Cactus

The golden sun was beginning to set when mother decided it was time to head home. The lingering heat was making Ray feel tired as well.

As they walked toward Albert's car, Ray noticed several pots of spiky cacti in different shapes and sizes. One of them looked just like the kind his father used to keep on the windowsill of his home office.

Dad liked cacti, Ray thought to himself.

He remembered how his father would carefully arrange his pot of cactus where the sunlight streamed in. As the sun shifted throughout the day, his father would move the cactus too, making sure it received enough light. He watered it only once a week and talked to it as though it was his pet.

“Why do you like cactus, Dad?” Ray had asked one day while watching him rearrange the pot with care.

His father picked up the pot and bent down to Ray's level.

“Look at this little guy. So tough, hardy, and feisty,” he said.

Ray studied the cactus closely. It did look tough.

“There is a flower budding too, so beautiful” his father added. “And they don't die easily.”

But Dad died, Ray thought sadly.

Photo by Stephanie Harvey on Unsplash

Come join us at CCC with weekly daily prompts for freewriters with this special daily INKtober prompts.

INKtober #4: Cactus