A Short Story : A Story?

Decent Essays

My eyes widen in astonishment to hear we're the ones making her feel nervous, I'm practically quaking in my shoes. With faltering steps, Alice lead us towards the empty sofa, where we sit close together. Though the fire radiates enough heat to fill the room, I feel the chill around us emitting from the ice queen. A set of icy hands holds me to my seat, yet my spontaneous eyes gaze at the curious couple entertaining us this evening.
Sitting beside her mother, a feeble man hidden within the shell of his suit, with thin, silvering hair, and tired green eyes gazes lovingly towards his daughter.
In our apartment, a silver frame housing a photo of Alice nestled in the arms of her father resides on Alice's night stand, the only photo Alice chose to possess of either of her parents. The man in the photo is strong and handsome with thick chestnut hair, and glistening green eyes matching his daughters. However, the man sitting before us has aged considerably, even though he's only forty-five, placing doubts in my mind he's the same man in the picture.
“Hello, Dad,” Alice whispers.
“Hello, Love. How have you been?” he whispers back.
“I'm doing well, still working hard at the restaurant. It pays the bills so I can't complain.”
“I'm glad to hear that.”
“When you received my invitation,” Alice's mother interrupts them, “it didn't behoove you to address your wardrobe, to wear something a little more appropriate for this occasion with us, and not something a prostitute would wear?” Her

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