I guess, my father was responsible for that fatal house fire after all…

Although, I have to say, I didn’t get to see three of my grandparents…

And then, as one long, warm, summer’s day began to fade, my dad and I, who had gone for a drive out into the country, fell upon an old quaint pub. We settled on a bench by the gentle river, a full cool pint of bitter sat, tantalising, before us.

My dad had just finished a drag on his cigarettee and tapped the excess ash into the convenient tray. He stared into it and sighed.

I looked him in the eye long an hard, a faint twinkle nestled in those noble windows: his soul was laid bare.

I turned to him and asked:
“It looks like grandma, doesn’t it?”

My father was surprised, he nodded and shared, just with me, a wistful smile. That smile became a chuckle, the chuckle became a maniacal cackle.

I guess, my grandma must have requested a burial…

I suddenly saw an elderly woman who looks familiar but I can’t remember who….until I saw my father also looked at her too with strange expression. Suddenly I remember and start to look at this woman more deeply…..yes I can see the resemblance.

After she left with her children and grandchild, I turned to my father and told him, “She looks like Grandma, doesn’t she?”
My father was surprised and nod and only smile in wistful way. I guess again, he must’ve missed his mother…

I’m pretty sure that means no more big-macs. ;)

R.I.P