The Glass Child

If you’re looking for a counterweight to my usual cheeriness, you might get yourself the latest issue of Ruminate, which has my short story, “The Glass Child.” Here’s the opening paragraph:

This is the blood, David tells himself. He twists open the bottle and pours its dark content into a blue plastic cup. The label declares that this is Balanced NutritionTM, but David whispers: “Sanguis Christi.” He feels a shiver of sacrilege. On the days when his strength has worn thin as thread, it’s the wisps of liturgical Latin, of all things, that give comfort. This is why he whispers Sanguis Christi as he fills his daughter’s cup.


  1. karen

    I read ‘The Glass Child’. Dear Tony Woodlief, thank you for writing down sorrow,loss and pain, for holding fast & living to tell. Go well, Karen

  2. MMM


    deep, sobbing breaths as the story hits my GodSpot. What a lovely, wonderful piece despite its sadness and pathos. As a matter of fact, I think that makes it lovely.

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