Could We Betray Our Parents

I Tended To Be Drawn To The Weirder, Darker Stuff. Horror And Sci-fi Anthologies.

My Older Sister Has Entire Kingdoms Inside Of Her, And Some Of Them Are Only Accessible At Certain Seasons, In Certain Kinds Of Weather.

And I Do Think That Great Fiction, Even When It's Comedic, Has An Urgency Or An Inevitability To It, A Sense That The Writer Absolutely Had To Write This Particular Story In This Way.

My Fingers Curl Through The Holes In The Wicker, Through The Wet Grass Beneath It, Trying To Hold Tight To The Sharp Blades Of The Present. Somewhere In My Brain A Sinkhole Is Bubbling Over, And Each Bubble Contains A Scene From A Tiny Sunken World ... I Have Never Been The Prophet Of My Own Past Before. It Makes Me Wonder How The Healthy Dreamers Can Bear To Sleep At All, If Sleep Means That You Have To Peer Into That Sinkhole By Yourself. ... I Had Almost Forgotten This Occipital Sorrow, The Way You Are So Alone With The Things You See In Dreams.

I Do Think That I Have A More Flexible View Of The Interactions Between People, And Between Human And Non-human Protagonists, Humans And Their Landscapes.