His moist eyes traced the circular object lying next to the vacant bed.
The once ailing occupant could hardly navigate the confines of this bed, but his feeding utensil traversed upto the kitchen and back, twice daily; the antiquated duo equally handled like recluses.
With a tinge of guilt in heart, his trembling hands picked up the plate.
“What will you do with baba’s plate, dad?”, his seven-year-old queries.
“I will discard it, son, it has no purpose now”, he replies regrettably.
“No, let me keep it. I will need it when I grow up… For You”, his son says.
#100WordStory #Microfiction #StoryWriting