Runner-up in the 1st Annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest.
When I was born, my father was forty-four years old. When I was fifteen, I was watching a cheesy thriller on TV and Dad was sleeping on the sofa in another room.
The actress in the movie said, “Help me. Somebody help me.”
Dad called out, “Where are you?”
The actress said, “Can’t you hear me? It’s getting deeper.”
“All right, hold on a moment, I’m on my way,” said Dad. He got up and reeled into the living room.
I had that darn smirk on my face. No, hold it a moment. Not a darn smirk; a dung-eating grin.