Father or Facade?

Copyright – Beth Carter

Cleaning out his drawers I found numerous photos of women.  Who were they?  Does he know them?  Are these pictures the reason he didn’t come home so many nights?  I must dispose of them before mama sees them.  I don’t know what her response would be but it’s a moot point.  What a waste of a man.  A father.  

The town loved him. The big shots who frequent the bars worshiped him.  He was a well-respected citizen in the community.  His funeral services at the church Monday overflowed with people paying their final respects.  His life was a facade.  He lied to all of them too.  But they didn’t live within these walls to know the real him. 

This is fiction written for FRIDAY FICTIONEERS


Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.


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41 thoughts on “Father or Facade?

  1. I think the photos are the most interesting thing in the guy’s car. I’m glad you chose to be inspired by them, and you created a fine story. Everyone has secrets that loved ones needn’t see. I have know people like that father. Your son was matter of fact about it and that made it sadder.

  2. Good story about how what most see of a person is often not what that person is really like and the effect of that difference on the family. I’ve always loved “a moot point” so thanks for using it. 🙂


  3. this is so often the way things happen. I found a whole photo album of my Dad’s from the 60’s with pictures of women I never knew, and never will. thank you for sharing this poignant piece of writing.

  4. that’s called a “street angel, house devil.” well done.

    here – “The town loved him. The big shots who frequent the bars worship him.” loved is past tense, but worship is present. think about keeping it consistent.

  5. You have described the exquisite pain of the alcoholic’s family with great sensitivity and depth in a very terse and word limited manner.

    The image of “powerful” people at the bars, the façade presented to the world, the drunks that roll by at the funerals offering homage… the lies that the family endures and suffers with. the images that must be presented, and the deep and wounding hurts…

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