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.
