Necessity

I give to you a true story in eleventy-one words...

My grandmother finished her rosary. After the final bead, she smiled – signaling she was ready to chat – and asked me about school.  I told her I was writing about the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and then railed against their barbarity. My grandmother listened quietly. In a rare adolescent moment of clarity, I asked her opinion.

‘You have to remember that we were going to invade Japan and probably lose a million men.’ She paused. ‘I’m not saying it was right, but it was necessary. Plus, your grandfather was in the Pacific; I don’t think he would have come back. So, if they didn’t drop them, you probably wouldn’t be here.’

Mowing

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He woke, sat up, coughed, fell back against his pillow. He was tired. Of being angry, useless, old. He rang the cow bell; his son entered.  

‘How you feelin, dad?’

‘I wanna mow.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

‘Yes’

His son didn’t argue.

He slowly washed, dressed, hobbled – all with help – to the shed. His son deposited him on the mower and set it in first gear.

Halfway across the lawn, he coughed violently. When the fit ceased, he slumped onto the steering wheel. His son ran over, cut the engine, and put him on the ground. There was no pulse.

His son smiled; a single tear streamed down his cheek.