A Flash Fiction inspired by my Grandfather.
|Sat hunched over on a rickety stool; Albert gazed through the window to the back garden. Fixated on a bird table, as his animal friends devour a soggy Yorkshire pudding, he’d leave out every day. A feast prepared in the morning after mustering strength in his worn frame and creaky joints.
Nature, Albert adored. He would sit with his back to the television, which remained in the corner gathering dust and spider-webs. Untouched for years. He cared not for man-made entertainment. The squirrels, the fledglings and cats, they’d come and provide a daily spectacle.
He'd cheer as the gluttons were being chased off by the rest and bang his walking stick against the pane of glass whenever the young were being attacked or not getting a fair share. It was bitter-sweet. Like life, he witnessed good and evil play out. Right there, on his land.
When the food had been consumed, he then drifted into a daydream, recollecting memories. He would think back to the days as a young boy, deep in the mines. The smell of rock and clinking of pickaxes still reverberating down his spine. He remembered turning fourteen, moving away to work in a factory, where he became his own man. To then find that blossomed into a family.
A bird’s song would stir him back into reality, a thank you from one of his patrons. A phone sat on the side table, pristinely cleaned. He’d it up to talk about the day. Not a word would be spoken back. But in Albert’s mind, his departed wife was listening on the other end.
“You should have seen them today,Sheila,” he always opened the conversation along with a beaming smile and a tear in his eye.
For she remained in his heart until his dying breath.