Death’s Door

Saturday evening, the plague arrived.

I wasn’t just your garden variety plague either, but the full package: sweats, shakes, congestion, and a surprising amount of ear pain.

Since my family clearly did not properly appreciate the magnitude of my suffering, I was obliged to inform them, releasing carefully timed moans periodically throughout the day on Sunday.

They did not elicit the proper amount of attention.

This morning, I shuffled out of my bedroom to find my youngest son cheerfully making breakfast for the family. It was a wonderful gesture, an unasked-for gift for the rest of us.

“Morning, Daddy!” he said cheerfully.

“Morning,” I croaked.

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’m on Death’s Door,” I said, staggering slightly for effect.

He smiled, eyes twinkling. “Knock, knock, knock!” he said loudly. “Special delivery!”

I wrapped my robe more tightly around my disease-ridden frame and gave him my best dying glare.

It didn’t work. All he did was laugh harder as he returned to his breakfast-making.

There is no love in this world.

It was, however, a very tasty breakfast.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Search the Tales


Archives

Dragon Run

Dragon Run
Check it out!

Mathfinder

Ghost in the Ruby
Mystery, adventure, and puzzles await!

What is DaddyTales?


Click here to learn more!