“Exploring life through fiction, together.”

If you only had a few days to live, would you want to know? What if your decisions in the supermarket could bankrupt a family across the world, could you choose what to eat with that weight on your conscience? Or your beliefs about the world, how many are definitely true, and how many are convenient stories? Does it matter if they are? Is not ignorance bliss?

I think this cartoonist has nailed it. I’d like to think I’m different, proudly countercultural in my search for truth, but I’m probably not.

Fiction Bite -Four students killed in gas explosion.

My phone rang as the bus pulled off. I strained to hear a tinny, apologetic voice. Their tone seemed practiced. I guess they do this often. After, I drifted through a calm 9-5 with the hairs on my arms tingling. The bus home was on time for once, and there was a seat. Yet my heart beat in megahertz.

Jane was out, she’d left a note and a beer. I popped the top and necked it, then found another. I watched the football, cheered as we won, and jumped at every door-like sound. Years ago I put the cat down. The vet said we had no choice. But the words wouldn’t squeeze out, so I pretended he was off hunting. Two days later, Jane started making lost kitty posters, and I sobbed them to pulp choking out the truth.

I wake to her stroking my hair, surrounded by empty bottles. My tongue feels like deep pile carpet. She seems so happy; I’ll tell her tomorrow.

 Quote of the Week

"The first messenger, that gave notice of Lucullus' coming was so far from pleasing Tigranes that, he had his head cut off for his pains; and no man dared to bring further information. Without any intelligence at all, Tigranes sat while war was already blazing around him, giving ear only to those who flattered him." Plutarch's Life of Lucullus (Dryden translation)

Book recommendation - The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry [Children’s Fiction]

Final Words

They’re things I’m scared of speaking about. Things I should make a stand over. Instead, I keep quiet, taking my comfortable lies and pretending everything is fine. Inside I scream at myself to push for truth, but the burden seems too heavy, too risky, too likely to explode in my face. Yet, if nobody pushes for truth, what world would we live in? And can I expect others to, if I’m not willing to lead by example?

With Love,

Josiah

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