He died a sad lonely man. He wouldn't admit being sad, but the loneliness was undeniable for all to see. He would claim in his younger days about how he didn't need anyone and was happy being all alone. His wife was just the opposite: warm, compassionate, empathetic and aware of the need for social support. She would tell him, 'We can't live our lives in isolation. We need some people close to give our lives more meaning.' But he would not listen. He spent his life pushing everyone away, including his own children.
Towards the twilight of his life, it reached a point where it became impossible for him to relate to anyone else. It frustrated him, for now he wanted so much to experience what he had missed out his whole life. But it was too late. It still perhaps would not be 'too' late if he had the humility to tell his wife that he wanted to make amends with everyone whom he had pushed away—she would be only too happy to help him. But he didn't.
He did try to make amends with his sons, but failed. By now, they had a life of their own and could not be bothered to respond to a man who, all their lives, had put them down and showed visible shame for fathering them.
One fine day, he wanted to look out of his balcony just to feel connected to something. But the step to cross the threshold was steep, and age had caught up with him. His wife, noticing his hesitation, asked him, 'Do you need a hand?' But he crossed over himself, deciding it was a small task. And he tripped, his head hitting the concrete. Now he couldn't ask for help even if he wanted.
This short story is my entry for 
Here are the rules:
- The first tag must be "story-300words".
- The story must be within 300 words.
- Only original works. No plagiarism.
- Last day for this initiative is 8th January 2018.
Word count for this story is 300 words.