by Martin A. Ramos
They found her dead and naked on her bed. (And even in death they said she was beautiful.) Her hand on the telephone a sign, surely a signal. This, her last attempt to reach out to us. And only the operator there to comfort her (in her last hour before the curtain falls). And all she said was, “Sorry, wrong number.”
Martin A. Ramos is a writer from Hormigueros, Puerto Rico. He was raised an educated in Chicago, IL. He has published short stories and poetry, and is working on a novel.