Latest Short Fiction

“Death isn’t real until you see it up close. Smell it, taste it. Formaldehyde, chrysanthemums, stale reception cookies. It’s funny the things that stick with you. You sit there, half-listening to the eulogy, but words from the pulpit fall short. You try to fend off the sting of permanence long enough to retreat to somewhere you don’t have to pretend things will be all right. Then you leave and it’s over but nothing is the same.”

We’ve Already Grieved for You