take the courage to do, against all the odds and judgements they may face while doing it. So that is why I do these with love. Everyone can write. Now with that pushed aside, this story was just great. I wished it didn’t end as it felt like a roller coaster and ended with a small downhill slope. It just didn’t feel worth it for what it is now. I wanna see it extended and brought about in a bigger format! I’m so rooting for this one. We have our work cut out for us everyone if we’re to top the charts.
I always have a soft spot for stories with a sad spin.
This was enthralling despite its length, and really made me feel for the mother.
I'll have to repeat Remedy's comment about adherence to the prompt, though. The sandwich was well weaved into the first scene, but not so much as into the story as a whole, and that did cost it some points.
Still, other than that the story was rather enjoyable, and would have otherwise made it to the top of my list.
>>Remedyfortheheart
Can I say that I love your style of reviews?They're much more in-depth than I can hope to be, and they're quite helpful as well.
This was enthralling despite its length, and really made me feel for the mother.
I'll have to repeat Remedy's comment about adherence to the prompt, though. The sandwich was well weaved into the first scene, but not so much as into the story as a whole, and that did cost it some points.
Still, other than that the story was rather enjoyable, and would have otherwise made it to the top of my list.
>>Remedyfortheheart
Can I say that I love your style of reviews?They're much more in-depth than I can hope to be, and they're quite helpful as well.
>>ZaidValRoa
Yuppers! I try. Also pay attention to my format. It's actually the basic form of a story in skeleton form. Intro, high points, change, low points, ending. All without labeling the story as good or bad by making sure each trait balances out.
Yuppers! I try. Also pay attention to my format. It's actually the basic form of a story in skeleton form. Intro, high points, change, low points, ending. All without labeling the story as good or bad by making sure each trait balances out.
Ouch.
I tip my helm to you, Author. A lot of this felt very real, and that's no easy feat with a word limit this restrictive. Top work there. I commented on another fic (Housewife) how the depictions of abuse felt like a checklist, and became melodramatic as a result. For a while I was feeling that this might go the same way, but there's a deftness and variety in these moments of a family unit that isn't quite dysfunctional (though I dislike using that word in this context), but not quite complete, that manages to avoid the same pitfalls.
I think the use of the prompt is fine. Granted, it's noticeable in its absence for (most of) the rest of the fic, purely because it's so relevant to that opening scene, but I didn't take particular issue with that.
The ending paragraph was decent, but I'm not sure it wholly worked for me in the context of the wider piece. The reference to forgetting, the willingness to allow that occasional unity to convince them that they're decent people is potent, but felt like it railed too much against the detailed reflections early on. I do get that we struggle to kept that veil on outside of those moments of togetherness, but maybe a reference to how they almost know that's the case would have given a more powerful conclusion to the story. As it is, it packs a punch, but it doesn't feel as satisfyingly connected as perhaps it could be. I accept that might just be my own preference though, rather than a valid flaw with your story. Other feedback will decide that, I imagine.
I'm also not sure if I'm just interpreting things that aren't there/intended, but I liked how one could read the piece backwards, particularly from the corpuscular paragraph. As a chronology, it still made sense.
Anyway, I enjoyed this. Thanks very much for sharing.
I tip my helm to you, Author. A lot of this felt very real, and that's no easy feat with a word limit this restrictive. Top work there. I commented on another fic (Housewife) how the depictions of abuse felt like a checklist, and became melodramatic as a result. For a while I was feeling that this might go the same way, but there's a deftness and variety in these moments of a family unit that isn't quite dysfunctional (though I dislike using that word in this context), but not quite complete, that manages to avoid the same pitfalls.
I think the use of the prompt is fine. Granted, it's noticeable in its absence for (most of) the rest of the fic, purely because it's so relevant to that opening scene, but I didn't take particular issue with that.
The ending paragraph was decent, but I'm not sure it wholly worked for me in the context of the wider piece. The reference to forgetting, the willingness to allow that occasional unity to convince them that they're decent people is potent, but felt like it railed too much against the detailed reflections early on. I do get that we struggle to kept that veil on outside of those moments of togetherness, but maybe a reference to how they almost know that's the case would have given a more powerful conclusion to the story. As it is, it packs a punch, but it doesn't feel as satisfyingly connected as perhaps it could be. I accept that might just be my own preference though, rather than a valid flaw with your story. Other feedback will decide that, I imagine.
I'm also not sure if I'm just interpreting things that aren't there/intended, but I liked how one could read the piece backwards, particularly from the corpuscular paragraph. As a chronology, it still made sense.
Anyway, I enjoyed this. Thanks very much for sharing.
