No pencils, no pens, not even a desk pad. Empty. Empty drawers and a cold empty chair. He used to sit there once, but now he is gone
Dad was an intelligent man. He was a qualified doctor; he was also a professor in Psychology. I used to love sitting on his lap and listening to stories, stories of when he was a young, energetic boy and what mischief he got up to. How he used to go to a pub with his friends and tell ghost stories and then have to walk home that same night.
"I was terrified", He once told me. I just giggled.
He used to sit at his desk, newspaper in hand, glasses on. I would walk in everyday after school and he would put down his newspaper and smile at me, a loving smile.
"How was school today?" He would ask.
"It was great," I would say.
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