Five – A Flash Fiction

 

 

He would not – could not –  stop repeating the number five, over and over again, sometimes louder, other times barely whispering it. This was normal behavior, they told me, normal for him at least, and assured me that on good days his uttering sounded like a happy recital of long-lost memories. They were lost alright, lost within me, but I did not tell them, knowing that they would think, I was as crazy as him, belonging in the same place he would never leave again. I knew the meaning of his mumbles because I heard them before, twenty years ago, when I saw my Dad that last time – and I was five.

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2015
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