The Unfathomable Four.

Chapter 3

The Art of Conversation.


"So drown me and if you can,
Or we could just have conversation."
- City and Colour, Day Old Hate

Conversation was a foreign concept to Carolyn. She didn't particularly understand why. Perhaps it was because nobody taught her, or maybe it was because she saw her opinions as worthless. Invalid. She's never really thought about it before. Not until now, not until she was forced to.

She stood in the doorway, ushering guests inside, a perfectly constructed smile causing her cheeks to bunch and her pretty facial features to take on an almost feverish expression. People looked at her as if she were a mad woman finding some sick pleasure in her child's funeral.

Funeral.

Was that what this was? Oh.

Carolyn felt her throat tighten. Her mother had never listened to her, never allowed her an opinion. Carolyn hated her for that, yet here she was, dressed in black, mourning death all because she didn't communicate with her child. All because she didn't see it as a necessity.

Maybe, just maybe if she had of sat down and talked, sat down and communicated, sat down and had a Conversation, this wouldn't have happened. If she had of taken the time to listen...to understand.

Conversation...it sounded so strange to her, so surreal. But the guilt wasn't, nor was the pain. Those were real. Too real. Like a rabid animal clawing at her insides.

If only she had just conversed. If only she had. If only...

Who was she kidding? The Art of Conversation was dead.

Just like her child.

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