She had hidden her face, backed against the wall. I walked near her and she quickly withdrew behind her mom, holding onto her fingers.
I was a stranger to her, but she was my daughter.
Her mom nodded assuringly, as hello became the hardest word I ever had to say.
Christal Knight is waiting for that refreshing random breeze that happens on a warm, sunny day.
My father beamed at me from his leather recliner. “You know, having not been around each other, we’re a lot alike.”
Whiskey stench. The late night police visits. My mother’s black eyes.
Too young to remember, bet he thought.
But then, I hated him for that statement worse than anything.
Mike Hancock is a former wilderness guide and commercial fisherman. Now living in Wewoka, Oklahoma, he is an Adjunct Professor of English and a freelance writer. He holds a B.A. in English Literature and a M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University. His fiction has appeared in multiple literary journals, and London’s Ether Books. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mike-Hancock/112992545466326