In response to the one word writing prompt, Fifty
I watched as my dad blew out the candles on the cake. A cheesy grin crept along the corners of his mouth. One candle had refused to go out.
That single candle danced back and forth, in front of the wax five and zero. Fifty years old.
For a brief moment, I looked at his face. There were wrinkles that hadn’t been there before. Stressful gray seemed to be winning the battle against his naturally black locks. My smile wavered. For the first time, I was scared for my dad.