“Go ahead. I’ll rest.” Rose Watson’s grandmother sank onto the park bench. “They’ll keep me company.” The grandmother waved at a circle of sculptures — children, bronze figures cavorting in the grass.
“Okay. You sure you don’t need…”
“I’m old, not incontinent.” The grandmother laughed. “Better scoot, the garden’s closing.”
Rose hurried to the restroom, casting a glance at her grandmother. Had she ever played like those statues? She’d worked years in a factory, supporting her family.
Rose returned to an empty bench. “Grandmother?” Childish laugher answered her. In the dusk she searched, never noticing the extra figure in the circle.
First published in MicroFiction for Lunch
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