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Walking home from my fathers funeral by Michael Lafontaine

I did not cry at my father’s funeral. Not even when they lowered him into the ground to rot for all eternity.

I left my mother who clutched at me like a beast. In her grieving madness she thanked me for being the strong one. As I was walking home I saw a man on the ground. He smelt like booze and piss. I tried to lift him and failed.

I tried again and again and again. Time passed. I started to lose my shit.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t just lie on the ground defeated. Get up you fucking bum.”

I tried again. Same result. I kicked him in the stomach. He let out a groan.
“You fucker. You’re alive. Get up.”

I hovered over him, screaming in his face and started punching him around the head and neck. In-between blows he looked at me directly for the first time with his diluted blue eyes. I unclenched my fists and wrapped my arms around his chest and started weeping.

I stayed like that for a very long time. He did not move or say a thing.

About the author:


Michael Lafontaine was educated at Macquarie University, Sydney Australia. He currently lives in Newtown, Sydney and shares custody with his ex-girlfriend of a rescue dog called Lloyd. He is the Editor-In-Chief of Vending Machine Press and has a new book of short stories “Please Dont Argue With Me, Okay?” available here & here.



1 Comment on Walking home from my fathers funeral by Michael Lafontaine

  1. James fausett rockford illinois // February 20, 2016 at 00:51 //

    My father worked for your father when i was a kid. Love the story feel a part of it.

    Liked by 1 person

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