I stepped to the front of Alex Creppy house for the second time in the day. The first time was when I had resumed work in the morning. It would have been the third had I come out for lunch; but fate had pulled a trick on me. Earlier that morning, on my way to work, I had seen a woman beating up her son. She had slapped him hard, over and over again like someone trying to force a jammed cassette out of a player.
“Take it easy, madam!” I could not stand the abuse. “You don’t have to beat him that much, haba!” Then the woman told me how the boy had carelessly lost his lesson fee, slapping him with each word she spoke, against my protest. Continue reading “@1manCabal: If He Could Remember Me (Short Story)”