By: Laura K.

My grandfather died yesterday, of COVID. He was ninety, but not waiting to die. He used to fly planes into hurricanes and he adored his great-grandkids. 

There will be no funeral, no looking at pictures with my aunts. 

Over in the next universe, there is a hell of a party, with ice cubes in the white wine and everyone acting Midwestern stoic but elated, except my sister, who is just giddy. 

No invite to that party, yet. Instead, I feel guilty, but take my ‘bereavement leave.’ I buy some Christmas presents online and go for a walk.  And….that’s it. 


By: Steve Fite

Jack sat in the dark, only the illuminated candle sitting on top of a store-bought muffin provided any light.  He half-heartedly thought about singing “Happy Birthday” to himself since he had gone this far, but chose against it.

“Not dignified,” he thought.  He watched the candle burn for just a second before using a small puff of air to extinguish the flame.

He clapped twice in rapid succession, cueing the lights to come on.  He chuckled lightly at the gimmick purchased to bring a smile to other people, knowing he’d be the only one to see it.

He sighed lightly.

The Party

By: Amy Ball

I know the song I want blasted at my funeral: The Party by Regina Spekter. I want everyone to make the trumpet sounds at the end in a raucous chorus—maybe with kazoos and confetti poppers too. I told this to my mom. She didn’t think it was morbid. We just played it in the living room and danced, while I belted out the lyrics: You leave such a mess, but you’re so fun!

That got an eye roll.

“Thanks for dancing at my funeral, Mom.”

“Just this once, girl.” She moonwalks to the kitchen, waggling her finger at me.

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