Apathy Prior

by Jeremy Brunger

I walked to the car, where my daughter had died. Without stupor, or risen vigor, or anger, or tears. Opening the door, I thought about the paint job, and the fresh layers. Many years, then the fresh layers... cool green; it had been red, darker than sienna. I'd driven around in that thing for four months before I asked my cousin to get the new job, while I was out of town on 4H business. I stopped finding new stains on the carpet a couple months ago, so the interior has been neglected; today, the market in Madrid is rubble, six more dead.


Jeremy Brunger hopes he captured what he was trying to say well enough.


Anonymous said...

Can't decide if I like this or if I'm completely baffled by it. It's like watching a foreign film that looks great but you don't understand it; one without subtitles.

Anonymous said...

I didn't fully understand it either, but I enojoyed the imagery all the same.

Anonymous said...

The fresh layers of paint covering up the memories of his daughter...speaks levels to me.

Let us in to the character feelings so that we could understand exactly the response you'd like us to take away from this...