Category: Short Story
Patrick Trotti Stacey stared at the blank screen of her cell phone in her right palm. In her left arm was her baby. The living room was dark except for the iridescent glow from the small television in the corner. The phone was one of those flip ones that she bought at WalMart. It was […]
Supply missions never get appreciated. If you bring home a box of crackers and some rags, you get a golf clap. If you bring home nothing, you’re vilified. But if you bring home two death wounds and a shrug, you get a brief funeral around a Duraflame and become a hero. A disgusting legacy. I’d rather have the crackers.