The Last House on Needless Street

by Catriona Ward

I knew what kind of dogs they were. They had the white trees of death in their eyes.

I watch the whole thing, because death deserves a witness.

That’s what love is about, of course. Patience and endurance.

“You will thank me in the end. Everything in life is a rehearsal for loss. Only the smart people know it.”

And her father would be furious, ask what the hell the lifeguard had been doing, and Dee would bask in the warmth of his anger, knowing she was cared for.

The young feel pain intensely, I think, because they don’t know yet how deep it can go.

She tries to breathe, to calm herself, but she seems to have handed her body over to someone else. Her hands clench and unclench. Hot tides crawl across her skull. A sawing gasp comes from her throat. Her heart thumps in her ears. A panic attack, she thinks vaguely. Got to get it together. But it’s like sinking deeper and deeper into a sand dune; she can’t just climb out.

Panic attack description

hope is always the last thing to die.

It was obvious that the other mommies weren’t like her. My mommy had smooth skin and big eyes that seemed to see only you when they looked.

Truth is as slippery as mercury. It always seems to find a way to escape.

How many times can someone bend before they break forever? You have to take care, dealing with broken things; sometimes they give way, and break others in their turn.

The dark hums and time stops moving, or maybe it’s going so fast I can’t feel it anymore. That’s why I drink, I say to myself, to control time and space.