Father’s Day

Father’s Day

 

Happy Father’s Day to all the dad’s reading. Whether you are the natural father, a step-father, or a surrogate; kudos for making a difference in the life of a child.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. This is a photo I took at a local park.  If you are interested in reading more stories inspired by the photo below, you can find them by clicking the little blue frog here

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Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

I watched the old man from a distance. He sat on a park bench, feeding bread crumbs to a gaggle of geese. They reciprocated their hospitality with annoying honks and droppings at his feet. His wrinkles and white hair suggested a man older than his physical years. He wore second-hand khakis and a rumpled t-shirt. Neither looked washed.

This is not what I had pictured at all.

I returned to the park daily, blending in with the park lunch crowd. Simply observing. Then I started following him, curious where he went after leaving the park. His routine never varied; a stop at the grocer for a can of tuna and bread. I wondered how he survived on such measly rations. A block later, he entered a run-down building. I found his name on the mailbox. Five flights up and no elevator.

For days I contemplated my next move. It was time to leave or finish what I started. I chose the latter.

When the old man opened the door, I saw recognition from behind his clouded eyes. I saw something else. Fear. Rightfully so.

Pointing the gun at his head, I pulled the trigger.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy

word count 198

 

Frozen

Frozen

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Jill Wiscoff for this week’s prompt. My story this week is a bit dark, much like the  night sky in the photograph.  

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Photo Credit: Jill Wiscoff

April no longer knew what to do, so she did nothing but watch the empty darkness of the Manhattan skyline from her apartment window.

How can they go on as if nothing is wrong, she thought?

Don’t they know the world is not a safe place?

Gun violence.

Gang violence.

Terrorism.

She had not always felt this way.

Once she was like them.

Bold. A free spirit.

Unaware of the dangers one faced when walking out their front door.

She hears a gentle knock and a familiar voice.

“Sweetheart, it’s Jack. Open the door.”

April froze.

Was it really?