Issue 5 – 55-Word Stories

I haven’t seen death. Formaldehyde nostalgia. Different specimens.
Organisms are human.

Just go in and out of the patient’s room
Don’t let anyone know you are nervous.

The home I left is a fresh tattoo: a throb at night, of longing.

Living a pandemic.
Loss. Jobs, people, freedoms.

They “function” only to see, yet…

I cannot transplant your heart.
I cannot cure your cancer.
I cannot stop death.
But,