A small boy looking at me.
A smile alighting his face.
A neighbour’s son.
A balcony above.
A patio emerges.
Paving slabs.
Images imprinted.
Sixty years.
An open newspaper, a person, a man, hiding.
My father?
What is a kid’s memory but a perception of a frozen instant, adding to a personal story, perhaps a personal history?
Then, later, we built stories from frozen images.
Fiction.