..we'll deal with it, because the good outweighs the bad.

Then he pulled out a handgun and shot me in the chest. I was standing on the lawn and I fell. The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed. Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound,then from my eyes,my ears,my mouth.It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps of the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout.

I know they're not getting divorced or anything, but when your parents argue it makes the whole universe seem like it's tipping, like everything could change if they got mad enough at each other, like the world isn't a safe place.And of course, that's true, isn't it? The world is not a safe place.

For the old people in my family—Mummy, the aunties, Granddad—the accumulation of beautiful objects is a life goal.Whoever dies with the most stuff wins.Wins what? is what I’d like to know.