The graveyard of personal literary ambition.
There is only one of me, but I am Legion.
(lazy dot reviewer at gmail)
My dad came down for a week to help out with the baby (it was a lifesaver), and told me that when I was about five, and my little brother was one, the three of us were out for a walk in a big provincial park (my dad carrying my brother), and came to a rather steep cliff-face.
I turned to Dad, and I said: “You could throw him off. We could tell people he fell. I wouldn’t breathe a word.”
Which, honestly, has confirmed my long-held suspicion that I could totally kill someone and not feel particularly bad about it.
I also told my parents they could leave him at the curb in a green garbage bag on Tuesday, and the garbage men would have to take him away.
He’s fine! He was always fine. But the attention, you know. He took some of their attention from me.