Avocados dangle like testicles from a tree in our backyard. Some fruit has fallen where squirrels and rodents can tear into its black, warty flesh.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
Doris scrapes burnt toast over the sink. Charcoal dust coats the stainless steel.
“All the tests say the same thing.”
“There’s nothing we can do?”
Doris starts spreading thick green paste onto the toast, then stops. She slumps into a chair at the table opposite me, leaving our breakfast just out of reach. She stares at the swollen trees while gutted avocado shells rot on our counter.
This story was written in response to Carrot Ranch Literary Community’s Nov. 12th 99-word story challenge:
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story includes avocado toast. How can this be a story or a prop to a story? Use your senses and imagination. Go where the prompt leads!