Departed

She was there, besides the sunflowers, looking at me quizzically. I was certain it was her. I did even see her reflection.

No, it was not a reflection, it was a shadow. Yes, it had to be a shadow.  I tried reaching out to her but, strangely, I stood rooted to the ground like a lifeless statue.

But, then, who was the girl that her parents had buried? It could not have been her.

She smiled and turned away.

A wind struck me in my face. The sunflowers trembled as if in agony.

I felt I would lose her, again.

‘I think we should leave now.’

I placed a flower on the grave and turned back.

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A post for Magpie Tales and FFfAW on photo prompts.

The Returning

He dreaded the memories.

He had till now avoided coming back for silly and inconsequential reasons. The truth was that he was unwilling to face the memories that lay seamlessly embedded in that place.

Father had cautioned him but had not stopped him from leaving, ‘Go wherever you wish to go, but don’t forget your roots.’

But he chose to forget; if one had to be radical than it was not fashionable to talk of the roots.

He felt pathetic; rootlessness had only made the journey painful.

He looked at the desolate house and wished he had not come back.

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Post for FridayFictioneers and Three Word Wednesday

Word count 100

Tears

                                                                               Photo prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

She looked at the Sun and sighed. One more day was about to end.

‘He would come today, surely. Has to?’

But she knew that she was only trying to fool herself; he would never return.

Still she was not willing to get rid of the hope that she had nurtured for last ten years.

She looked through the window. The Sun had set. She was distracted by something that was sticking to her withered hands.

She washed her hands, repeatedly; but somehow was unable to cleanse them.

That irritated her.

She looked through the window but everything appeared hazy.

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A post for FridayFictioneers on a picture prompt

Word count 100

Birthday

                                                                                       Photo prompt © CE Ayr

Only she knew what it was to be a single mother. But, against all odds, she had managed to bring up her girl. The girl had just turned sixteen and her excitement was boundless.

The blast hit them as they were stepping out of the mall.

The mother regained her consciousness and looked around. She thought everything around her was nightmarishly baffling.  

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked no one in particular.

‘Relax; everything is in order,’ she thought she heard such words.

She looked around.

‘I lost my …I think I lost my…my shoe,’ she stammered and again passed out.

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A post for Friday Fictioneers in memory of innocent victims of terror attacks.

Word count 100

Bumper Crop

                                                                                         Photo prompt © Connie Gayer

He looked at the field and his heart sank. It was again a bumper crop.

He knew that the agent would be unwilling to lift even quarter of the produce. He would have to beg and accept whatever terms the agent would offer. He would not recover even the sowing costs.

The debts would keep on mounting. It had happened with every bumper crop.

Two of his neighbours had already forfeited their lands and lives. Their deaths had left him numb.

He roamed through the denuded field, thinking of the two neighbours who had killed themselves a few days back.

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A post for Friday Fictioneers

Word count 100

That Day

                                                                                     Photo prompt © Marie Gail Stratford

The mouse looked around; everything was spic and span and at its own place. The mouse was pleased with itself; it had finally ensured that all things were as organized as it had dreamt of.

Men had for generations reveled in chaos. But the mouse knew that eventually men will fail themselves. That day it would enforce its will, brutally.

Bit by bit men had begun to depend on the mouse. Bit by bit they surrendered their will. A day came when for everything men wished to do they ‘waited’ on the mouse.

That day the mouse enforced its will.

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A post for Friday Fictioneers on a photo prompt.

Provocation

She seemed to be totally unaffected by all the commotion around her. She kept working in a relaxed and sedate manner.

“Don’t be that harsh on yourself, join the party; after all how often do we win the World Cup,” someone tried to provoke her but his effort was half-hearted and pathetic. She knew that they were all deliberately fooling themselves and that, in fact, they were all very angry. But it was not a righteous anger.

It was after thirty years that the football team had a golden chance of winning the World Cup. They were hosting the tournament and they were in the final. Other team in the final was the weakest team in the tournament; it was just sheer luck and some patchy hard work that had enabled it to reach the final. The hosts were too confident of a thumping win.

The game was yet to start but everyone had begun to celebrate. The frenzy had to be seen to be believed. They had waited for many years for this intoxicating moment.

But to everyone’s shock and disbelieve the host team lost and lost miserably.  Celebrations turned into one long dirge.  

No one knew that she was fighting her own ghosts; her younger brother had been killed by riotous fans during a football tournament five years back.

She pretended to remain unaffected. But she was not aware that her sang-froid was provoking them.

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A post for Three Word Wednesday and Magpie Tales