On the tenth blink, he’d know.
Under his hand, his boy’s thin neck, his bent back. All the years patting, bathing, cradling this back – this frail curve was the shape of all his vicarious yearning.
Was there any higher love?
His breath froze, his arm rose. The facade shattered.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this micro-story. Let me know what you think in the comments below.
The 50-Word Stories are based on a surrealist word game, in which a complete story must be told in precisely 50 words. – Jen
If you like my work, please consider making a donation to keep me at it, and be sure to follow this site and sign up for my newsletter to be notified of new works.