Blackbird Fly by Lise McClendon

By Lise McClendon

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The sweat on his forehead began to dry. Just another day, he thought. Then, the last, the worst — the pain seized him again, and the black spots grew and merged into one. Chapter 2 When something shatters, when whatever you’re attached to ends, definitely, the moment rises up like it’s been hanging there for years, a lead balloon waiting to drop with a heavy thud into your life. All that living leading to this exact moment in time. Where has fate been hiding? Doesn’t matter. Here it is. Here it is, by God.

In the kitchen Merle stared again at the meager list of sums on her notepad. Her parents would want to help if they thought she was in trouble. She swept up the checks and statements into her address book and put them on the shelf over the kitchen desk. The last thing she wanted was their pity. They had their own problems, everybody did. One thing she’d learned already since Harry’s death — there was only so much sympathy in the world, then people turned back to their own woes. And who could blame them?

Mr. ” Merle bit her lip. Was this Tristan’s way of telling her she was thinking about death too much, that she was obsessed? If anything she thought too little about Harry. She didn’t miss him, not really. Was this Tris’s point? Did he know she didn’t love Harry? She glanced up at her son. He was getting out the popcorn popper and looking for oil. Life went on. It was just poetry. Strange, pretty words that she couldn’t figure out, just like when she was in school. She put on a smile. ” Tristan made a huge bowlful of white kernels.

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