Knock Knock, Open Wide

by Neil Sharpson

Ah, there was the word. “Family.” It was an old Irish word. It meant: “Do nothing. Challenge nothing. Change nothing.”

She hated giving condolences. It always felt like adding to someone’s suffering, not taking away. Forcing them to acknowledge you. To thank you for the gift of useless, meaningless words.

This, Ashling realized, was a man who enjoyed lying. He took hearty pleasure in pushing mountains of bullshit on top of you. It was a sport to him.

Folie à deux, Ashling thought. Finally, a mother-daughter activity we can do together.