The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Akhil Sharma Reads Joyce Carol Oates

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

Mam's Message Was Screwed Up on the Answering Tape

Big guy disappointed me like the others, for he never regained consciousness in any true sense of the word. After the labotomy, and after i removed the gag, breathed deep, shuddering snoring gasps. Yet i did not give up hope, nor have i to this day. Mam called and left a message on the answering tape. At the time, i was up on the second floor using a screw driver to open the rusted furnace bent in a kill's room. A kill is from calcutta, a physics gradua student, very shy and dark skinned, and must be in his mid twenties at least, but looks 15. And since the arrest and the hearing

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