There’s a picture in my room. A portrait of a man, his wife and two kids, sitting up formally and elegantly straight. Their sparkling smiles looked as if they were painted on. There is something about the happiness and simplicity in the four corners of the portrait, that just doesn’t seem right. There is too much perfection in that picture. More perfection than a family ought to have. The little girl’s hand in her mother’s palm makes a bond too strong to be real. The wisdom in the father’s eyes, seems farfetched. The twinkling youth in the boy’s eyes really tugs at the heartstrings.
Or at least that’s what it looks like after twenty years gone. Familiar faces turn into strangers. What you always thought was something, becomes nothing. Sweet memories converge into bitterness. And as I hold these strange faces near to my heart, a tear makes its way down my cheek and its all gone…once again.
“Do you think it was a suicide?”
“Doesn’t seem that way. All we found was the victim’s body, and this old family portrait”
- Yours Truly