The Hanged Man
Chapter One
The Moon
At first I think he looks like a skull, like he is wearing a skull mask.
Because somehow the dark glasses look concave like sockets and his face is so thin and white. I think about the skulls they paint in Mexico for the Day of the Dead-little skulls and dangling, dancing skeletons everywhere. He is junky-thin but still bulky around the shoulders and arms, muscley, the way the muscles stay intact after the junk's worn away at the flesh. And he is wonderfully white in the fluorescence of the hospital waiting room.He looks up from his book and nods at me. Then he says hello and his voice is the best thing-it cracks like ice when you pour the liquor over.
"You've been here a long time," he says. I guess it's easy to tell I haven't slept-my clothes are wrinkled and I can feel the shadowy cloud pressing around my eyes.
"I've lost count."
"Why're you here?"
"My father."
I think of my father in the room down the hall-what is supposed to still be my father. Gaping, hooked up with tubes. My mother still not believing, still speaking to him, pleading. As if that was still him. When I look at what is ... read full excerpt from Hanged Man, The ebook
