Language & Literature

A Short Story – The White Dove

Dad walks over to me. He’s carrying several slices of bread.

‘Hi, Grace.’

‘Hi,’ I say, giving him a look which I hope he understands means, I am so not impressed with this new pre-birthday arrangement.

Dad doesn’t seem to have noticed my look. I wonder what he’s doing with the bread.

‘For the ducks,’ he says when he catches me staring at it.

I nod and decide not to mention that I am no longer five years old and that feeding the ducks in the park doesn’t exactly excite me anymore.

‘Right,’ I say, as we head over to the pond.

‘So, Grace, how have you been?’

We sit down on the bench next to the willow tree.

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