Category: obit

  • Miss Beautiful

    A pair of pale lips fluttered together in front of the mirror. They belonged to Miss Beautiful, an ageless woman sitting in front of her vanity, wrapped in a creamy silk dressing gown.

  • A Humble Citizen

    Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine “This is why,” Wallace wrote, “after learning what a disgrace this man has been to his family and to God, we cannot let this criminal spend another year as our Mayor. The rules should apply to everyone. EVERYONE”— His hand hovered over the keyboard like a magician casting a spell.…

  • The Earthquake of ‘59

    Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine People don’t think much about earthquakes in North Carolina. Hurricanes, sure. Floods, landslides, lightning strikes, even hailstorms. But when the floors in Liz’s Lewisville living room begin to vibrate, sending her collection of ceramic Santa Claus figurines trembling to the edges of their glass display case, Liz thinks of earthquakes.…

  • Assisted Living

    Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine At half past three, Dan pushed open the door to the Pioneer Assisted Living community room. Agnes and Leon were already there, unlocking the wheels on the folding tables and ushering them against pale yellow walls. He saluted a hello and moseyed over to the kitchen—which was really just what…

  • George’s Surprise

    (Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine) On Friday mornings, George awoke extra early to make meatballs. As the sun peaked its way up through the kitchen window, George rolled the doughy mounds of pork and veal into flesh-colored orbs. Shaping them with two, cupped hands, he imagined himself a modern day, Italian-American Prometheus, giving rise to…

  • Sunday Hands

    Laura Jean Jackson smoothed the cream colored wool skirt over the summit of her behind before settling into wooden pew with a creak. She sat here each Sunday, and the aural pattern of the creaking as she shimmied side to side–long, short, long long, short–was familiar as the hymns in the thick book on her…

  • Bruce and the Missing Claw

      Near the end of his overnight shift, while vacuuming the large rug in the Beryl Hotel lobby, its maroon and marigold floral patterns repeating in dizzy rows, Bruce knelt down to inspect the clawfoot on one of the armchairs. There were four armchairs in the lobby. Four armchairs. Sixteen legs. Four claws to a…