“What’s your name, son?”
The lad didn’t speak. Clutching his Army-surplus backpack more tightly to his chest he simply stared straight ahead.
“You waiting on the next bus?”
Again, only silence.
“Mr. Burgoyne, I only want to help.”
The lad looked surprised… then he looked at the labeling on the backpack and smirked.
“Was that your dad’s?”
“It is my dad’s. He’s not dead.” The response was more forced than just a casual statement.
“You going to see him?”
“They say he’s missing. But he’s not dead. He would never leave without me being able to say goodbye.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers: Requirements: Using the photo prompt, create a 100 word flash fiction story.