1935
He lay still, keeping his breathing even, listening to his parents on the other side of the bed curtain. The train moved south, carrying his family home; his parents, himself ill from scarlet fever and his older brother, who lay not in the lower bunk as usual, but, in a casket in the freight car. He heard them as they mourned, asking each other why God had not listened to their prayers …choosing instead to grant the miracle of recovery to the wrong boy. He lay still, keeping his breathing even, understanding what his life was now; he was six years old, an only child, and would never know love again.
22 comments:
Incredible! That is the most unexpected blurb to come from the word 'miracle.'
Very powerful!
I have to admit I'm illiterate. I read your post three times, and I'm still not sure I got "it". The first pass was... huh. The second was, ah. And then the third, OHH.
Nice! And yes, like the other commenter.. very unexpected.
Damn...you're amazing.
I know you're amazing, the writing is flawless etc etc, but who is this?
Am being completely daft today, excuse me.
nice. i love anything with death, trains and shame. very nice.
Flawless. Simply, powerful.
This is exquisite…obviously, unanimously. In spinning the Sunday Scribblings wheel of fortune, Quin Browne paid out big.
Boom.
I really like this.
The rhythm is perfect. The grammar and punctuation work the emotions in steps and stops. That is such a strong tool and such a hard feat to accomplish. The story itself is poignant. But it is the way it is told that makes it art.
I have a little internal barometer I use to rate other's work when asked. And, you asked.
If I breathe slower while reading, it means I really sank into it.
When I read this, I held my breath.
Strong stuff, my friend. Strong stuff.
I wonder how many times that scenario happened during the period from the 1880s through the 1950s, with such diseases as scarlet fever, influenza, whooping cough, diptheria, cholera, typhoid fever and measles, such great killers of children (and adults) during that period.
Amazing.
I keep thinking, I'll have a go at this, and then think.....it's not going to be as good as K's work.
xxxxxxx
Wow, there are no words. That was just amazing, a perfect piece.
Reading your posts is often the highlight of my day, and today was no exception.
I remember my father saying some words full of pathos, when he was an old man.
'When my brother, Frank, died in the Great War, the wrong brother died. He was so much more of a man than I was.'
He must have carried that awful burden all his life.
Wow, this awesome. If I have to write bout something that have to with miracle, it probably have something to do with faeries.
For some there will always be fairies.
thank you all for taking the time to read this... and for your comments, which give me hope i can do this..thing, crafting something out of words that mean something.
thanks to miss sof, who called me and had me edit; it's still a work in progress.
every one of the words from each of you is like a gift... thank you again.
I enjoyed this very much! I especially enjoyed the resolve lurking beneath the sadness. It seems to me the boy will rise from the ashes. Having heard his parents lamenting, he accepts, while not being destroyed by his fate. We should all be so lucky! I was actually filled with a morbid hope.
A nice twist on the theme. Evocative, with a good sense of place.
By the way, you'd enjoy this theater-ish mother originally from New Orleans.
You never disappoint Quin. Bravo!
Wow, Quin...
You are seriously the only person I've ever "met" that can make something both beautiful, and heartbreaking, with only one word.
Powerful stuff...
I miss you!
Damn, Quin, That is GRIM. But good stuff as usual. I'm finally back and there is little hopoe I'll catch up with blogland. My HD crashed and I'm trying to recover but....
I didn't get hit by any weather here. I had to go to NY to get screwed by Hanna. I hope you get very little of Ike.
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