Monday, 3 April 2017

Letter


‘Why can’t he ever call us? If he has no time to video chat he can at least make a phone call? But he would only write letters.’
He kept quiet. He knew all the answers but he did not have the courage to tell her. She was bedridden for almost three years; he could not compound her suffering.
‘It’s almost one year now that he had written a letter; no? Why don’t you go to the post office; some letter may be lying there undelivered. You know how lazy these people are.’
Somewhere out there a ship blew its horn.
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A post for Friday Fictioneers on a photo prompt.

Word count 101

Saturday, 25 March 2017

The Inheritance
‘That’s the house where your father was born,’ said the old man in a melancholy tone.
‘But I have never been there?’
‘Yes. Actually…..’ the old man was unable to continue.
‘It was your house?’
‘Yes….no, it was my father’s house.’
‘That would be Papa’s grandfather?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t we live there? I could have a room for myself.’
‘After my mother passed away, my father decided to marry again. The lady he married was a decent person but her elder brother……..’ the old man looked at the innocent boy and felt a bit ashamed.
‘It’s rather complicated…..’
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a post for Friday Fictioneers on a picture prompt.
Word count 98

  

Saturday, 18 March 2017

Tyranny of the Watch
PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast
‘Wake up’, said the watch.
‘I didn’t get even a wink of sleep. Let me….’ said he.
‘That doesn’t matter. You have to go for the yoga session and then…..’The watch was, as always, extremely polite.
‘I hate you.’ Indignantly, he pushed the watch away.
‘It means nothing to me.’ The watch would never take offence to his outbursts that had become quite frequent in recent times, ‘You have already lost twenty minutes.’
The watch was inexorably relentless.
Something in him snapped. He smashed the watch on the wall. He pretended that he had smashed the tyranny of the watch.   
The clock on the wall chimed disdainfully.
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A post for Friday Fictioneers on a photo prompt.

  

Wednesday, 1 March 2017

Birthday Party
It was well past noon. The sun bathed sand was still hot and burned his dirty feet. But he could not resist the temptation of looking at the unending array of waves that were hopelessly trying to reach him. He laughed mirthlessly and waited for the darkness to descend.
He ambled along the deserted path. He could still hear the waves but he could not see them.
He looked at the moon and thought of the bloated bellies of the starving children.  Where had he seen them, the children with bloated bellies? He tried but he could not recall.
The images were getting intertwined. There were the images of the socialites in diaphanous dresses and lockets and bracelets that were unusually glittering. Every one of them looked like an alabaster statue. Some of them made scintillating speeches and a few even recited what they called, their great poems on the ‘misery of living.’ Everyone had kept up the masquerade of being erudite and learned.
He felt a jolt. He had unknowingly kicked something on the beach. He stopped. It was a stuffed toy that a child had perhaps left on the beach. He picked it up. It was an expensive toy, but he didn’t feel any thrill. He thought of the starving children and suddenly recalled he had seen them decorating a birthday party thrown by a rich socialite. 
Was he there too?
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Monday, 27 February 2017

A Wave of Fear
He hated all them for, unlike him, they were a just bunch of uncouth, poorly educated fanatics. He could not stand them even for a few minutes. But he needed them to do what believed he had to do.
‘Brother, is it done?’
‘Yes. Soon our enemies will learn a lesson that they dare not forget. Their leaders will forever regret their folly; their people will dream only of pain and death,’ he said and silently cursed himself.
He had never allowed himself to get carried away. What he had planned was beyond the imagination of his enemies. The wheels had been put in motion. Now no one could stop the inevitable. He felt overjoyed and, for once, he had let down his guard.
On way to his home he thought of his wife and daughter. He would take them out for a dinner.  They had not dined out for quite some time. His little girl loved going to fancy restaurants. He wished he could call his wife. But he never used mobile phones; he distrusted electronic devices.
The wife and daughter were not at home. She had pasted a message on the refrigerator. Her mother was in the hospital. She had left for Paris by the first flight. She had suggested that, if possible, he should follow her on the earliest flight.
A wave of terrifying fear surged in his heart when he read the flight number written in the note.
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A post for Flash Fictionfor Aspiring Writers on a picture prompt



Sunday, 26 February 2017

Dream
It was early afternoon but surprisingly it was unusually dark. The corridor was totally deserted; I was the only one walking through it. No one else was there.
Out of nowhere a group of weird looking men appeared. They were holding multi-colourd cords in their hands. Suddenly they began to tie the cords around their necks. I felt unnerved and stood rooted to the ground. I wanted to turn back but could not. Another group of men approached from other end of the corridor. Soon there was nothing but anarchy and chaos. People were shouting and screaming, their faces twisted and contorted in anger.
‘Why are you all doing this?’ I tried to say but could not.
‘I must be dreaming.’
I saw a mendicant in a black robe. He gently took hold of my hand, ‘Dreams are nothing but the experiences that you have not lived through. Don’t try to find any explanations. If you would just ….’
I screamed, I could not bear the strain anymore.
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Saturday, 25 February 2017

Dream Trip
192-02-february-19th-2017
‘What’s that Grandpa?’
‘That’s an airplane.’
‘It looks like a …toy or is it a…puppet?’
‘It’s an airplane. I built it like that when I was a kid. I would often fly on it. When everyone would go to sleep I would quietly leave through the window. I would go to strange places. What fun I had?’
The little boy was too innocent not to believe his Grandpa. Besides, he was fascinated by the ‘airplane’ and didn’t want to dispute what the old man was saying.
‘Can I?’
‘Of course you can. But I will have to teach you how to fly it. It looks simple but it’s rather a complicated machine. You will have to stay here for a few days if you want to learn to fly it.’
‘But we are leaving tomorrow.’
‘That’s not true,’ the old man was taken aback. He knew that his son had come for a short visit but he did not know that he was to leave tomorrow.
‘Insist with your father, tell him that you need to stay here for a few days more.’
‘I don’t know,’ the child said wistfully.
Next evening the old man tapped the airplane. ‘Where do you think we can go on our dream trip?’ he asked in a melancholy voice.
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