I have a feeling about what she is going to tell me. I have been trying to block it out of my mind for so long now, and still I found something equally appealing and terrifying in the thought of being a father. On second thought, she has not said anything about it. Who even knew if that was what she was going to tell me, maybe she is not going to mention anything it all. This is ridiculous. Do not think anything. Just let nature take its course… I cannot. I simply cannot stop thinking about it. What kind of father would I be? Let us face it: My childhood was not the best. All my life I was trying to be the best son I could be for my parents but they would just be…indifferent… They were like zombies; simply going through the motions of life. But maybe that is the best. That way you avoid all kinds of emotional stress with your child. Anger, hate, sorrow…Love, compassion, sympathy…But I digress. It is time to meet her at the station. The train is coming soon.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Hemingway: Prose
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Interior monologue, stream of consciousness type of prose. Well done to bring in his own upbringing and how he is tormented by indecision.
ReplyDeleteNice work. I like the shift in focus, where - through the inner voice of the man - you reveal a bit more information than the author of the original text does. I also agree with the subject-matter of your interpretation.
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