I should be sad after the call has ended, but I am not, surely not.
“Your father is dead.”
‘Oh’, is the only word I was able to say.
“His remains will be at the Grace Baptist Church starting tonight.”
“Will you be there?”
“We hope to see you.”
“I will try. It’s late. Bye.”
He is my father, the man who gave those millions (or billions?) of sperms. Luckily (or not?) I won the race and made my way to my mom’s womb.
He is my father, but for him, I am just his illegitimate daughter. A daughter he accidentally made when he raped their home’s maid. A daughter with a dirty old mother who begged for financial support. A beg he never heeded.
Shaking with anger and decades-old rage, damn!
I promised myself I won’t cry because of him again!
Please, tears, don’t!
Word count: 150
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Sunday Photo Fiction
Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.