Flash fiction piece with prompt words that spark a memory of my father.
|Snivelling, and swiping tears from my eyes, I limp through the back door into the kitchen. All I can think about is finding my father. He'll give me the sympathy I need. He'll make my pain go away. That's what a Dad does. When I catch sight of him, I sob louder. "Whoa there," he whispers, "what have you come to complain about ? Is it something I said? Did you squabble with your brother again?" At first, all I can do is shake my head, and snuffle. Rubbing my back, he waits patiently for my breathing to be rid of snorts and sniffles. When I seem to be calmer, he asks another question. "So, is the other guy bleeding, too? What happened?" I hesitate, then shrug my shoulders. Suddenly, the words won't come. "Do you need me to investigate? Why don't you show me what hurt you." He holds out his big hand, and I slip one of mine into it. I lead him back outside to the sidewalk where my bicycle sprawls. Seeing it, my tears fall anew. Hunkering down, my father studies the pavement. After a minute, he gestures to me to look with him. Clearing his throat he says, "Ah, I see the damage you caused when you fell. Look at all of these cracks, you must have hit this poor sidewalk pretty hard. See?" As I knelt beside him, I marvelled at what I'd done. Soon, I wasn't crying, I was grinning proudly. I'd never realized my own strength before. 254 words|