Like most big events, this one started simply enough. Garry was pulled from his reverie by a short ring at the door.

Usually Mrs. Miles would have dealt with that. Mrs. Miles was usually there to deal with everything – his cooking, his cleaning, his visitors, his little comforts. Like the flowers he liked. Yellows and reds and oranges that he liked to see in his study – colours generally inspired him – but didn’t like to order. Because that was Garry.

But today Mrs. Miles was not there. Her sister has inconveniently taken sick and Garry’s homekeeper has taken a day off.

The door bell was rung again.

Garry sat at his table, wishing the caller gone away, so he can return to his writing. Or his attempts on writing. Hopefully they’ll give up. Not that he got very many callers lately. Deliveries were handed at the back door, discreetly, as not to disturb the writer. His friends and family generally let him be, so he could "create" in peace. There was a time when his home…well, a studio apartment back then, was filled with people and music and laughter. How long since anyone just dropped in unannounced? When did that stop happening? He couldn’t remember.

Another ring, longer, insistent.

With a deep sigh, Garry pushed his chair away from the desk. He rose slowly, trying to get the kinks out of his neck. "I am becoming an old men" he thought, shuffling slowly towards the stairs.


Forgetting self pity, Garry rushed downstairs. The rug at the bottom of the stairs, usually pristine, had a corner folded over, and he tripped and almost fell, grabbing at the side table. The crystal vase – empty today – crashed on the floor. He swore but ignored it, flinging the door open, to reveal the cause for all this disturbance.

"What?!" he expelled at his visitor .

There was a young girl at his door, looking at him undisturbed.

He generally liked girls – heck, he generally liked all woman – but this one did not appear to be of a likable sort. Blond hair, parted in the middle, had two thick purple streaks framing the girls’ pale face. Big blue eyes stared at him defiantly while he considered purple lipstick, fishnet stockings, and kind of top usually reserved for the cover of the Cosmo magasine.

Garry recovered his composure, and – adjusting his voice to a more pleasant note, because he was, after all, a worldly man, inquired again "What can I do for you?"

"You Garry?" said the thing at his door, popping a big pink bubble in a gum she was chewing.

"Yes", said Garry politely, "and who are you?"

"I’m Jessica" said the girl and popped her gum again. She appeared to consider that enough of an explanation.

"Aha" said Garry, about to loose his temper now. "And what do you want? Why are you here?"

More defiance from the baby-blues. " ‘cuz you’re my father."

The End

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