The whole world was a lie

The whole world was a lie

church

“There was no obstacle to him now but the church and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He could not believe in the Church; he had tried but he couldn’t. It was a lie. The whole world was a lie and Hazel Motes was the only one who could see it. He had never found a place for himself where he could get out of the world of the Church.”

We’ll be ready," he says, but his voice is weak. He’s not sure anymore

The way the sickness has taken him, little by little, until all that’s left is a shadow of who he used to be

his hands like claws

I feel it in my bones, the storm waiting to roll in.

The sky is the color of a bruised banana, swollen and pale. The air is thick, with moisture and heat, like a fever.

"The sky is the color of a bruised banana, swollen and pale. The air is thick, with moisture and heat, like a fever. The land, the house, the trees—everything seems to be holding its breath. Even China, the dog, has stopped barking at the chickens, and she lies on the porch, her ears flat against her skull, her body still, like she knows something is coming. I don’t know how much longer we have. I feel it in my bones, the storm waiting to roll in. I taste it in the back of my throat, like salt.I look at Daddy and see the way he’s been getting stiffer lately, his hands like claws, his face drawn tight and lost. He’s the same man he always was, but something in him has changed, has gone under. I think maybe it’s not just the storm, not just the way things are in the world, but the way he is. The way the sickness has taken him, little by little, until all that’s left is a shadow of who he used to be."We need to get ready for the storm," I say, and he looks at me as if he doesn’t understand, as if I’m not the one who’s supposed to be taking care of things. I have to remind him. I have to remind him that there’s a storm coming, that we’re running out of time, that the world is about to change."We’ll be ready," he says, but his voice is weak. He’s not sure anymore. He doesn’t even believe in his own hands, in the way they’re supposed to work. He can’t hold anything anymore, not the way he used to. And I wonder how long it’ll be before he can’t even stand. I can’t stop thinking about it, about the way his body’s already failing him, about how he’s already slipping away from us."