“People are such shit!” my sister screamed as she overarmed her phone against the wall.

“There’s just so much of the good stuff to go around, you know” said her boyfriend the Archangel Gabriel, voice muffled by his wings as, lantern raised, he peered into the fridge. She bitterly resented being lectured, by immortals most of all, and I hated it when he and she fought.

“He only created so much soul back then, omnipotent or otherwise, no one could have anticipated the demand” said Gabe (as we called him around the house). With fierce hand gestures and a scalding voice my sister went on and on about whatever.

All I could hear was Laurie Anderson singing:

“oh Daddy Daddy, it was just like you said
now [that] the living out number the dead."

Doug Mathewson:
writes very short fiction that occasionally changes of its own volition into poetry or essay forms. Previously he has as worked as a photographer and story teller. He lives on the eastern shore of Connecticut with his poet - artist wife Gemma. Most recently he has been published by The Boston Literary Magazine, Doorknobs & Body Paint, Pen-Pricks, e-Muse-zine, riverbabble, Six Sentences and Tuesday Shorts. His current project, True Stories From Imaginary Lives, can be found at www.little2say.org

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