The boy became six years / he told others.
“On that morning, the sun was hard on everyone’s eyes and as he looked in the direction of both the house and the sun / he struggled to identify the two figures sitting on chairs as they were buried in the shadow of the small wooden porch // the sun’s rays made his eyes squint and he could feel his skin being burned by the dry wind and 101 degrees weather // nonetheless, he approached the faint voices and it was when his hand touched his grandfather that he noticed his father’s face was covered with tears // seeing this, he went over and sat on his Grandfather’s lap to watch his father deal with the drama // it was at that moment, that he learned his father / when he was six years old // the memory is so vivid inasmuch it was at that moment that he also learned to like the flavor of beer, for as his grandfather spoke his grandfather’s face was but inches from his and his breath was rich with the aroma of ale // on that day / for the first time / he noticed his father’s face was defined by facial wrinkles and these lines / which defined him / never changed until the day he saw him dead // and at that impressionable moment when the three of them were together / his father was then, forty-eight years old and his grandfather eighty-one // and the three of them, the same age”.
Short Stories
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Wow!