I
used to walk past that simple wooden door with its chain that said
something but did little. I knew I should not approach and go through
the door, yet that which was supposed to stop me was so pathetic it
seemed more like an invitation.
From the age of six I would wonder what was behind that door. At 13 I found out.
I met a man who didn’t want to be bothered.
A fascinating man who’d made himself lonely following a much too full young life.
We became firm friends and I accompanied him in his final years.
Return to pick another ending.
From the age of six I would wonder what was behind that door. At 13 I found out.
I met a man who didn’t want to be bothered.
A fascinating man who’d made himself lonely following a much too full young life.
We became firm friends and I accompanied him in his final years.
Return to pick another ending.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt:
PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr
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