Death is the absence
of life. It is the white space on a painting, an empty hospital bed, a silent
room, a closet of clothes. Death is the extinction of a species of only one. I
closed my eyes. I woke, and he was gone. They took his body in the night. They
came for the bed and the wheelchair by noon. We reduced his life to a photo and
two columns in the newspaper. We sang his favorite songs. We spoke, “he was
good friend, a wonderful father and an average golfer.”
Emotion is the currency of all good writers. But what if there is no emotion? What if death brings not regret, or anger, or longing, or even peace, but rather echoes? Did he call my name? I turned my head. Was that him, walking into his office?
Where is the salty taste of my tears? I become white space.
Can someone please
tell me how to feel?
I wanted to stop forgetting appointments and lunches with friends. I wanted to keep track of events days, weeks, months and even years into the future.
I’d been invited to a posh dinner to honor director Martin Scorsese. I decided to drive to ‘The City.’ My friend recommended that I take the Lincoln Tunnel. Twilight found me approaching the entrance; I glanced at my gas gauge.
I was young and naive, but I wasn’t worried. “Those New Yorkers are smart,” I said to myself. “I bet they’ve built a gas station right at the entrance of the tunnel.”
My main issue with fiction, written in first person, is interior dialogue. Often interior dialogue is self-serving—or rather author-serving.
This is a true story.
Two nights ago, I had a dream I could fly. I opened my arms wide, pulled the wind toward me and felt my feet lift off the ground. It was glorious. With my engineering-trained mind I quickly sought practical applications.
Why was the book Dune by Frank Herbert so successful?
Most people would probably say world-building.
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When family ambition turns deadly Chase Garrett must keep Harper safe and both of them alive.
More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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Powerful and beautifully written. And I think most of us have been there.
Hi Veronica, I’m still learning WordPress. I wasn’t certain you received my reply to your thoughtful comment. Thank you, Kidd
Yes, death brings absence – that space where once there was something, someone. Your tribute is lovely and moving.
Thank you, Dianna
The hollow emptiness one feels after losing a parent, is as individual as a fingerprint. When I lost my parents, each bore a different melancholy. Thank you sharing this.
Thank you for your understanding comment. I was sitting in the church like an ice cube, while everyone around me was crying.