“It was Samson’s favourite game, but even he knew in his little boy’s way that his brother was gone and would not be returning, and they would never be playing the game again. He’d seen it in his parents’ harrowed faces, he’d heard it in their sobs and cries. He’d watched from the staircase as they spoke in the living room, and though he couldn’t hear the policemen’s low, hushed voices, he’d seen the way his mother folded over and crumpled into his father’s shaking arms.”

“If only I had been the boy my father wanted me to be. If only I could be like all the other boys. Maybe then he would’ve kept me close and noticed when I was gone. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to be gone at all.”

“Sometimes he gets caught up in his own interiority; all by himself, lost in that constantly rushing sea of quiet thoughts and contemplations. As if the world is just his small apartment, that burnt out light above the kitchen sink, the stained and empty mug on the table, and him sitting silently on the couch.”