Currently, I'm still dividing the prose up into mini chapters. It helps me with the editing. Even if I'm now hearing mostly dialogue/monologue...I am hopeful for more that one format...or still yet to decide between one format or the other. But even if the mini chapters disappear, they are helping me to focus the storytelling, helping me focus an agenda, a purpose, a direction for each digestible bit of narrative...anyway...I like sharing it and appreciate your comments at least until I get a third to half the way through
Chapter Three – Veterans and the VA
The Octogenarians veterans at the VA were the only males I had seen in the flesh through the middle of my seventeenth year.
Mother – Not counting Donkeyface, but he couldn’t have been younger than retirement age hisself
My first memories are of wandering the halls of the VA hospital. Mother got a job there as a nurse.
Mother- I couldn’t leave her alone in the hut in the heat. The VA had ceiling fans at least.
Five floors of linoleum and cinder blocks. Grey curtains blowing through the sharp window panes. Desperate tongues wagging.
Mother- Often under funded though the years as of late
The whole building itself seemed to be signaling surrender.
Mother – Bed pans is what I remember. Bed pans high as the sky.
At all hours day or night, a soft sorrow filled moaning could be heard
Mother- A hundred cats releasing their last meows
A lonesome sound from lonesome men. Those invalids were like poorly made puppets in a horrorfilm. Rust covered mufflers and cattlebones held together with wires and gauze, suspended with old rope or misplaced fishing line.
Mother – from the start I had a notion that you were doomed to be a Florence nightingale.
I don’t remember, but apparently I was always adopting this old man or that old man the way other girls might take in stray kittens.
Mother – Some old bastard would be showing her pictures from his wallet, and she’d have poured some warm milk in its bowl and refreshed the dentureine.