fwriction

This short story is one of my favorites of all time. Let’s get that out of the way right now. In Frank Caldwell, Haslett crafted a character who has stuck with me since my initial reading. Caldwell is a bastard, a cold, seventy-three-year-old man, but Haslett brings him to life, makes the reader empathize with him. I hope you feel the same.

Though originally published in Zoetrope All-Story (and in Haslett’s collection, You Are Not a Stranger Here), I found this fantastic illustrated version, designed by Thomas Quinn as part of his degree project at the Rhode Island School of Design. Enjoy today’s (illustrated) Story of the Day: 

Two things to get straight from the beginning: I hate doctors and have never joined a support group in my life. At seventy-three, I’m not about to change. The mental-health establishment can go screw itself on a barren hilltop in the rain before I touch their snake oil or listen to the visionless chatter of men half my age. I have shot Germans in the fields of Normandy, filed twenty-six patents, married three women, survived them all, and am currently the subject of an investigation by the IRS, which has about as much chance of collecting from me as Shylock did of getting his pound of flesh. Bureaucracies have trouble thinking clearly. I, on the other hand, am perfectly lucid.