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.