Beasts of Extraordinary Circumstance

by Ruth Emmie Lang

could tell, even before he spoke, that he had drained his mind of his own sadness and replaced it with empathy for mine. “I’m really sorry,” he said, and meant it.

The silence in that house was painful, but I had begun to realize that half of it belonged to me.

“Weylyn. In our family, we sit together during meals,” Daddy said sternly. Weylyn looked up at him, uncertain. “So, come on now. Scoot over.” Then my daddy, the most respected man in Paris, sat on the floor of the McDonald’s.

Nate was a grief counselor at the local hospital. He could take Greek-tragedy kind of pain and use it as fuel for extraordinary displays of love.

I found it strange that there could be so much beauty in the death of all these living things. Maybe it was only beautiful because we knew they would be resurrected next spring. I don’t think I would enjoy fall quite as much if I knew there was an eternal winter