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Submitted to Contest #74
Ding, my phone rings as the old man on the bed groans. That’s my dad, Albert, a Mexican man with tattoos and burnt scars all over him. We’ve been here for the past two weeks. The old man always says he will die tomorrow or in the next hour or the next ten seconds. No, daddy, you won’t die, long live daddy Albert, I always comforted him. My dad fixed pipes for his entire life. The long hours of bending down and kneeling on the floor killed his back. Almost fully curved, he walked around with a wooden stick I bought him before all of this. Two...
Submitted to Contest #73
No, please, please don’t. The dancers walking past me can hear me begging through the squeaky wooden door, but none of them stops to check on me. I don’t blame them; actually, I am glad they are not distracting themselves with me. They will be performing The Nutcracker for a group of middle schoolers soon. We are the only group in this area deep in the mountains and valleys. On tour from late November until Christmas, we go through the small towns and gain money and fame. The kids are brought to watch us every year, while the adults scroll t...
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