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Cathy Fiorello


A family therapist and church musician by day, Cathy Fiorello is a voracious reader and scribbler of stories and poems by night. She has been published in Haruah – Breath of Heaven, Ruminate, Families, the Frontline of Pluralism, Connecticut Literary Anthology, 2021 and She received Honorable Mentions in the Writer’s Digest Short Story Contest, Ruminate’s Janet McCabe poetry contest, and won first place in the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writer’s Conference poetry contest.

Cathy and her husband Sam have twenty-one people in their immediate family: five children, their five spouses, and eleven sparkling grandchildren.

Visit Cathy online at:

Featured Title



Christian Fiction


Glass orbs, rainbowed with oil slick, floated on the surface of the lake while sunlight winked through scattered clouds. A waterfall thundered in the distance. Somewhere far away, a violin played a soft and lilting tune. This time she was in a boat. It’s bottom, a deep blue-green, began to shimmer and jump like cells dividing. Each jump made it more transparent until Grace could look through it into the water below. She saw fish swimming, tentacles, eels.

On the bottom of the lake? A body.

A tentacle wrapped around the body and carried it up to the surface of the water.

Clearly—it was her, eyes wide open—
Grace woke up with a start. Cold sweat prickled her arms and face. She pinched at her skin. Still here. Still alive.

She fought her way out of the quilt wrapped around her ankles and charged to the bathroom, hoping she wouldn’t get sick along the way. Afterwards, she slid to the floor and lay down on the cold tiles, her breath frantic, her head pounding.
This had been her life since, two days before, she’d flipped over the handlebars of her bike on the way home from work and smashed her head into the pavement. She’d loaned her car to her sister, Mimi, to take her driver’s test, foolishly thinking that riding a bike home in the rain would be no problem. Since then, watery nightmares had tormented her day and night. Each time, she saw herself under water, drowning.

Or just plain dead.