Lately he has appeared stricken to me, as though impenetrably sad or angry. No more the happy, youthful curve of cheek, the strength in the glint of his eye. I walk on needles and pins, trying for the joy once so abundant, then realize, it is not anger that sags his face. It is age.
The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most.
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