By Rick DeMarinis
Regardless of the world's insecurities, the most typical drama of all isn't of apocalypse now, yet of apocalypse deferred; the ache of residing is having to attend it out. In Apocalypse Then, DeMarinis's characters test alcohol, they struggle commute, and (most of all) they struggle off-limits love. They locate themselves in harm's approach, or placed themselves there--but in lifestyles, because the name tale states, "sometimes the worst doesn't happen."
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Extra resources for Apocalypse Then: Stories
He looked at the bare table, the blank bookshelves. There was a dead geranium I hadn’t gotten around to throwing out. It hung its head, a dehydrated ghoul. I had just taken my sweater off before he came and had thrown it on one of the couches. “What a beautiful space,” he said. I was fond of him immediately, in the way we feel kinship to those who compliment us. ” I said. ” I walked toward the kitchen. ” I know when people want to be alone to do their own thing. In the kitchen, I hummed and heated water.
He needed it, so I gave him the money. After that, he made himself into a secret, answered his phone rarely and then not at all. North Of 43 Finally, my mother’s voice through the phone in my New York kitchen. “Your brother has enlisted. Your brother is going to war. Your brother is in the army, and they are sending him to war. Come home for Thanksgiving. We are going to have Thanksgiving. Before he leaves, we will have one last . . ” “No, Mom, you’re wrong. No one is going to war,” I say. ” I keep saying it after she hangs up.
Buttercup. ” Emily followed her friend to the empty dining room in the back. ” Emily winced. “Marcel doesn’t wear suits,” Willa said. ” Willa’s mouth twisted as if it contained a piece of candy she didn’t trust. ” “Pessimist,” Emily said. ” Emily faltered. ” The Idea of Marcel 23 “Emily! What are you doing? ” Willa used Emily’s elbow to steer her to the door, where they could see Marcel hiding his face behind a napkin from the Gladys kid. He showed it, hid it, then showed it. ” Willa’s voice was sad, as if it held a wounded bird.