Saying Goodbye to Grandfather

“Yes, son.  Dad. . .I can't. . .I mean, they said you were bad and not eating but, honestly. . .playing with your food like this. . .I never thought. . . .  Look.”

He strode haltingly across the room towards the cowering human, who was trying unsuccessfully to retreat into the small space of the fireplace.

“This isn't a toy.  It's food.”

My father grabbed the human round the throat, held him up in the air and forced him against the wall with one hand.  His other hand punched its way through the man's stomach and emerged again with a handful of intestines.

“See, food.”

He turned, slammed the dying human onto the table and thrust the entrails at my grandfather.





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