Freddy lost his leg again.
The town drunk hops down the street. His backpack, wearing thin from years of service and homelessness, flops ungracefully with each wavering leap and land.
“Fred, where’s your leg?” The shopkeeper is a kind man with fluid soul in his eyes.
I imagine Freddy has soul in his eyes but through overgrown, matted hair there’s no telling.
He hops past the shopkeep, visibly shaking as he lands.
“Fred, your leg?”
Freddy freezes, we all know he’s a stubborn man. His mouth works silently, formulating words he doesn’t quite have.
“That’s Dad to you.” Freddy mumbles.
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
Word Count: 100
Thank you as always to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for putting together Friday Fictioneers.