Micro Fiction #1 : Metamorphosis

Amaan Khan

Toward the end of his life, my father began presenting many signs of senile dementia.

For instance, several times a day, he would call out for Rita, plead with me for a chance to meet her–Rita, a woman who was not my deceased mother and whom I had no knowledge of. And then, occasionally, with a faint smile on his lips, I would find him playing an invisible piano. But the thing was, he had never touched an instrument in his life, and as far as I knew he was tone deaf. He also got into the habit of whistling, and he would carry on with a single tune, on repeat, one that would itch at the back of my mind, probe at my own hazy memories, though I always failed to place it. And oh boy, was he stubborn too! There was just one chair in his room, and…

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