Status: complete
Papa (short story)
Favorite one
She knew he had read it. It was blatant– the sorrow that drooped down his eyes, much like that of a basset hounds. The red inflamed visage that read –Guilt? Pain? Anguish? – Perhaps all of them.
The ironic part was, what he had read did not belong to her. Those words placed as tiles in a Scrabble-game, could not be matched to her own writing style.
If he had paid attention, he would’ve avoided needless pain.
He smarted and cried. But what was she to do make it better? No, no, no, that would call for humility on her part. The only thing left was simple to let the tears roll. Allow him to swim in misplaced sorrow.
The ironic part was, what he had read did not belong to her. Those words placed as tiles in a Scrabble-game, could not be matched to her own writing style.
If he had paid attention, he would’ve avoided needless pain.
He smarted and cried. But what was she to do make it better? No, no, no, that would call for humility on her part. The only thing left was simple to let the tears roll. Allow him to swim in misplaced sorrow.