GOOSEBERRY PIE LIT MAGAZINE

The Dead Guy’s Phone Keeps Calling Me

Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash

by Francine Witte

I answer, same as always. Nightfingers sweaty and clamped around me like a fist I can’t shake out of. I was the last kiss on the dead guy’s lips, all strawberry luscious but stinking of goodbye. He left after a comfort scotch or two. Later, he drove himself into a wall that was harder than unreturned love. Now, when he calls, I tell him, same as always, come back, maybe we can try again. 

__________

Francine Witte’s newest collection of Flash Fiction, RADIO WATER, has just been published by Roadside Press. Please visit her website at francinewitte.com

Facebook
Twitter

Recent Stories