I used to be like this junk. Drinking, smoking, a broken plastic person. A terrible father. A worse husband. Disreputable, divorced, self-destructive. But that’s before they were born. My grandchildren. They made me believe in myself because they believe in me. Now the man I was is just like this stuff, discarded. I’m sitting on this hill watching them frolic on the playground in the park below.
“C’mon down and play with us,” Johnny shouts.
“Yeah, Grandpa. Push me on the swing,” Cindy adds.
I stand up and walk toward my redemption.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioners challenge. Based on the photo prompt above, you’re supposed to write a complete story of no more than 100 words. Mine came in at 93.
To read more stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.