By Loré McLaren
For his seventieth birthday, Leo returned to his home town.
The town had gentrified; little remained of what he’d left at fifteen. He was glad of that. He checked into an upscale hotel, ate dinner at the hotel restaurant, then relaxed until dark.
The old cemetery was sad and unkempt, but the white marble grave marker gleamed in the moonlight. For the next several hours, Leo’s mallet and chisel removed every trace of his parents from that hunk of rock.
Later, while showering, he could swear that the round, purple-brown burn scars on his arms and chest seemed to be fading.
An enormous amount said in just 101 words. Brilliant.
Wow. Sad story told so well.
Powerful, and chilling it what was left unsaid.
Omg!!! The betrayal!!!
The indelible scars on the inside, will they ever blur?
Oh my goodness. This said so much in such a compact space. Well done!