contact Me

Use the form on the right to contact me.

I might not be the world's best expert on pens, paper, ink, and the like but I hope to be able to answer your questions.


If you just want to chat, I usually have a cup of coffee near. Sit down and pull up a chair.


123 Street Avenue, City Town, 99999

(123) 555-6789


You can set your address, phone number, email and site description in the settings tab.
Link to read me page with more information.


Inktober - Flash fiction - Ring

Fr. Kyle Sanders

Hey y’all. I’ve been away. I have excuses, whatever. I’ve been wanting to get back, and so here is an opportunity to do so. Over the course of the month of October I will be sharing my Hobonichi Techo sized flash fiction with various prompts for Inktober. These stories are raw and unedited, and are just trying capture ideas or work on the craft in some small way. I can’t draw, but I can write. So without any more fanfare:


”Have you seen it?” said Jessica.

”Seen what?” replied Alphonse.

”My ring. I lost my ring. I had it this morning, but it’s gone now.”

”What ring?”

With tears in her eyes she looked at him with deep sorrow. “When I was 13, my dad took my sister and I to the carnival. We rarely got to spend time with him because he worked all the time, and evenings and weekends he had no energy. So it was special, the three of us going out. We passed one of those rigged shooting booths and I saw a ring as a prize so I convinced my father to try and win it. He did, on the first time, and the second time. My sister and I both got these cheap rings.”

She wiped tears out of her eyes with a kleenex. “A year later my dad was driving my sister to a baseball game, a love they shared but I didn’t. A drunk driver ran their car off the road and into the interstate wall. Both died. That ring is a reminder of them that I can keep with me always.”

“Miss Jessica,” Alphonse responded, “The ring is hanging around your neck. You wear it everyday.”

”Oh!” Jessica’s hand reaches up for the ring to stroke it once more.

”Where are we?” she asked Alphonse.

”Riverbank Nursing Home, Miss Jessica. You’ve been here three years.”