Short Fiction by AJG
Updated: Jun 4, 2019
CAROLYN THEODORE BURTANSKI stood in nothing but her socks and underpants and stared at the white smoke spilling its way up the wall of her storage closet. The smoke came out in burps and trickles, liquid-like, rising along a thick grey wire toward an electrical box. At first sight, awe rose in her heart which spoke to the glory and presence of God, a pillar of smoke here in her closet, but then a familiar pang sliced through the glimmer. Judgement—Carolyn lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, the closet filling with the smell of molten wire—this is most certainly judgement.
...Continue Reading "The Ecstasy of Saint Carolyn Theodore Burtanski" and accompanying interview as published in Image.