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.