z

Young Writers Society


18+ Language Mature Content

Why do we keep making children?

by hyperview


Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for language and mature content.

Heat rises from the ground and burns through the soles of the cheap slippers I chose to wear as we walk through Niagara with the family. There is Dad walking alongside his son of thirty-two like it's his first time meeting the man. Strange distance stands between them and awkward laughter fills the air, followed by tight silence.

There is Mom making small talk any chance she gets as if it’ll distract her from the longstanding shit history between my father’s children and her. Every once in a while, she’d ask if anyone wants to take a picture beside a dying shrub or a statue of a man long dead even though each one of us has been here every year, without fail, but nobody reminds her.

There is my eldest brother, the one who disappeared to Calgary a few years back when I was around eight years old, and never came back. He holds a close resemblance to what Dad would’ve looked like, which I’m sure freaks the old man out. He looks at me now and then with some sort of weary fear as if seeing me walking there with my short shorts and tank top is too much for him. At times, he’d shake his head and say, “Eighteen. Seriously?” like repeating the phrase enough times will convince him that this is the truth. This is reality. I’d only smile and look away shyly even though it kind of pisses me off, and Mom notices, so she’d ask if anyone wants a picture of the damn peonies again.

And there is his son, my nephew. A surprise to the family, though a good one, I guess. Anytime I look at him, I remember that phone call I got a few years back from Dad expressing how glad he was his son was even capable of bearing children.

He’s named Jamal. Beautiful, just like the first time I set eyes on the picture Dad sent. He’s six now, chatty, and already more sarcastic than I’ll ever be. He holds onto a DS in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, not even taking in the scenery. Sometimes Mom would shake her head and say he isn’t disciplined enough. Sometimes Dad would excuse himself to go to the bathroom, though I know it’s just a cheap form of escape. And me, well, I notice the little things about him, like the way he pulls at his long lashes when he’s bored or the sudden backwash he makes into the water bottle when he thinks his father isn’t looking, doing this over, and over, and over again.

He doesn’t consider me his aunt. He said it himself. “Aunties are adults. You’re not an adult,” he says, and proceeds to go on and on about the middle-aged aunts he has back home in Alberta. He can wear a person out ‘til they’re thin, and my brother confirms this, though I still smile and laugh and play along because he’s blood. They’re all blood.

Soon enough, they’ll depart for Calgary again, though this isn’t a bitter loss. Maybe in another ten years, we’ll be back in the same place again, down at the Niagara park, hoping the singing birds and the loud tourists would save us from small talk and overpriced water turning into ninety percent spit.


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Sun Dec 20, 2015 2:27 pm
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PenguinAttack wrote a review...



Hey Hyperview,

I'm not totally sure where you're going with this. It feels like some creative non-fiction, and it works within the genre itself. However, I also feel a little disconnected to what you're saying here, to your narrator. I'm going to speak as though the narrator is an unknowable character - which is to say I don't care if it's you or not, I'm going to speak as though it isn't.

Your narrator is a little smug, a little tired, and a bit pretentious. There's something really petulant about "the damn peonies" and other little commentaries. They don't feel natural or real, and instead feel like carefully placed annoyance, which I think goes against the fairly studied sense of calm you're trying to project. Your narrator wants to be too old for this trip, too old and cool and knowledgeable, and that's pretty obvious through the language. I can almost feel the body language as arms crossed or aggressively swinging. There's a sense to this work that comes through the tone and expression of the narration itself. If your intent was for this kind of pretentious petulance, you've absolutely succeeded! It is wrapped up in "I'm too cool for these people" so tightly that you can barely see the sincerity.

You do have an excellent handle on tone and the piece itself isn't uninteresting, despite being about nothing physical or actioned. That's a good skill to have, to be interesting when there's nothing interesting in the piece. Nice work. Thanks for posting this.

- Penguin.




hyperview says...


Hey, Peng. c: This actually is a creative non-fiction, and I don't think I was trying to go anywhere with it other than tell what happened over the summer and how I felt about it. However, I will humbly agree that I can be hellishly pretentious sometimes, and that definitely showed in here. :P

Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this. It was an interesting take on the entire thing! :D



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Sat Dec 05, 2015 4:59 am
Sujana wrote a review...



So, um. I did a thing. Which is comment on your other work. And yes, I think I'm finding out that you have a thing for works that don't feel complete without the title--a little like poetry. And mostly, this feels like poetry (not sound, just feel); it feels like it has multiple layers hidden underneath, ready and waiting to be excavated.

But anyway, back to the critique. Unlike the Cruelty of Women, I fortunately have something to talk about, but it's more nitpicks than anything, and similarly I can't find any flaw in the story or structure. You evidently have a lot of talent in your hands, and I hope I grow up to be as good as you--though it seems that won't happen anytime soon.

Now, nitpicks!

"He’s named Jamal." Whose named Jamal? The brother, or the nephew? While it is clarified later on, I did find myself reading back for a moment while reading the line.

"And me, well, I notice the little things about him, like the way he pulls at his long lashes when he’s bored or the sudden backwash he makes into the water bottle when he thinks his father isn’t looking, doing this over, and over, and over again." Personally, though I do like the repetition, but I don’t think there’s any use repeating over. But that’s just my opinion, leave it that way if you like.

So yeah, great work again. I look forward to seeing more from you.




hyperview says...


Thank you for pointing those things out! This just reminds me that I need to get to editing, haha. :P



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Fri Dec 04, 2015 8:12 am
Abhipsa says...



Hey umm.. its nice but I actually couldn't the relation between the content and the title. Anyway, your work is great :)




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Fri Dec 04, 2015 5:59 am
Prokaryote says...



always good to find another antinatalist




hyperview says...


I wouldn't necessarily call myself an antinatalist, but good god certain people shouldn't have kids.



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Fri Dec 04, 2015 5:48 am
Iggy says...



My answer to your question is not PG-13 appropriate sry




hyperview says...


iz ok




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