The turnout was thirty-five people. He was immensely proud that there were so many volunteers for the event. As his gaze turned past the first few people, he thought he saw a familiar face.

No, it couldn’t be, he said to himself. He looked again. The silvery hair was unmistakable. As was his gait.

He walked quickly. When he saw the face clearly, he was stunned. Grandpa. He had run away from home; from his bullying son.

“Grandpa,” he called out. The old man turned his eyes towards the source of the voice. He barely seemed to recognize his grandson.



I'm an avid reader and writer. Reading gets me a feeling of understanding the world through different perspectives and writing helps me outline my thoughts from the cobwebs that the mind has trapped it in!

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