The photo above is the photo prompt for my following story in participation of Friday Fictioneers.
My Father’s Shoes
I’ll never look at his boots the same again. And I’ll never remember my father the same either. He was a good man and he couldn’t be a better father. His friends would always say “like father, like son” whenever I helped at the lumberyard. Those words were comforting, but now they bring nothing but dread.
That night he came home furious, his breath stank and his speech slurred at every syllable. I watched from my room as my father became a savage beast, ravaging the house. All that was left of him in the morning were his torn boots.
Word Count: 100