by Scott Thouard
A micro fiction about
the dating life of a man with the face of an artichoke is published
online. The web magazine then goes offline, becomes defunct and remains
inaccessible. This haven of the hoarded word is beyond my reach. I’m a
naive, King Canute type who has tried to second guess swamping digital
waves. The disappeared words are now stillborns and their tiny skeletons
are vaporous. I miss them.
Scott Thouard prays that Six Sentences remains an undying Juggernaut for writers.