CouscousBy M.J. Fievre
August 31, 2010
My father is dozing on the balcony, behind the large hibiscus plant.
Papa sleeps better during the day because he’s haunted. Night haunted. And when the spooky things come—memories of his childhood, he haunts my mother. He tells her his nightmares, wakes her up—to pull her into his suffering, to taunt her into saving him.
I know because I’ve heard him.