One of our members will soon be publishing this short story. Please stop by and pick up a copy.
Outside the air was cold and inside Florence Keenan’s blood was cooling. It had been three hours since her heart had given its final struggle with the Angel of death and lost. With each final pump her pain had increased ten-fold until Florence prayed for death. With her last exhale she’d mentally screamed in terror as reality sank in. She was going to die. Her time had come and she wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. So terribly bad did she want to live. And then it was all over but she didn’t immediately realize it.
…… Standing over detective Bill Smythe’s shoulder Florence began to read his notes. “They’re like reading chicken scratches,” she harrumphed . “Imagine a grown man whose handwriting is worse than a second graders.”
Slowly as she studied the page she began to see similarities and discerned his letter styling…
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This story by our own Elizabeth Rye is a great read. Get it when it comes out!
DJM
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