Shanelle Galloway Calvert

Shanelle Galloway Calvert started writing stories as soon as she knew how to hold a pencil, but before she even knew she wanted to be a writer. At the age of thirteen in a small town in Wyoming, she realized she wanted to be a writer. She studied creative writing at Utah State University and received her Bachelor’s degree in 2012. She received her MFA from Roosevelt University in 2017. Her work has appeared in Origami Journal, Adanna, and The Lindenwood Review. She currently resides in Tacoma, Washington and teaches at Pierce College.

Eighty-Seven

Dust hangs in the sunlight, floating white in the golden beam. Too much dust, Hugh thinks as he watches the particles meander through the light. It should be falling down, he thinks, with gravity. But the dust floats, moves diagonally, rising and falling and lifting again. Cora never would have stood for it. The TV flickers. Flat, grainy bluish faces turn camera and smile, flip their shining hair over their shoulders. Hugh can’t quite hear what they are saying. He hates having to change the volume up and down between programs and advertisements. They make the ads so loud these days, and the shows so quiet. He’s losing his hearing and he knows it.

Shanelle Galloway Calvert

Shanelle Galloway Calvert started writing stories as soon as she knew how to hold a pencil, but before she even knew she wanted to be a writer. At the age of thirteen in a small town in Wyoming, she realized she wanted to be a writer. She studied creative writing at Utah State University and received her Bachelor’s degree in 2012. She received her MFA from Roosevelt University in 2017. Her work has appeared in Origami Journal, Adanna, and The Lindenwood Review. She currently resides in Tacoma, Washington and teaches at Pierce College.

Eighty-Seven

Dust hangs in the sunlight, floating white in the golden beam. Too much dust, Hugh thinks as he watches the particles meander through the light. It should be falling down, he thinks, with gravity. But the dust floats, moves diagonally, rising and falling and lifting again. Cora never would have stood for it. The TV flickers. Flat, grainy bluish faces turn camera and smile, flip their shining hair over their shoulders. Hugh can’t quite hear what they are saying. He hates having to change the volume up and down between programs and advertisements. They make the ads so loud these days, and the shows so quiet. He’s losing his hearing and he knows it.

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