A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Loss

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Loss

“I never went to go to the funeral.”

“What?” Liev frowned. D was sitting on the couch, eyes unfocused. He could never tell if that meant ey was stoned or jacked.

“When my brother died. I was in the program, about two days away from qualifying. My mom didn’t tell me about it until I got out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s kinda silly, really. I mean, he was already done. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But the night before they buried my brother I was running a bullshit test course to get into the trial that almost killed me.” D laughed, and then stretched, arching on the couch in a way that made Liev’s spine ache in sympathy. Backs were not made to bend that far that way.

“Not silly. It’s the sort of thing that leaves you feeling like you never said good-bye. Even if you’ve said it a hundred times since.”

D flopped back down. The cushions on the couch made a rough oomph. “Do you ever feel like you’ve said it enough?”

“I never have.”

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