Title: Disconsolate When Down
Subtext: There will be no next Friday night.
Date: 28 Sep 16 (Wednesday in the AM)
Time: 1 minute
Replies: 11
Revisions: 6
Publicity: Superfeed

During the summer, there was a puppet show every Friday night. The shows were in what had been a dairy barn. The floor was dirt, and the seats were bleachers made out of scavenged lumber.

I went to one of these puppet shows with a man who had been my lover but who I no longer loved at all.

During the puppet show, he kept asking me about what was happening. “What’s happening?” he said to me. He reached over to me and held my hand.

I told him the puppet was disguised as a priest and was hitting a woman.

“What’s happening?”

The puppet was dressed like a woman and was pretending to kill herself.

“What’s happening?”

The puppet was a child dressed like an old man and was trying to get into a brothel run by monsters in disguise.

He asked me these questions because he was blind. This past year, he lost his sight.

The puppet was dressed as a disconsolate clown.

He kept asking me what was happening, so I wrested my hand away from his and started pushing him toward the front of the theater. The other people in the audience helped me, and we all pushed him down the bleachers and onto the dirt floor that served as the stage.

“What’s happening?” he said. The puppet touched his head and told him he no longer had to ask.


Myna » Authorship
Elk » 10:53 AM 28 Sep 16
Myna » 9:43 AM 28 Sep 16
Myna » 9:42 AM 28 Sep 16
Myna » 9:39 AM 28 Sep 16
Myna » 9:34 AM 28 Sep 16

The Thread (11)

 Author's voice in grey. 

  1. Only in New England.

  2. Paused my reading simply to accentuate –

    I told him the puppet was disguised as a priest and was hitting a woman.

  3. Nomination for superfeed – don’t need to say anything else about it.

  4. Added punctuation to the subtext.

  5. Should we learn of the man’s blindness earlier in the story?

  6. That’s an obvious sort of preference. I felt it myself. I kind of accepted the unusual approach as if I was on the scene and saw some stuff happening, but couldn’t sort it out until I had something to work with — to deduce from. Either that or I’ve just gotten used to Myna’s style in this regard.

  7. This piece makes me laugh out loud in bed at night when others around me are trying to sleep. I could go on and on.

  8. I actually like that we don’t learn of the man’s blindness until later in the piece because of how jumbled and unorthodox the puppet scenes are, which render separate justification for the repeated question — if not the principal justification.

  9. Let’s pause to appreciate Falcon’s “Only in New England”.

  10. Extraordinarily perceptive.

  11. I agree after a reread. Myna’s prose has a certain cadence that sort of lulls you into a stupor before punching you awake into lucidity.

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"Art, though, is never the voice of a country; it is an even more precious thing, the voice of the individual, doing its best to speak, not comfort of any sort, but truth. And the art that speaks it most unmistakably, most directly, most variously, most fully, is fiction; in particular, the novel." – Eudora Welty