qarrtsiluni

by Eric Burke

My father wasn’t really sick. He was only pretending. (Though his need to pretend might be a sickness. At least, that’s what he liked to think.) He was very tired.

My mother was melodramatic. She said my father was melodramatic. I never really believed her.

My sister left home early to marry a man who looked like he knew what he wanted.

I never left home. I make my own bed. I lie in it, as comfortable as anyone ever really is.

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Eric Burke works as a computer programmer in Columbus, Ohio. Recent work can be found in elimae, Pank, Right Hand Pointing, decomP, Otoliths, and Heron. Work is forthcoming in A cappella Zoo. He blogs at Anomalocrinus Incurvus.