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

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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A post for Sunday Whirligig 99

Dream Trip

‘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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A post for Sunday Photo Fiction.

Someone in the Room

                                                                                         Photo prompt @ Sarah Potter

It had intermittently been snowing for three days. He looked at his dog; it was lying near the chair, languid and listless.

Abruptly the dog growled in fear. The fear smelled by the dog was contagious. The old man felt there was someone in the room.

‘But that isn’t possible; the door is locked’.

He froze when he heard a high-pitched scream. He thought someone was peering through the window pane.

‘It’s she, no?’

A dog bite jolted the old man out of his slumber.

“What a nightmare it was?”

For once the old man had lost his trademark impish grin.

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A post for Friday Fictioneers and Three Word Wednesday

Word count 101

The Bust

The elder one was eleven. The younger was just five but he was no less curious and mischievous.

‘That a bust?’

‘Where did you learn that?’ the elder brother hissed.

‘Why?’

‘Know what it means? It’s a woman’s…….’ he suddenly checked himself.

The little boy glared at his brother; he hated being treated as an infant. He would have his revenge.

‘I think she moved her eyes,’ he said in all seriousness.

The elder brother was taken aback, ‘Impossible.’

‘No, I saw. The eyes moved,’ the kid brother retorted, forcefully.

The elder brother looked into the eyes of the bust and shuddered.

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A post forFriday Fictioneers.