I sit in the attic surrounded by old photos.
Grandpa Bill always taught me lessons in life, and those lessons brought me happiness. In his sterile hospice room I tried to repay him by playing his favorite song: Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp. As it played, he’d lay in bed, crying. “Clare,” he called. His eyes filled with a haunting regret. The doctors said it was the Alzheimer’s; patients invented new people. Clare was his someone new.
I sit in the attic, looking at a picture of an unknown, beautiful woman holding a flute. Grandpa is still teaching me.
100 word challenge from VelvetVerbosity: “Haunting”