Contemporary Fiction Sad

“Do you think giraffes feel pain?”

“What?”

“When they're born. They just hit the ground.”

“Maybe?” Finn pauses. “I mean, it's how they're designed to give birth, right? So I'm sure they're fine.”

“Yeah.”

The room swells with silence. Then, “I think they've made a bigger deal out of quicksand than they needed to.”

Finn smiles. “Where's your head today?”

“I dunno. Just some random thoughts, I guess. I just, I wanna get them out before…”

Finn licks his lips. “Quicksand?”

Shay shifts in her bed. “Like, so many cartoons made quicksand to be this huge deal we'd have to dodge every five feet. But I don't think I've ever seen quicksand.”

“I definitely haven't."

“Maybe you will.”

“Maybe we'll look together.”

“Probably not.” Shay laughs. A dry, humorless laugh. The muted TV buzzes like a static hive. She shifts again. “Sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry.”

Finn wipes his eyes. “No, no. It's… you should be able to say what you want. I'm okay. I'm—”

“You don't have to be. Not for me.”

He feels foolish. “So, giraffes and quicksand.”

“...the French word for apple is pomme. And for potato it’s pomme de terre, which just means ‘apple of the Earth.’”

“Okay?”

“And I hate it.”

He likes the way her nose crinkles. “Why?”

“Cause comparing a potato to an apple is insane.”

“Aren't there people who insist raw potatoes taste like apples?”

“No they don't."

“Really! I think there're people who eat raw potatoes and can't tell the difference.”

“Between apples?” Shay rolls her eyes.

“Let me look it up…” So he does, phone in hand, something he promised himself not to do, not here, but this is important, somehow. This is everything, and nothing, and he needs to know. Because Shay needs to know before she won’t know anything, ever.

“You look concerned.”

“Huh?” The phone falls to his lap. “Oh, sorry, I started reading a Wikipedia page. I'm wrong; it's people who've lost their sense of smell who can't tell the difference.”

“Between a potato and an apple?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

Finn watches Shay’s chest rise and fall beneath starchy blankets—oversized gauze meant to sleep under. Graying eyes, once a blue so striking it snatched his breath, slip behind heavy eyelids.

“You look tired.”

“I feel tired.”

“Should I go?”

Shay turns, gaze so strikingly cloudy it crushes him, and plays at bravery. “Can you wait till I fall asleep? It'll be quick. And then, just tell the nurse to wake me for dinner. She won't sometimes, and then I wake up starving.”

“They don't wake you?”

“No.”

“That seems odd.”

“Not—not at this stage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I'll stay. Till you fall asleep.”

“Okay.”

~*~

“Whoa, two days in a row?”

“Got lucky. Got off work.”

“I thought you worked part time?”

“Exactly.”

Shay sits up. “Did you bring cards?”

“Oh.” Finn deflates. “Not today. I totally forgot.”

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah. Sorry anyways.”

Silence again. Silence, except for the buzzing screen and the humming lights. Nurses with tennis shoes clicking down linoleum halls and monitors beep, beep, beeping in cadence to the clocks tick, tick, ticking. Silence, except for Bob Barker shouting numbers across the hall, far enough like they’re in a tunnel, and carts wheeling medicine in locked boxes from door to door.

Silence, except for shallow breathing. Wispy. Crackling. Still here.

“I thought maybe we could watch a movie or look up videos of quicksand,” Finn says at last.

“Quicksand?”

“Don’t look at me; you brought it up first.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quicksand. Kinda like volcanoes.”

“What?”

“Volcanoes. Another disaster they made a big deal out of, even though we’re nowhere near a volcano. Or, the ones we are by no longer erupt.”

“Quicksand, volcanoes. You know, I’d say tornadoes, too.”

“No. Tornadoes happen all the time.”

“You think?”

“I know.” Shay coughs. A light clearing at first. Then, a hack. A wheeze. Soon, he’s reaching for her water and she’s retching into a napkin, and there’s blood, and he should call somebody, but she tells him no. No, no, no. All normal. All happened before.

All in time, this too shall pass.

He doesn’t know what to say to the silence.

“What movie?” Shay again.

“What?”

“You said we could watch a movie. What movie? A video on quicksand sounds pretty boring. I mean, it’s a slow sink, right? That’s what the cartoons made it seem.”

“Uh.” He searches for the right words. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Shay—”

“Maybe a comedy? But laughing too much makes me cough. A drama?”

Crying? He wants to ask. But then… “Shay, maybe we should—”

“You’re right. A comedy is good enough.”

