A few months before
I walk through the field of the carehomes near the beach. The green gardens make me envious or these old people. 'Excuse me,' I ask one of the nurses. she smiles kindly. 'Do you know where I might find Lord Courtenay?' She nod 'He always looks out over the hills. I smile and walk up to the man sitting in a wheelchair. 'You don't look your best sir courtenay'. I say with a smile. He does not react, only smiles. 'Do you miss you old home?' 'He nods. 'nobody can cook here.' He says, I chuckle. 'Sir, I am actually here to bring you some rather sad news....' He nods. 'Your son has died.' I say trying to hide the fact that my voice is breaking. There's a long silence.
'I have no son.' He responds. My exppression doesn't change, it's a hard truth to face. Because of me this man considerers his son a nobody. 'You've never even been worthy a father.' I say as I stand up, I look at him, arrogantly, exactely like my father used to. 'You are an embarrasment, and a cold hearted man. I hope you die soon' I say. I take a deep breath.
It's a hard truth to face, you are nobody's son when you are truthful to yourself.
YOU ARE READING
To my Dearest Friend
Historical FictionOut of mind out of sight? Is that something that's true, Yves hopes it's not. When his best friend moves away from victorian London to Paris and he can't follow he feels the weight of loneliness creeping up on him. But the letter from his dear Cyril...
