“Your Father was a humorist. He used to write humorous stories for hours, sitting here in tranquility. People loved his stories a lot,” said Michelle to her 8 years old grandson.
“Wow!” replied Oliver.
“You were only few months old. On that day, he was walking roadside, observing the world to seek stories, and a car crashed him. This table has not seen him since.”
“How did this happen?”
“A drunken man was driving that car.”
“Why did this have to happen to him?”
“The crazy fact is, you can certainly control what happens on this table, but not on the uncertain table of life.”
———————————————————————————————————————This post is also a part of Friday Fictioneers – 15 August 2014