When Intimacy Dies

I bought a cactus to practice intimacy. It thrived on neglect, resented touch, and punished affection. When it finally died, I felt relieved. At last, a relationship where neither of us had to pretend growth meant happiness, compromise, or water. Even grief felt optional and nobody sent flowers or questions.

***Faster than a speeding gummy, able to leap small buildings at a single bound Flash Fiction is a guaranteed page turner.