A true story.
Word count: 98
At the end of the patio is a large, square stone pond, raised up from the ground so that the kids could sit safely on the edge, and drop bits of food in for the fish. Grandpa taught them how to fool the fish into thinking that their fingertips were tasty morsels. It is cold now, and the water is still and dark. No more fish or children. No more Grandpa. The patio has become hard and unwelcoming; its perimeter bushes thorny and overgrown.
The fish died. So did our restaurant. But our love for it never will.