October 4, 2024 | Robert Wimer

A detailed pencil sketch of a somber hospital room. At the center, a frail woman lies in a hospital bed, connected to an oxygen machine, her face showing a mix of anger and sorrow. Beside her, a teenage boy sits, holding her hand, with tears in his eyes. In the background, two men stand in quiet conversation, one older and one younger. The older man, calm and composed, appears to be a pastor, while the younger man looks more concerned. The room is softly lit, with deep shadows adding to the heavy atmosphere of tension and unresolved emotions.

“Bound By Bitterness”

Flash Fiction

The hospital hallway stretched out before them, cold, sterile, and seemingly endless. Every step Gabriel took echoed, bouncing off the polished floor and fading into the antiseptic air. His father, Pastor Samuel, walked beside him—quiet, steady, his face etched with the weariness of a man who had seen too much. […]Read more »

A dimly lit hospital room with flickering fluorescent lights is depicted in a pencil-sketch style. In the center, an elderly man lies in bed, his face frozen in terror, gripping the sheets tightly. Dark, shadowy figures loom at the foot of the bed, barely discernible but ominous. Several frightened family members stand to the side, watching in horror. The room is cramped, with medical carts and a partially drawn curtain hinting at another bed nearby. The sketch uses sharp lines and dramatic shading to enhance the eerie, supernatural atmosphere.

“The Final Hour”

Flash Fiction

I’ve seen death many times. You get used to it working in hospice. There’s a pattern to it, like the soft ticking of a clock. Time winding down, second by second, until—stop. It’s not usually a violent thing. Most people slip away quietly, surrounded by family, love, or at least […]Read more »