The short fiction of j hardy carroll
In the late spring of of 2013, my father was stricken with a swift and sudden illness that took him from a reasonably healthy 76-year-old to a bottled oxygen-dependent invalid in a matter of a few hours. In a few weeks, he was dead. In his final days, he was unable even to speak. My father, a…
Perhaps it was the long despair of seasickness that kept him to his bunk as the Carpathia opened New York Harbor. Perhaps it was fear. He never spoke of it, the long nights of silently crying into his blanket as remorse overtook him, the longer days when he could not sleep and was left to wander the vast, anonymous…