But that’s not what he wanted to say. What they watch won’t feel funny, will never feel funny, why does she act so funny? They should talk. Why don’t they talk? It’s past time to talk, isn’t it?

“Shay?”

“What’s new? Hand me your laptop; I’ll find something new.”

“Shay?”

“A new comedy. Maybe something with a cast of characters, like Bridesmaids. Oooh, Bridesmaids.”

“Shay.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I did say new.”

“Please, Shay.”

She remains silent. Quiet. Just like yesterday. Just like last week. Blank stare, body sagging, graying eyes blurring as they stare just beyond him, like he’s not there, not really, and there they will stay through the ticking clock and clacking shoes. Until Finn sits. And he will sit. He’ll stay and wait and she’ll bring up nonsense, like birthing giraffes or Earth apples, and he’ll listen. But not really, not to the words being spoken or the ideas half formed, fleeting, before the next and the next and the next.

No. He will listen for what’s bubbling below the surface, deeper than shallow breath and hacking coughs. Buried deep. Soul deep. Somewhere rooted in the heart of it.

The horror of it.

He sits.

“Why are they even called pineapples? It’s about as ridiculous as pomme de terre.

“Pineapples?”

“Yeah. Pineapples. They are not pine and they are not apples. Yet, pineapples.”

He stares. She lays there, skin growing paper thin like a Listerine breath strip.

“Pineapples.” She repeats. And it’s like she’s already slipped through his fingers. Like sand.

Quick sand.

Posted Aug 01, 2025
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1 like 3 comments

Jim Lola
00:33 Aug 07, 2025

Hi,

Again, another enjoyable story.

Here is my critique.
1. Prompt Adherence = Excellently Fulfilled
2. Structure and Plot = Clear emotional structure, nonlinear yet controlled.
- The structure matches the emotional pacing of terminal illness. Quiet, circular, and tenderly unresolved.
3. Characterization = Deep, understated, emotionally layered.
- Shay: Terminally ill, sharp-witted, irreverent. Uses humor and randomness to distance herself and protect Finn. She’s resisting the inevitable while also preparing him for it.
- Finn: Loyal, emotionally raw, desperate to connect and confront reality. His restraint and occasional emotional leakage (tears, failed attempts to talk seriously) show his love and helplessness.
- Nuanced character portrayal through subtext and dialogue. The silences say as much as the words.
4. Setting and World-Building = Minimalist, effective, and thematically resonant.
- The setting functions as emotional echo—never overtaking the dialogue, but deepening the mood.
5. Style and Language = Conversational, poetic, and quietly devastating.
- Voice: Intimate, naturalistic, and full of emotional restraint.
- Tone: A balance of humor, melancholy, and quiet dread. Uses random tangents (quicksand, giraffes, pineapples) as metaphors and deflections.
- Pacing: Slow and gentle, reflecting the rhythm of time spent in hospice care. Breaks in dialogue allow for emotional breath and depth.
- The writing style captures both the absurdity and heartbreak of anticipatory grief. Thoughtful, elegant, and brave in its understatement.
6. Theme and Meaning = Profound and precisely aligned with the prompt.
- Symbolism:
- Quicksand = death: slow, creeping, inescapable.
- Pineapples / Apples of the Earth = absurd mislabeling, like using humor to mislabel tragedy.
- Wikipedia search = a need to control or explain the unexplainable.
- Silence = denial, acceptance, and emotional paralysis all at once.
- Powerful thematic structure. The story is a meditation on the human condition and our avoidance of direct confrontation with death.
7. Originality and Impact = Deeply emotional in a fresh, unconventional way.
- Original, touching, and emotionally resonant without being manipulative.
8. Technical Execution = Clean and professionally written.
- Technically polished and structurally sound.

Final Thoughts
“Quicksand” is a beautiful short story that perfectly meets the prompt. It portrays two people talking around the most important subject—Shay’s imminent death—with humor, warmth, fear, and restraint. The story’s greatest achievement lies in its emotional authenticity: the way real people avoid saying goodbye by saying anything else.
It is a story full of quiet heartbreak, unspoken truths, and fleeting beauty. The sand isn’t just quick—it’s memory, time, breath, and loss.

Reply

Autumn Demberger
19:27 Aug 07, 2025

Thank you SO MUCH for the thorough and thoughtful commentary. This is my first ever Reedsy Prompts story, so I was nervous to share. I really appreciate your insight, and I'll admit, I think you saw things I didn't necessarily see myself. Thank you again, it means a lot.

Reply

Jim Lola
19:50 Aug 07, 2025

It's a good story. Thank you for sharing...

Reply

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