The wallpaper, which was once white, is now a deep yellow from years of smoke abuse. I look to the chair, where he always sat, until now, and I picture him sitting there, fragile and limp. I’m glad I hadn’t found him. I am glad it had been the nurse. He always complained that I never visited, but his actions suggested he preferred to be alone. I know now this was an act, but its too late. I look down once more to the squiggly handwriting on the notebook paper:
Sorry I didn’t call more. Love dad.
I’m Sorry Too.
Authors Note: I created this blog in order to express my creativity and to hone my writing, that is why today I have chosen to post a piece of fiction–flash fiction to be exact–that i intend to enter in a flash fiction contest. Sorry if anyone objects to this type of writing but its just what i was feeling like today.