He could hear his mother downstairs, just like always. Thanksgiving, pie and family, it made him nauseous.
Horace knew the time had come; even dressed in bulky jackets change was obvious.
It was time to drop the bomb.
He texted John:
“If I don’t call u later, I’ll be dead”
He tiptoed down the stairs. Sneaked into the living room.
He was an apparition, a stranger, not in drag but fully woman.
He was finally out of the closet.
“Happy Thanksgiving — I’m your daughter now.”
His father ceased to carve the turkey. in his hand a carving knife.
I immediately thought of coming out of the closet when I saw the picture. This week I wanted to leave the end open. What do you think happened next?
Rochelle gives us a picture.
We write 100 word stories and read each other’s stories.
That’s Friday Fictioneers. Join us.
November 22, 2017