This is definitely a good piece, featuring fine execution and pacing, but it leaves some questions unanswered. First of all, is the protagonist suffering of some sort of (mental) illness? Or is he simply too young to fully understand what's going on? The story hints at the former but doesn't rule out the latter either. So maybe both.
To be honest, without the explicit allusion to 'mom', I'd have thought the story was told from the PoV of a dog or similar pet.
In all, the forte of this story is unquestionably the descriptions and the vocabulary use. The foible would be the end, that felt disjointed to me. We're left with what appears as a family in shambles, then all of a sudden we jump in time and find the same having — more or less — made up. What happened? Did they have a big argument and decided to wipe the slate as clean as possible? That's a big question the story leaves open, and that somewhat lessened its impact on me. Also the connection to the prompt is rather flimsy (but I don't think anyone will bear you a grudge for this!).
To be honest, without the explicit allusion to 'mom', I'd have thought the story was told from the PoV of a dog or similar pet.
In all, the forte of this story is unquestionably the descriptions and the vocabulary use. The foible would be the end, that felt disjointed to me. We're left with what appears as a family in shambles, then all of a sudden we jump in time and find the same having — more or less — made up. What happened? Did they have a big argument and decided to wipe the slate as clean as possible? That's a big question the story leaves open, and that somewhat lessened its impact on me. Also the connection to the prompt is rather flimsy (but I don't think anyone will bear you a grudge for this!).
I'm impressed, both with how much this does inside such a compressed word limit and with how true-to-life it reads. The stereotypes and cliches of dysfunctional dynamics are an easy trap to fall into, and this story handles that risk well, avoiding it quite effectively and coming across as honesty and insight about difficult and complex truths rather than playing it cheap for easy drama.
I have no problem with adherence to the prompt. Given the relative difficulty I think many people had in finding something interesting in this particular one, that it was incorporated as a thematic element, even if the plot was not overtly centered around it, is enough for me.
I also don't have any complaints about feeling as if there were unresolved threads or ambiguity about the narrator's situation. What was going on seemed pretty self-evident to me. That does require some willingness to fill in the gaps as a reader about some things, but given the word limit, what to include and what to leave implied or unsaid is a balance any author is going to have to strike and I think this story does it well.
I have no problem with adherence to the prompt. Given the relative difficulty I think many people had in finding something interesting in this particular one, that it was incorporated as a thematic element, even if the plot was not overtly centered around it, is enough for me.
I also don't have any complaints about feeling as if there were unresolved threads or ambiguity about the narrator's situation. What was going on seemed pretty self-evident to me. That does require some willingness to fill in the gaps as a reader about some things, but given the word limit, what to include and what to leave implied or unsaid is a balance any author is going to have to strike and I think this story does it well.
I'm having trouble reconciling my reading of this with the previous reviewers comments. Many others seem to like it, yet... to me this is very poorly written. I don't think that reflects on the author, just their choices. It's not skill lacking here, but rather the direction the story goes is, to me, a failure.
My take on this was basically the Dursley house from Harry Potter. There's an asshole kid throwing a sandwich on the ground, and the mom is all "Oh, he's just finicky" and makes another. Then the girl is cutting herself. "That's fine too." It's basically a litany of teenage angst. We're still seeing the outside perspective though, which repeats the "Mom is saying," phrase even more, at which point I was thinking the narrator sounds mentally handicapped.
Eventually, we are told literally "I was just a kid" and yet... the pattern continues. "We send her texts... we send her texts... we drink craft beer." I know others will disagree, but I don't think a fallible narrator ("I was just a kid") excuses this repetition.
The title seems to try to reach for something. The story itself says it was the wrong word. To say the title is the wrong word, yet not tell us why it was wrong or what the "right" word actually is seems like a bait and switch. You're saying the title itself should have been important, but actually isn't. That feels cheap. If you want to use a very, very odd word like "Corpuscular" then it needs to mean something. See "Chekhov's Gun" for why that matters.
This is possibly the harshest review I've given this contest. I want to make it clear that I'm critiquing this story itself, not the author. I think there were some deliberate choices made here that are, to me, wrong... but I don't think the author is lacking in skill. I also think a lot of this is (obviously) a matter of taste. As noted, the previous reviewers all seemed quite positive, so take my words with a grain of salt. If you want the tl;dr; it's basically that this is such a cliche version of "dysfunctional family" that playing it as anything other than comedy/parody just doesn't work for me.
My take on this was basically the Dursley house from Harry Potter. There's an asshole kid throwing a sandwich on the ground, and the mom is all "Oh, he's just finicky" and makes another. Then the girl is cutting herself. "That's fine too." It's basically a litany of teenage angst. We're still seeing the outside perspective though, which repeats the "Mom is saying," phrase even more, at which point I was thinking the narrator sounds mentally handicapped.
