While We Fall Apart: Fictional Shorts

Tennyson’s Song   David Brancaccio was a success. By every measure, he had risen to the top of his field and  was considered “la creme de la creme” by his peers. He had everything he desired,  everything anyone could want, except for one thing, and for this, he turned to his headset  where he could easily slip into a new world.   479-1 Dad and Son    “Why do you always stop mid-sentence as if an ending isn’t necessary?” Marcus  questioned as he sat with his hands open wide, resting on his worn jeans.   She looked at him with eyes of steel, open, yet hardened. “…because it isn’t. There’s no  point.”    Weeks had gone by like this. Each day bringing more and more complexity until the  thoughts had curved themselves up and down the pathways of his mind and wound up tangled.  All questions had been dodged.    He rose in anger. “Wake up, Stephanie! How are we ever going to fix anything if...

It wasn't until the Toyota rolled itself down the driveway  in the middle of a brisk spring night that I realized what  time it was.  "Jillian, It finally happened. I knew it would," he cleared  his throat loudly, abruptly like he always did.”I wish you  would have done something about this earlier. When are you  gonna learn? Now you have to deal with it the hard way,” he  said dogmatically. It was his style.  There was a long pause. The air thickened like the day-old  pudding that sat in the fridge. Jack loved pudding— butterscotch like his momma made.  "I mean, once it's in the street you really just have to  come to terms with it, Jill. There's a problem. You know  that,” he continued. So matter of fact. So right all of the  time. I told you so and other phrases of a similar sort  seemed to move around him like a wicked Salem dance. They  were just part of his biography—the self appointed king of  respons...