Jeremiah, Dad’s Dead – Short Story

Warning this work is unedited.

It wasn’t the belly flop or exasperated cry that followed it that alerted me that something was wrong, although in hind’s sight according to Jeremiah I should’ve know that meant something was wrong.

I was buried within the pages of another book, though, my homework abandoned and then crumpled under his body.  I ignored him choosing to instead turn the page again and re-immerse myself in the story I was holding.  As I was halfway down he page, savoring the playful dialogue that was taking place he let out another even more pathetic sound. I’m not even sure it could’ve been classified as a groan at that time, maybe a whimper or a sob although he’d deny it at any point.

One eye popped over the edge of my book, then another. They stared down with utter betrayal spelled in their dark depths. “What?” I snapped finally, as I turned the page once more, nearly giving him a paper cut on the nose.

He sat back on his hunches, happy that I was paying him attention even if it was unenthusiastic. “Dad’s back,” He said.

I merely hummed as my eyes scrolled down the paper, the weight of his words not quite yet making it’s way through my mind. He let out an exasperated sigh and flopped back down on my legs, ignoring my exclamation of protest.

“Janet, did you hear what I said,” His voice was sharper this time, trying to command my attention.

I glanced up as my finger slid between the pages, caressing the piece of paper I was about to flip. “Dad’s ba-” I paused and swallowed hard. “Dad’s back,” I repeated like an idiot as Jeremiah nodded his head slowly, a satisfied grin crossing his face. I snorted and turned back to my book. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you.”

Jeremiah let out a groan that should’ve woken the dead in Singapore and I don’t remember if any of their zombies came to haunt us because the story I held was much more important than dead people. “I know I’m so funny,” He snapped. He snatched the book from my hands and threw it to the ground, dodging the nasty punch I tried to pummel him with and slipping to the hardwood floor himself. His head hit the floor with a nasty thud. I swallowed the laughter that bubbled up at his rather deserved punishment and peered over the side at his pain ridden features. “For real though,” He whispered. “Dad’s back.”

My smile faded, crinkles appeared across my forehead as I studied him. His mantra of words finally sank in and I forgot about the treachery he committed by taking my book. “Jeremiah, Dad’s dead.”


Based on a dialogue prompt by @the-modern-typewriter on tumblr:

“You think you’re so funny.”
“Oh, I know I’m so funny.”

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