A flash fiction story by Erica Fransisca.

You don’t have to be everyone’s here, just mine

Many came to my father’s funeral, but they weren’t really sad. Most were just relieved that the fireman had survived long enough to save their baby, crippled mother or grandfather. They had come out of obligation.

I could see it in their eyes.

“Your father was a hero, David,” they would say to my crying ten-year old self. And because they did not understand my pain, they thought they could make me feel better by saying that “he saved my daughter’s life.”

I don’t need him to be your hero, I wanted to tell them, he’s my father, not yours.

I stared at the crinkled paper in my hand. On it were a list of all those who owed their lives to my father. He had written them himself, growing the list name by name, one saved life by one saved life. There were one hundred and twenty seven.

But he could not save his own son from himself.

I smoothed out the paper as best as I could, until the first name on top was legible. My heart was beating against my chest too quickly, but this was a job only I could finish. I took the gun from the table.

And if my father was indeed the hero, surely there must be a villain?

This story was first published in deviantArt.

If you enjoyed this flash fiction story, check out The Cawson Files: A Tragedy.