Clara and Noah
I burnt in my bed. My skin slid and melted like butter, and when it cooled and congealed it was fused to my brother's. Siamese skin twins. The rescue workers couldn't separate us so we were carried together to the coroner, who cried and cried.
A few tears were for us but mainly they were for his own children, safe and separate in their beds. He knew in his studied mind that we hadn't felt a thing, the horror was for the living alone. But his eyes weren't talking to his mind. They were shouting at his heart. His father's heart.
So he wept while he drew a faltering line along the slightly paler skin that was mine. And he cried as he cut me out of my brother like a coupon. Two for the price of one.
A few tears were for us but mainly they were for his own children, safe and separate in their beds. He knew in his studied mind that we hadn't felt a thing, the horror was for the living alone. But his eyes weren't talking to his mind. They were shouting at his heart. His father's heart.
So he wept while he drew a faltering line along the slightly paler skin that was mine. And he cried as he cut me out of my brother like a coupon. Two for the price of one.
posted by shannon at 1:07 AM
1 Comments:
Well, the killer here is the end, the punchline (not as in a joke punchline, mind). "Cut me out of my brother like a coupon. Two for the price of one." There's some kind of commentary stab there, a point about the cheapness of certain lives. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's extremely well done and very moving. And mysterious enough to suggest all sorts of other possibilities: who are these kids, what happened and why? I especially like the crispness of language and tone, the matter-of-factness from the dead narrator.
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