Sublime

It seemed I had an honest-to-goodness short story in my hand. I titled it “Despair.” I read it again and again, but the more I read it, the less I could tell whether it was good or not. I eagerly awaited my parents’ return from work.

“Garbage pickup is next week, Rachel.” She sounds guarded. She says Rachel’s name as if she’s signaling to other people within earshot.

To the degree that my quest had an object, that object turned out to be learning to live with uncertainty and incapacity.

lurid

prosaic

Eu não podia deixar que meus pais vissem quem ou o que eu havia me tornado, porque ficariam enojados e me descartariam feito o lixo que eu sabia ser;

consternation.

To hear more, Rachel tries to subtract the sound of the freeway outside.