Flash fiction

first post, dunno really. any criticism appreciated.


I was sitting on the old wooden school chair in the hallway. My hands were under my thighs. I remember rocking back and forth like only children can do properly, weaving my head to keep myself going. I still sit on my hands when I get anxious.
Mum had left during the night to go to the hospital and it was just after lunch time now. I watched my dad sit down in the lounge to answer the telephone. As he lifted the receiver the room fell back into silence. A quick and powerful stare meant 'stop rocking'. I was quick to comply.
We'd been to see Granddad two days ago and he looked the best he'd been in months. I couldn't believe it when I saw him, how smiley he was, how positive. We all thought he was getting better, like.
My fathers basal tones traveled up inquisitively as he answered the phone. "Hello?" There was a pause. My hands fidgeted beneath my corduroy. I tried desperately to stop my legs from rocking again. Sliding back down through the tone's he'd only seconds ago climbed, my Father spoke again, only this time much softer, "oh darlin..."
I didn't wait to start crying. I'd never experienced death before, not even a pet, but somehow I knew this was it. I didn't have any questions. I knew exactly what was going on. No why's or where to's or hows. That's what made it hurt. I knew exactly what it meant to be dead. It meant never again.
I was rocking. But this time my father held his face low, as his eyes started to mount their own tears. I hadn't seen that before, either.

I liked it.