Most people fear age.

But I don’t. I’m Ben— an eighty-something graying man, probably on the verge of decline. On dusks like this, as the remnants of the day slowly fade, I take the time to marvel that age. From a rocking chair, I like to ponder the things that I’ve done (or did not do) and tally my age in days.

“Boy, you forgot to throw the garbage out!” I suddenly remembered.

“What?” my wife’s voice echoed from behind.

“Nothing, dear. Today, I’m just 29,293 days old.”

She gave me her most beautiful smile and acquiesced, “Aren’t we both?”

Word Count: 100

In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. The photo prompt is a courtesy of Emily L. Gant. Thank you!

Glad to come up with this story while listening to Kenny Roger’s Through the Years on a reclining chair and I just found out that I’m 8,786 days old! Happy weekend, everyone! 🙂 🙂 🙂

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