Did you catch the first Classic Author feature of the year on Monday? This short story is a great tidbit feature to show you the depth of emotion you can find in Gabriel Morgan's work. Enjoy this excerpt if you can't decide if you want to check out the 700ish word short story (seriously, why not?!) 

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You remember, don’t you, how gray April was that year. It was chilly and rained for days on end; we thought we’d never see the sun again. It was as if the gods were angry with us, and we needed to make amends somehow. Sacrifice a lamb. Or maybe something a little less biblical - floss more regularly perhaps, or give up coffee for a month.

Then, finally, that last Saturday in April, we wake to pale yellow bars of light slanting thru the venetian blinds, slicing the old quilt into a hundred strips of sun and shadow. I remember how you held your hand up, poking a finger into the sunshine like the Pillsbury doughboy commercial.

Funny, the things that stay with you. I’d just replaced the battery in the kitchen wall clock, and I can hear it clear in the bedroom, ticking off the seconds until he sits up and faces me, a closed, uncomfortable look on his whiskery face.

“I’ve been offered a job,” he begins hesitantly. “One that encompasses all the things I want to do.”

He was an inveterate student, pouring through the class catalogs of the three universities within driving distance of our house with the anticipatory enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. His words should have been cause for celebration, but the tone in which they are delivered spell our doom, and I sense it immediately.

“But…” I prompt, when he stalls out, crumpling a handful of sheet in one fist as his gaze flits to mine, then away, unable to land for more than a split second.

 

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