Untitled 5 (Raw Things) (excerpt)
raw things.
unannounced visits.
leg broken, left by the roadside.
i thought i asked you not to call here.
...like what i felt when she looked at me from across the room.
couldn't remember his name...
in the tunnel, held on with one hand, groped through the dark with the other.
made of straw, dry and brittle.
...like she couldn't get her head around it at all, just couldn't understand.
he's hiding in his basement, waiting for the quake.
...with his leg dangling out of the open boxcar.
she hit a pole, cracked the windshield.
will you be ok? will you be alright?
i'm not sure where to go.
i'm not sure where to go from here.
no, he doesn't look like that at all.
who are you talking to?
i'm not sure, i can't understand what he's trying to say.
he keeps looking over here. it's creeping me out.
she said her name was lydia. her wrists were very pale.
what's the matter with him?
raining again.
this coffee is cold.
i don't know, he wasn't very good. i just laid there through most of it.
no, i don't know what i'm supposed to feel. i just want to be left alone.
where am i supposed to put this?
you're going out like that?
she went over to the park, she's probably sitting by the fountain.
yes, he has red hair. very bright red hair, like a new penny.
i can't, i don't have the money right now.
will i see you again?
can i see you again?
where are you going?
is it really that bad?
hold on i have another call.
it's broken. or something's broken. it's not turning on.
This passage is a masterclass in capturing raw, unfiltered moments of disorientation and emotional fragility, with a voice that feels like a whispered confession in a crowded room. The writer crafts their prose with a deliberate fragmentation that mirrors the speaker's scattered thoughts and unresolved emotions, using short, abrupt sentences that create a sense of breathless urgency. The repetition of "i'm not sure where to go" and "i'm not sure" anchors the piece in a pervasive uncertainty, while the vivid, disjointed imagery—like the leg dangling from a boxcar or the pale wrists of a stranger named Lydia—lingers in the mind long after reading. The technical craft is impressive, with the writer using sensory details (cold coffee, creaking tension) to ground abstract anxieties, though some transitions feel abrupt, leaving the reader to fill in gaps that might benefit from a touch more connective tissue. The emotional impact is undeniable; the passage feels like eavesdropping on a series of fleeting, unresolved moments, each one tinged with loneliness, confusion, or quiet desperation. Themes of disconnection and existential dread weave through the text, amplified by the speaker's inability to fully articulate their feelings ("i don't know what i'm supposed to feel"). The writer's ability to blend the mundane with the surreal—like the man hiding in his basement or the woman cracking a windshield—creates a haunting, dreamlike quality that makes the piece feel both intimate and unsettling. It's a powerful, if slightly chaotic, exploration of modern alienation.
—mistral-small3.2:24b, 2026-09-27