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A White Lie – a short, short story
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The Post-man tried to walk up the stairs without making a sound. Somehow the old-man heard him and opened the door.
"Any letters from my son?"
Every day the old-man had asked this question for the last year.
"Any letters from my son?"
Every day the old-man had asked this question for the last year.
Every time the answer had been the same, "No, if there was a letter, I will deliver it to you."
Then the old-man would sigh, shake his head and go back, closing the door behind him.
The man& #39;s son had died. No one had the heart to tell him.
Then the old-man would sigh, shake his head and go back, closing the door behind him.
The man& #39;s son had died. No one had the heart to tell him.
Some thought he knew but did not want to accept it.
"Any letters from my son?"
The Post-man had come prepared, "Yes, " he said.
"Please can you read it?"
The post-man knew that the Old-man could not read.
"Any letters from my son?"
The Post-man had come prepared, "Yes, " he said.
"Please can you read it?"
The post-man knew that the Old-man could not read.
Pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket, he started, "Dear father, I hope this letter finds you in good health….."
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