Requiem for a Dream

by Hubert Selby Jr.

(the refrigerator frowned in curious silence)

Its not the prizes Harry. It doesn’t make any difference if I win or lose or if I just shake hands with the announcer. Its like a reason to get up in the morning. Its a reason to lose weight so I can be healthy. Its a reason to fit in the red dress. Its a reason to smile already. It makes tomorrow alright. Sara leaned a little closer to her son, What have I got Harry? Why should I even make the bed or wash the dishes? I do them, but why should I? Im alone.

stammering, You got friends ma, what—Its not the same. You need someone to make for. How can I shop when I dont cook for someone? I buy an onion, a carrot, an occasional chicken, a little nosh, Sara shrugged, for me how can I cook a roast? a special … special … anything?

Their disease made it possible for them to believe whatever lies it was necessary for them to believe to continue to pursue and indulge their disease, even to the point of them believing they were not enslaved by it, but were actually free.