Ficlets

Dec. 24th.

The door of the yellow school bus folded open, yeilding the bundled kids of St. Peter orphanage. Armed with wooven baskets of candy canes and mini bottles of lotion, the followed their care taker through the Automatic glass doors. The winters bit was swept away as they entered.

Door to door they went, handing goodies to the bedded patients, some grateful, some annoyed, and some delusional.

They slid down the odd smelling hall to the next room, where they entered. The room was as cold as the outside , and laying upright in a sagging bed was and elderly, grey bearded man, no yougner than 90.

A small girl stepped forward with the basket.

“Oh honey,” called a nurse in the corner, “I’m afraid he’s blind”. She motioned for the orphans to leave, when the man in the bed whispered.

“Stop…”

The kids turned towards him in confusion as his head slowly turned on Simon, an 8 year old orphan. The mans eyes, clouded in cateracts stared striaght at Simon.

“M-my son..!” were his last words.