Tin Man

Laura Wilson

I look at him and roll my eyes and immediately wish I hadn't.

I haven't, he says. I would've liked to. 

It’s overrated, I say, stuffing biscuits into my mouth. I eat through the silence, stuffing and eating, because I know I've done something wrong. 

Make out things are nothing. Things that I'm not going to experience. That’s fucked up. Pity you if you thought it vas overrated. I would've fucking reveled in it. 

He couldn't speak, he couldn't cry. Staring at the floor, struggling to remember the color of his mother's eyes, just something to hold on to, but he couldn't. Only later would Michael tell him they were green.

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