15 Minute Short Story

While at work a coworker came up to me and proposed that we write together. We ended up finding some random prompt online that said something along the lines of

Write a story about someone discovering something that had been lost for awhile

So I wrote something brief and I'm suprisingly happy with how it turned out. 500ish words or one page. Hope you enjoy 😄

My grandfather is an ole bat, a wrecking ball, a misanthrope, and a downright pain in the ass, but at the end of the day he’s still my grandfather.

I told my dad we should just put him in a home, let the nurses shoot horse tranquilizers up his veins till his temper became manageable. My dad didn’t talk to me the rest of the day after that conversation. So now, I’m stuck with the curmudgeon. Part of my dues for living at home requires that I take care of him when no one else can, and because of the seasonal nature of an accountant’s job, my dad’s always gone, and I’ve become the sole provider as of late.

Cooking, check.

Cleaning, check.

Wiping his ass, check.

And all the while I get yelled at for doing so. It bothered me at first, but overtime I’ve grown numb like everyone else who’s been abused. Oh, and I’ve developed this rash on my thigh that won’t go away.

But after one particularly fitful morning, after struggling to get the man dressed, out of bed, and ready for breakfast, he stopped talking altogether. Not a peep escaped his thin dry lips for an entire morning. If I’d known back then how long his silence would’ve lasted, then perhaps I wouldn’t have celebrated the way I did, but I’ll admit, I was over the moon. No more scolding, slurs, or angry grunting. Just a frail, lanky figure who did as he was told. Pops was worried so we took him back to the doctor, but they couldn’t find anything wrong, atleast nothing they hadn’t already known.

We read and did what the internet told us. Music therapy, senior-citizen adjusted yoga, card games. All our efforts were fruitless. Flukes.

I hated seeing how worked up my dad was over it all, so I tried my best to get the man talking by bringing up grandma, chemtrails, the gold standard, all the usual subjects he’d blab about, yet still there was silence.

Then one day as the weather turned, I went into the basement to find something to supplement my meager excuse of a coat. All I could fin was this wide maroon scarf that frayed at the edges. Simple and economic.

I walked upstairs, showed my grandfather what I found and his hands started to shake, and his head slouched over. I thought he was having another seizure, but when I looked at his face, he was smiling, with tears rolling down his eyes.

He spoke in that gravelly voice that had been unused for weeks until then.

Your grandmother made that for me right before she passed. It looks good on you boy.

I turned and looked in the mirror and played a bit with the scarfs tail. It did. It did indeed.