Here’s one more plug for a recent short story of mine, written exclusively for that fine literary organ The Honest Ulsterman.
Exeunt (A Film)
The details concerning the exact circumstances of your death are too banal to get into. You will not be able to consider them for any amount of time anyway. It is too late for that. That luxury will perhaps will be left to others, later.
Time. An ethereal concept for much of your life it has finally – suddenly and irrevocably – become something real and tangible. Something measurable. And it has run out. Only in its diminishing does it become something concrete, something that can be chipped down into increments and counted out like beans.
You finally see it for what it is: an infinite road upon which only a short stretch each of us walks.
And you have wasted your walk. You have frittered it on distractions and details and it has taken something loud and hard and fast and irreversible to bring this to light.
Read the full story here.