By Tisa Garrison
He can break it, disassemble it, and uproot it. He can cut it, smash it, and trash it. He can dismantle it, hide it, and then lose it.
Especially in the afternoon, after naptime, he gets restless, and anything not out-of-sight is at peril.
He’s clumsy, unsteady; he stumbles and falls. He doesn’t know names for stuff. He gets pissed when you can’t figure out what he’s talking about.
Today, he seldom recognizes anything or anyone. He used to be able to build things, repair equipment, recycle and reuse: cars, boats, appliances, furniture and even houses.
Now ninety—like three again.
I like the technique of using staccato sentences…leading to the deterioration of a life through the accumulation of years. Very effective and touching story.
Thank you for you feedback. I’ll be taking the “101 Words challenge” in March…I am actively trying out different techniques.
Comparing 3 to 90 and back again, a great last line, Tisa.
Induces the thought, “Will this story portray me in 25 years?”
You are my inspiration, mentor and guide. Thanks for your invaluable support and feedback.
I love the structure… and the last line is a real killer:)
I was distracted by not understanding what this was and thinking that he could be a surprise like a dog. It would have helped to know it was a person; Dad, or something to take away the guardedness I was feeling yet I appreciated your writing skill.