Black Parade by Jacqueline Druga

types.
    Soldiers or warriors, we ran from them constantly.
    It was too tiresome to keep fighting.
    Four months after our Gray Mountain departure, we found a horse. Actually we saw lots of them, but this one was different. It wasn’t too wild and was easily broken. It became our means of transportation, pulling us in an old fashioned Amish style cart.
    We crossed the border from California into Nevada. We followed the direction that the last group of survivors we happened across said they heard about Utopia.
    All of us knew Utopia was more than likely a myth, but we didn’t care. It was a goal.
    We stopped for the night at some house. It was run down, but it was also shelter. We cleaned it up a little, clearing the dust.
    My father had found a board game. Actually it was an older home version of the game show Family Feud. He was ecstatic because it wasn’t electronic.
    We played. Although it was difficult to play traditionally with only three people, we did. My father had to be the host. I think it was mostly because he enjoyed the questions.
    “They surveyed a hundred people, Daniel. Seventy percent said they put their dirty clothes in a hamper. Do you really believe seventy percent of all people own a hamper?”
    “Father, it’s a game,” I replied.
    Bentley added. “I never had a hamper. I put mine in a pile on the floor.”
    My father nodded. “And you never had a hamper, Daniel. You had a laundry basket. You filled it with dirty clothes; you laundered them, folded them, put them back into the basket, emptied it and started again.”
    I lifted a hand. “Why is this important?”
    “Because it is misleading,” my father said. “The question is - Name a place you put your dirty clothes.”
    “How is that misleading?”
    “Bentley did not get the top answer right away because he did not have a hamper. He answered by his own experience. I think most people do not have a hamper.”
    “You aren’t supposed to answer by your experience, you're supposed to answer according to what you think the people said,” I stated. “Bentley answered wrong because he wasn’t thinking.”
    My father gasped. “Daniel.” There it was, he scolded, like he did on every question he read and argued with. Then he moved to the next one. “Oh, now this looks difficult. Name something you would get your father for Father’s Day.”
    I rang my bell.
    “Daniel,” He pointed.
    “A tie.” I answered.
    My father paused.
    “What? Was it wrong?” I asked.
    “No it is the number one answer.”
    I grinned. “Yes. So … what’s the matter?”
    My father shook his head. “I am trying to figure out how you got the number one answer. You never bought me a tie. I don’t think most people bought their fathers ties. Do you Bentley?”
    My father was impossible, but amusing in his own way. My God, I think we played that game for hours that night.
    It was fun, we were relaxed. When the game ended my father announced he was going to bed. He was smiling as he stood, placing his hand on my head, then kissing me on my forehead. “Goodnight Daniel, sleep well.”
    “You too, father.”
    “Night Mr. H,” Bentley said.
    “Night, Bentley,” my father exited the room. I was surprised he stayed up as long as he did. Usually he went to bed before Bentley and me and was up before us as well.
    Up way before us, making coffee or something. Then he’d wake us as if we had been sleeping for all eternity.
    That was my first clue something was amiss.
    I woke up before my father that next day. I had an unsettling feeling when I went to check on him and knew immediately when I saw him why he was still in bed.
    He had passed away.
    Lying on his side, hand tucked beneath the pillow under his head, he had passed away in his sleep.
    It hurt enormously at that moment of revelation that my father was gone. But the look on his face made it easier for me. My father had the most peaceful look, almost a smile.
    He had lived a full life, struggled at the end