Head of The Table

Wish granted

The cry of a son, night after night sheering with grief for the deeds of his father, was it an accident was it not? It doesn’t matter, not anymore, the fun times of his father poisoned his lungs, corroded each cell day after day, and he the perpetrator, his own father was nowhere in sight, ghosted his entire family for what money, glory, power, a mistress? He lacked answers, answers for questions he pondered all those days he saw kids his age with two of opposite gender while he had one, questions that brought tears to his mother, brought him endless nights, he filled the gaps with his own but no… there was only one answer. On his hospital bed, he wished for one thing as his clock approached death time, “Where is my dad?”, he couldn’t ask his mother, the last memory he would curse was his mother’s tears because of his wish, so as he glared at his dripper, drop after drop he counted, “One, two… eleven, thirteen… forty two...” he had nothing else to do but to count till he fell asleep