{This is in response to a photo prompt from Friday Fictioneers. The task is to write a hundred words, inspired by the picture. Thank you, for the prompt, and thanks for reading!}
Tommy finally made the pilgrimage. Down the steep bank, under the bridge.
He met his father, here, two years ago. For the first—and last—time.
This spot. Smelly, muddy, derelict. Like his father.
Tommy remembered rolling him over, face-up. Suddenly, those self-same, crystal-blue eyes were staring up into his. A moment later, the bum passed out.
For weeks, Tommy returned nightly. Hoping for a word.
Gone, without a trace.
Squinting, now, Tommy noticed graffiti. Splashing toward a piling, he stopped.
“T-O-M-M-Y.”
Could that man–best forgotten–have scrawled this, to remember his son?
Tommy touched his name.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Such a moving story. So much packed in the 100 words. A pretty amazing feat. Well done!
Thank you Lisa!
So many words left unspoken. A reminder to speak them while we have the opportunity.
Exactly.
I can almost think that the father was too ashamed to face his son directly… very good story.
Yes that’s the feeling I had, too. It was saving face, in a way.
Dear Andrea,
Such a tender, sad, well told story.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Thank you Rochelle!
It is so incredibly sad that Tommy has only this one small possibility that his dad ever game him a thought. Really well-written.
Thank you granonine! Dont worry, purely fictional!?
I know–but it happens.
I like the ending, at least he had one thing to hold on to. It’s better than having nothing at all. A very poignant tale, written so well. =)
Thank you Brenda. Yes, something is better than nothing, and I think he needed that little bit of encouragement.
I found your story really poignant. Like the song “Papa Was A Rolling Stone” says, all the father left him was alone but I did love the name scrawled there, it heightened the sadness very much for me.
Thank you, Jilly. That song does fit with this story! Glad it hit home with you.
Sometimes shame just takes over, good on Tommy searching out his father.
It’s too bad they couldn’t have had a healthy relationship, but at least that one thing is quite a happy moment. It proves he had a bit of goodness in him.
Yes. He seems to have given his son at least a moment of recognition.
These two seem to be rejecting each other while secretly craving contact, very moving tale
Thank you Michael. I see that, too.
Really touching story. You said so much without saying much. My eyes became misty.
Oh thank you Abhijit. Im happy my story touched you.
Now we are left to wonder how they ended up like this…
Well done, Andrea.
Thanks Dale. Indeed.
a beginning for a novel perhaps. there’s lot of potentials here.
Thanks for the vote of confidence!
What a sad story. Makes me wonder what happened to his father that he ended up in such a position and why did he choose to run instead of stay to meet his son? You weaved a great story, Andrea!
Thank you Jade! Now that would take more than 100 words!?
Ah, that is so sad and poignant. Nicely done, Andrea.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
Thank you Susan!
I hope he’s drawn some comfort from that whether it’s true or not.
Thank you Sandra. Yes,sometimes the good characteristics we impute to virtual strangers can be very inspiring and motivating, even if there is little evidence to back them up. On the other hand, if the father did leave this memento, it could be interpreted as a very grand gesture, considering his limited means and his only sporadic bouts of consciousness.
Touching, though he could have stayed to meet his son properly. I liked “Smelly, muddy, derelict. Like his father.”!
Thanks draliman. The father is definitely not, at this stage in his life anyway, a particularly appealing character. Yes, I was so pleased to discover the double meaning of derelict: both as an adjective, abandoned or run-down, and, in the noun sense, “a destitute hopeless social misfit.” ( Merriam Webster)
As touching as it is to leave a message, I think this may be one dad it is better for him to move on from.
I think that sometimes, when people are deprived of the attention they crave, they will grasp at any straw, any indication, that the attention or love they seek was there, all along, and that they merely neglected to notice it. ?