The Ladder : Sunday Photo Fiction

The Ladder

“When are you whitewashing the exterior hun?” asked Lilli, idly chewing her toast.

“Erm … soon”, I replied, “I’m a bit busy …”

“Well you could just pop up with a stiff brush and a scraper and do the painting next weekend,” she retaliated with a winning smile.

I realised that I’d been outmanoeuvered.

“Ok, I’ll just finish my coffee.”

“I’ll hold the ladder and pass you the tools”, quipped Brian.

I looked to him, surprised, my son rarely seemed to help around the house these days, torn between his PS3 and social media.

“Sure! Lets go”, I gulped down my coffee and we headed to the garage, and the ladder.

I started with the carving, brushing the head first with my gloved hand. Was it a lion, a panther, a tiger? I was still unsure.

I gripped the ladder with my free hand; afraid of falling, imagining an accident, broken bones, or maybe even worse. I felt fragile and vulnerable and scrubbed intently, but absent mindedly, with my other hand, preoccupied with staying out of harm’s way.

“Dad!”, screamed Brian, pointing to the wall.

Plaster chips and dust were still falling from where the head had been.


(197 words)

Sunday Photo Fiction comes each Sunday and this weeks prompt is © A Mixed Bag, 2014. As usual I really enjoyed preparing my entry.

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