After Viktor's funeral mom and dad got drunk. In the commonplace chaos that grew beyond control in our house I set fire to my books and didn't read for two years. When people wondered what happened to Viktor I told them he was killed by Kafka.
"Who's Kafka?" they said "is that the crazy guy that used 2 talk 2 himself?"
"Sort of" I answered.
Kafka was the book daddy read while Viktor was alone out there trying 2 swim, without knowing how 2.
Now, all I remember is my brother dancing on the shore, happy smiling, telling me he needed to fill his bucket with some water.
And me smoking that cigarett behind the toilets.
And a LOT of people running in a lot of directions.
Sort of the same story everyday since.
sad and beautiful. thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteMy heart sank. Touching prose.
ReplyDeletecan't even imagine how it feels to loose someone that close. all my thoughts to you
ReplyDeletesometimes i get the feeling you're trapped in a dream.
ReplyDeletedance along the silver shores and beat the turtle drums.
ReplyDeleteso that youth may last forever.
and sorrow never come.
Nick Dean
(facebook friend)
gina g, sometimes, i get that feeling too
ReplyDeleteAnonymous, eternal youth. that's a beautiful way of looking at it.
ReplyDeleteriver phoenix?
ReplyDeleteraw, too old. but good guessing!
ReplyDeleteKafka on the Shore
ReplyDelete