The Thursday Post Critiques 2.1.14


“This tree with fill up with flowers by the time you are back!” he could hear her voice. He placed his hand on the gate to open it. Tears blurried his vision. Army men are not supposed to cry….

The tree has obeyed her with utmost dedication, the grass below it, the swing he has tied in the mango tree beside it, and the bench they have built under the tree, presuming it will one day hold its flower stitched umbrella over their head were covered in its crimson petals.

He could walk no longer. Sat down on the bench.

“Daddy!” a piping voice made him lift his face, there she was…. running to him, across the lane, just like she ran to him twenty years ago, when he was that small too!

His daughter climbed on his lap, hugged him with all her might and buried her soft face in his neck, giggling like her mother did!


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