Fiction III

*temporarily removed*


  1. I read it again, mrs fringe. Can’t seem to stop myself.

    I can’t imagine what that woman went through. The horror of her son’s death, so deftly alluded to, was a punch in the gut. Horrifying, thinking of it.

    You have a gift, madam. Once again, I find myself sitting here, spent, after reading your work. How do you do that? Your writing is heart-wrenching, raw, the way you can pull this woman’s world so close, force us to see it. Feel it. One mother’s utter grief and loss, condensed to bleeding toe. And you don’t stop there. No respite for her, or us. There’s no getting away from the pain.


    Thank you for posting this, mrs fringe.


  2. I’m not quite enlightened enough so I had to look up zazen and Yes. Yes. I think this state, of letting images, ideas, thoughts pass by without getting involved in them so perfectly encapsulates how I imagine I would feel in Nancy’s shoes. One lives without involvement. I suppose in the practice of Buddhism it’s a sort of higher state, but in this case, I suppose it would be more of a survival tactic. God, I hope never to find out.

    Beautiful, moving story, Mrs.


  3. Oh wow.

    I love it. The floating. Sam. The candles.

    I feel like you really got a sense of the ordinary and extraordinary of grief. The anniversary. The noniversary, a good word for such a terrible thing.


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