It's incredibly static, but it does something I like a lot. I can't recall if this was intended to be part of Voirrey's interviews or retirement. I am keenly aware that I have not been concentrating on sharpening the conflict. Otherwise it is just pretty prose.
***
VOIRREY: I never returned home. Not in any real sense. I tried to keep in touch with my sister and her children.
I walked a lot. Read a lot.
I look back and I see a simultaneous retreat from the world and a stripping of identity. All so no-one would connect me with him.
***
VOIRREY: My mother, who had such wonderful talent for reading other people, missed what was happening under her own roof. She missed the festering resentment and yearning.
Pause
I don't know if she loved my father
Silence.
I don't know. Was she relieved when she died? A little, I think. He'd been ill a long while before he passed. I'd like to think that brother made his peace with him before the end. They were stubborn bastards. Too proud the pair of them.
I miss them, I do. I miss them all. They were the only family I had. The closest I had to friends, outside of my dogs.
Inside of a dog, it's black as pitch.
My friendships only went so far. People get too close, get curious. Ask questions and put two and two together and get the right answer.
***
They ask me about him and I become his, his creator, his ward, his master, his victim. Whichever.
Am I the girl dreaming of the mongoose? Or the mongoose dreaming of the girl?
I can't seem to wake up. When I sleep, I dream of the farm.
***
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