By Bobby Warner
He sat in the garden, facing the tulips. They were beautiful, so perfect-looking they seemed unreal.
She stepped from the veranda and said, “Out here again, are you?” There was a scowl on her face.
“I am, indeed,” he said with a sigh.
“You know you shouldn’t be here.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, glancing over where the swing once stood, thinking of his son.
“You could have saved him, if you hadn’t been drinking.” She turned away.
“Don’t you think I know that,” he called after her.
He looked at the tulips again, noticing how they seemed to have wilted.
Wow. This is good.
Many thanks, Jennifer. Comments like yours are what help keep writers writing! Much appreciated.
Like this.
Thanks for the kind words, Lee.
Shades of Raymond Carver. Strong story, Bobby.