New Flash Fiction: Speaker for the Unborn

I stand here today holding the hands of the dead.

How I was given voice I cannot say. The unborn chose me to speak because I alone among us, the unbirthed, have grown. Untamed by the shackles of statuary and gravestones, my spirit roamed free above the Hudson River for the first sixteen years of my unlife. Truly unwanted, as they say, my parents did not get to bury me...

Read the full story at Write Wild . . .