I spent half of this wanting to grab that waitress and get her out of there. Then Marie’s hand showed up and I wanted to throw him through the wall instead. Gan, that man blamed everybody but himself right to the end.
This ought to be the darkest piece of yours I’ve ever read. The way you slowly built into final uncovering of dissociation is absolutely spectacular. The drop at the end was the actual chop. How amazingly twisted, Gan. Speechless x
What makes this so unsettling is how long the narrator can turn cruelty into philosophy. He has explanations for his father, his marriage, the waitress, even other people’s suffering—anything that keeps judgment pointed outward.
Then the cleaver becomes almost the perfect psychological object: it simply divides, while he keeps refusing to see what has already been divided inside himself...
Extraordinarily perceptive reading. He can interpret his father, his mother, his wife, and the waitress, provided judgment never turns toward himself. I especially like what you say about the cleaver. It possesses the terrible honesty he lacks.
"That mattered to me, that I came from people who worked." Nice work with the cleaver object and the chop repetition. Your work has a surreal qualitity as in magical.
great writing. chop.
Oh, that was creepy! Good one!
The melting of present reality into past horrors is done incredibly skillfully 💯
I spent half of this wanting to grab that waitress and get her out of there. Then Marie’s hand showed up and I wanted to throw him through the wall instead. Gan, that man blamed everybody but himself right to the end.
Love it from the starting setting.
welcome aboard. please, have a look around
The mounting horror got me in this one!
This ought to be the darkest piece of yours I’ve ever read. The way you slowly built into final uncovering of dissociation is absolutely spectacular. The drop at the end was the actual chop. How amazingly twisted, Gan. Speechless x
it means a great deal that you followed me all the way there. x
Pleasure @Gan. Had a jaw drop moment with this one. So clever. So cleaver x
What makes this so unsettling is how long the narrator can turn cruelty into philosophy. He has explanations for his father, his marriage, the waitress, even other people’s suffering—anything that keeps judgment pointed outward.
Then the cleaver becomes almost the perfect psychological object: it simply divides, while he keeps refusing to see what has already been divided inside himself...
Extraordinarily perceptive reading. He can interpret his father, his mother, his wife, and the waitress, provided judgment never turns toward himself. I especially like what you say about the cleaver. It possesses the terrible honesty he lacks.
Another terrific story, Gan! I admire the way you build suspense to "Psycho" shrieking level, then leave your tales open to interpretation.
“Psycho shrieking level” delights me. Thank you, as always, for reading so generously.
"That mattered to me, that I came from people who worked." Nice work with the cleaver object and the chop repetition. Your work has a surreal qualitity as in magical.
comforting himself with a story about who he is, while the cleaver carries his inheritance somewhere much darker. Thank you for reading so generously