The man who came back from space is upstairs dying. When Dad returned, there were medals, starbursts fireworks, and marching bands. He was war hero and celebrity rolled into one, and also my father. Some rubbed off on me – at school I got the girls.
But he never talked about it. Not to me, or anyone. He never did anything again and became more and more withdrawn, taking to his bed five years ago. Though I keep hoping he’ll tell me the secret of the stars, all he’s said is “fame’s not all it’s cracked up to be”.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.