Tuesday, 11 June 2013

The Birthday Gift (55-Fiction)

I lie trapped within a body which neither lets me die nor live.

Bedridden and immobile, I beseech my children to poison me.

“Let death be the perfect gift for my 70th birthday.”

My grandson trots over, climbs the bed and plants a kiss on my wilted cheek.

He gives me love. A better gift.


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Ritesh's Blog : Some Bedtime Stories

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