A Simple Postscript by C.C. Russell

The guilt that underlies that story is, of course, a different narrative than the one that you would allow to creep into the writing. The guilt that underlies that story has eaten at you for years, decades now. The guilt that underlies the story is the reason that you are writing this postscript in the third person. The guilt that underlies that story erases all humor from the jokes, all of the innocence from the characters, all of the shine, any of the sparkle. The guilt that underlies that story permeates it, destroys it for you. Makes you cringe whenever someone tells you how that story made them laugh so much, how that story just rang so true. The guilt that underlies that story makes you hate it, makes you hate everyone who loves it. The guilt that underlies that story makes you rewrite it. And rewrite it. And rewrite it. But it can never hit the right tone, can’t ever get back to the center of itself in any real way. The guilt that underlies that story is that it is just too perfect. The guilt that underlies that story is exactly why it works.

C.C. Russell lives in Wyoming with his wife, daughter, and two cats. He holds a BA in English from the University of Wyoming. His poetry has appeared in the New York Quarterly, Rattle, and Whiskey Island among others. His short fiction has appeared in The Meadow, Kysoflash, and MicrofictionMondayMagazine, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and inclusion in The Best Small Fictions.