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.
Make every word count.
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