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.
[This post has been selected by my team Coup d'East (Team East of 'Indian Bloggers League') as the official entry for the IBL 2013 in the category of "55 word fiction". Hope it wins]
Topic for the contest was: Write a 55 fiction about the most priceless gift you have received from your loved one.