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

THE CHALLENGE:

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.

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

Join the fun!

Do I know you?

Do I know you?

You were my father.

So many years ago

What do I know?

I know you enjoyed alcohol.

I know you liked outdoors.

I know you worked hard.

Those are superficial.

You never shared you deepest thoughts.

Those were washed away

by streams from cans and bottles

as swift as the mighty Mississippi.

You were my father.

Did you love?  Did you care?

Did you hope?  Did you dream?

Unanswered questions fill my thoughts

so many years later.

You left me a child.

Now this  man understands.

I didn’t just lose you to alcohol.

Alcohol never let me know you.