Posted by: writingwitch2013 | May 21, 2015

Burden 2 : VisDare 98


Burden 2

My life had certainly not been as my father had expected.

I wasn’t a company director, a top lawyer or, God help me, a footballer. In his eyes a man was judged by success and wealth. I was a struggling artist. Enough said.

It wasn’t just my lack of ambition, but my acceptance of my lot, that aggrieved him. 
This time, I would be able to have the last say in our war of differences.

‘My latest project is a walk, with a coffin strapped to my back.’

‘Call that art?’

‘Art is what makes your soul happy.’

Our usual war of words.

It’s not the walk, but the destination that will be my final piece.

No grand funeral, like my mother’s. With only the hole I’ll dig in the ground for the coffin, and a bottle of tablets, I’ll beat the tumour and my father in one brush stroke.
150 words


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