Missing You

by Twizzle

He never thought about his family; he never considered calling or writing. At Christmas and holidays, he sat in his tiny room and watched reruns on an old, beat t.v. he’d found in the trash. A wire hanger twisted out of the top, reminding him every time he looked at it of a rabbit’s ears after an anvil has been dropped on its head. If he thought at all, and it is unclear if he ever did, it was to think of his cat. Sometimes he would think of its tiny calico face and wonder if it was okay. But then he would roll over, and the thought would disappear from his head, drummed out by the static from the old t.v.

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Twizzle lives in New Hampshire and is working on her first novel. More importantly, she wants to be Philip Roth when she grows up. Except for that whole being a guy thing.