Eventually, we are told literally "I was just a kid" and yet... the pattern continues. "We send her texts... we send her texts... we drink craft beer." I know others will disagree, but I don't think a fallible narrator ("I was just a kid") excuses this repetition.
The title seems to try to reach for something. The story itself says it was the wrong word. To say the title is the wrong word, yet not tell us why it was wrong or what the "right" word actually is seems like a bait and switch. You're saying the title itself should have been important, but actually isn't. That feels cheap. If you want to use a very, very odd word like "Corpuscular" then it needs to mean something. See "Chekhov's Gun" for why that matters.
This is possibly the harshest review I've given this contest. I want to make it clear that I'm critiquing this story itself, not the author. I think there were some deliberate choices made here that are, to me, wrong... but I don't think the author is lacking in skill. I also think a lot of this is (obviously) a matter of taste. As noted, the previous reviewers all seemed quite positive, so take my words with a grain of salt. If you want the tl;dr; it's basically that this is such a cliche version of "dysfunctional family" that playing it as anything other than comedy/parody just doesn't work for me.
I get a strong feeling of pervading... well, perhaps idiocy isn't the right word, but... something being severely wrong with the way everyone's thinking here. Perhaps that's the point, and you're portraying what a mentally ill family is like?
I'm not sure I can conclude that, though, because the ending seems entirely directionless to me.
Consider this: "I was wrong about a lot of things." Alright, that's nice I guess, but... who cares? The narrator doesn't draw any conclusions in the preceding to be 'wrong' about. It's bare description. They're probably wrong about that one paragraph where everyone's on the ceiling and stuff (is the MC's illness hallucinations?) but is being wrong about that important enough to get it's own dramatic paragraph? Because everything else seems pretty straightforwards.
Secondly, "We assume we’re pretty good people, pretty decent sorts of people." The MC, as far as I can tell, does literally nothing before that last scene break except watch and run and cry. This line should be an important statement, but there's no way to judge it, because... we know nearly nothing about the MC. If you want me to feel something about this line, I'd need some way to decide if it's weighty or ridiculous or even has bearing on the story. As it is, it seems entirely hollow.
Should I be assuming that the MC is just as screwed up as everyone else? Should I be laying the blame for 'being screwed up' at the MC's feet, as if it somehow makes them not a 'pretty decent sort of person' despite their seeming normalcy, as if living day-to-day life isn't about 'trying to be normal, despite life screwing you over'? I have no idea what you're aiming for here, so the best I can give you is a 'meh'.
Perhaps someone who enjoys angst for itself would like it despite that. What I'm seeing here, author, are some evocative scenes. What I'm not seeing is a story, any way in which they actually connect together in order to mean something.
>>Ceffyl_Dwr Given the severe lack of connective tissue in this story, you could read the scenes in any random order and it would make just as much sense as it does now. I don't particularly think that's a good thing.
I'm not sure I can conclude that, though, because the ending seems entirely directionless to me.
Consider this: "I was wrong about a lot of things." Alright, that's nice I guess, but... who cares? The narrator doesn't draw any conclusions in the preceding to be 'wrong' about. It's bare description. They're probably wrong about that one paragraph where everyone's on the ceiling and stuff (is the MC's illness hallucinations?) but is being wrong about that important enough to get it's own dramatic paragraph? Because everything else seems pretty straightforwards.
Secondly, "We assume we’re pretty good people, pretty decent sorts of people." The MC, as far as I can tell, does literally nothing before that last scene break except watch and run and cry. This line should be an important statement, but there's no way to judge it, because... we know nearly nothing about the MC. If you want me to feel something about this line, I'd need some way to decide if it's weighty or ridiculous or even has bearing on the story. As it is, it seems entirely hollow.
Should I be assuming that the MC is just as screwed up as everyone else? Should I be laying the blame for 'being screwed up' at the MC's feet, as if it somehow makes them not a 'pretty decent sort of person' despite their seeming normalcy, as if living day-to-day life isn't about 'trying to be normal, despite life screwing you over'? I have no idea what you're aiming for here, so the best I can give you is a 'meh'.
Perhaps someone who enjoys angst for itself would like it despite that. What I'm seeing here, author, are some evocative scenes. What I'm not seeing is a story, any way in which they actually connect together in order to mean something.
>>Ceffyl_Dwr Given the severe lack of connective tissue in this story, you could read the scenes in any random order and it would make just as much sense as it does now. I don't particularly think that's a good thing.
Everyone's saying something's up with the narrator... I think they're fine. What's up with Mom? Why is she responding to everything like a deaf robot?
