[He pauses as he reaches out for another latke, opting to wait rather than get grease all over the gift. He takes it, turns it over in his hands. When is the last time he had a gift?
Tearing the paper neatly, the curious smile on his face fades; his look softens. The paper gets discarded on the floor as he looks down at the photo album in his hands. when he opens it, his eyes widen fractionally: there's a picture of his parents on their wedding day, a small, quiet affair but clearly one that shows none of the signs of hardship he remembers of his childhood. There's another of him as a baby, his father holding him up; there's one of him as a toddler sitting on his father's knee and stringing small pieces of metal onto a wire; he sits on the counter by the stove, helping his mother with the soup.
It's a short life time he didn't remember, and when he closes the album again, his eyes are damn and his voice rough.]
spam;
Tearing the paper neatly, the curious smile on his face fades; his look softens. The paper gets discarded on the floor as he looks down at the photo album in his hands. when he opens it, his eyes widen fractionally: there's a picture of his parents on their wedding day, a small, quiet affair but clearly one that shows none of the signs of hardship he remembers of his childhood. There's another of him as a baby, his father holding him up; there's one of him as a toddler sitting on his father's knee and stringing small pieces of metal onto a wire; he sits on the counter by the stove, helping his mother with the soup.
It's a short life time he didn't remember, and when he closes the album again, his eyes are damn and his voice rough.]
Thank you, Charles.