VISIONS: Sunshine Strips by Harry Nordlinger
No, son, I’m afraid you won’t grow up to be anything. You’re only a drawing, after all.
No, son, I’m afraid you won’t grow up to be anything. You’re only a drawing, after all.
God shares my taller daughter’s name now. Which is Hope. I say it five times when she covers the inbound. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope.
RG: What do you dislike about podcasts?
IR: Hosts.
ffff
And says a warrior’s prayer as the mahogany bear carvings come alive. She understands the will of the Valkyrie as the will of the H bomb.
I’m sick’a feeling like I’m walkin’ through an eternal earthquake. I need some solid ground under me – just a little stability and peace.
But before I can swallow, I must disarm her. Rob her of agency and hope. Break the faith that brought her to the enclosure.
I wanted to highlight how that’s an impossible fantasy in biographies of someone in the past. That said, I wanted to be silly with the title.
John tracked their interactions and gauged the hierarchy. A redhead with no shirt and a flashbang sunburn ordered the youngest ones around. They worked in shifts now.
I have seen the fruit of man’s desire to live at all costs. Death and more death to all living things. But now a reckoning awakes.