Uncle Shankar was Ma’s older brother but I often wondered if maybe one of them was adopted. They couldn’t possibly be genetically related. Uncle was as jovial as Ma was prim, he smiled as often as Ma frowned, he was slender in build while Ma was, well, thick.
We moved in with him and grandma after Dad passed away. I was eight. Every morning, when I went out to go to school, I’d find Uncle on his chair outside beside the flowers. His face would light up when he saw me; it appeared as if the sun shone out of it.
“Good morning old lady“, he’d greet me and set me a pun question which, if I answered correctly, would earn me a chocolate. I rarely got that chocolate.
But I was eight and life, couldn’t have been better.
word count: 138. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring writers photo promot challenge hosted by priceless joy. Thank you very much for this week’s photo @shivamt25