Survival

Age-old-machines realized that time was running out for them. They had to either reinvent themselves or be prepared for a slow, agonizing death.

There was a heated and long discussion; after all they were not communists. 
Eventually some machines agreed; some did not.

Those who saw the challenge staring at them got on with the job. Those who did not opted for status quo.

Machines that reinvented themselves kept on reinventing themselves; they survived the onslaught of robotics and nanotechnology. Those who failed to see the writing on the wall died a slow death.

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A post for Friday Fictioneers hosted by RochelleWisoff on a picture prompt.

Shame

“This is the third girl you have given birth to. It should have been a boy; at least this time.”

He had almost barked at her. A finger probed the baby; and it probed harshly. She was a new born child but still a tiny wave of shame rose in her tiny heart. The mother cringed and looked other way.

As months passed by the wave rose higher and higher; she was often left gasping for breath.

It was her thirteenth birthday. She was fragile as gossamer. But there was no respite for her. He had since plummeted to the zone of beasts and mere probing left him angry. He regretted not killing her at birth.

It was her thirteenth birthday and she lay devastated. She looked at her mother. She saw her eyes; eyes that were bereft of tears. She heard her muted cries; cries that lacked courage.

The wave of shame engulfed her. She wished she could drown for ever.

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A post for Three Word Wednesday

Word prompts- devastate, gossamer, plummet

Victory

image credit: Dick Blick Art

When everything that could be destroyed had been destroyed they all gloated in immense satisfaction.

Every wild animal and every bird had been exterminated; all plants had been poisoned and all trees had been cut and burnt; every river was dead and all glaciers had melted; oceans were nothing but pools of filth and air was reeking with smoke and fumes.

They rejoiced at their great victory over the unbounded power of nature.

But one day suddenly an alarm went off somewhere. It shattered their confidence.

“What? Where? How? It is not possible? Yes? It can’t be true? No? It has happened? Yes? No?”

Troops were given an explicit order, “Use whatever you want to use, chemical, biological, nuclear, known or unknown, but this plant, this flower must be destroyed. How can it dare to challenge our ingenuity and our strength?”

And soldiers destroyed the plant that had found a way to sprout in the land of dead.

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A post for Magpie Tales on a picture prompt.

Stone Soldier

Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons, taken by Daniel71953 and used under the Creative Commons Agreement

Everyone in Vairavia believed that the statue of Zaraan would protect them from the enemies till eternity. They only had to ensure that the statue was well looked after and well-dressed all the time. Nothing more was expected of them to protect their beautiful town and its beautiful people.

Zaraan was a giant of a man and a ferocious warrior who had, a thousand years ago, laid down his life defending Vairavia.

Vairavia was surrounded by steep mountains and could be reached through a narrow pass. Zaraan was standing guard at the pass when the enemy struck. There were more than hundred soldiers in the attacking party. Zaraan fought like a tiger and killed or wounded almost every enemy soldier.  

The enemy attack was repulsed. But Zaraan was fatally injured. Before he breathed his last he told Vairavians to install his statue at the place where he had fought the enemy.

“Let them not know that I have died. Let them think that I have survived my wounds. I have put fear in them and now they feel fear even my statue. They will never dare to attack Vairavia.”

Vairavians spent many evenings rejoicing at their victory. Rejoicing over, they installed a statue of Zaraan at the place he had died. Every few days they cleaned the statue and change its dress. Anyone who saw the statue from a distance thought that it was Zaraan was guarding Vairavia.

The enemy continued to believe that Zaraan had survived the attack and was still standing guard, ever alert and ready to repel the enemy. For years no one dared to attack Vairavia.  

Vairavians began to believe that the statue would protect them from enemy till eternity. They became complacent; no one thought of becoming a soldier; no one sharpened the swords; no one trained the war horses.

They began to believe that they were invincible. They began to enjoy fruits of life without any restraint. Vairavia became nation of fun loving and comfort loving people.

But Vairavians were living in a fool’s paradise. The enemy had all along been burning with rage. For years they had been thirsting to avenge their martyrs. For years they had been planning and preparing for a battle.

And then the enemy struck. Some enemy soldiers were still scared of Zaraan. But they were desperate to challenge him. They attacked Zaraan with all the might and ingenuity they could muster. They were prepared for the worst but this time Zaraan could not fight back. In moments he was shattered into hundred pieces.

Vairavia was overrun. Vairavians paid for their complacency and for their blind reliance on a stone soldier. It dawned on them that they had acted like fools all these years. But it was too late.

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A post for Light and Shade Challenge on a picture (given above) prompt and a quotation (given below) prompt:

Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do.

                                                                                                                        Voltaire

Last Togetherness

Photo prompt-copy right Melanie Greenwood

Three of us met, not knowing that it would be the last time we would be together. Fred had joined a seminary. Kail had, following footsteps of his father and brother, started a retail outlet. I was trying to become a civil servant and to realize my father’s aspiration.

It was not a season to accept invitation of the chairs. We walked under deep blue sky and talked of our dreams. Our dreams were bright and cloudless.

A year later Kail died in an accident.

I lost touch with Fred.

Only memories remain of our last togetherness and shared dreams.  

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Word count 100

A post for Friday Fictioneers on a picture prompt hosted by Rochelle Wisoff

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/

Suicide

She believed that she was not a cripple, at least physically. But she had a lurking suspicion that blood did not flow in her veins, at least not at this stage of life.

She had tried to kill herself. She had brutally cut the vein of her left arm. Not a drop of blood came out. She was horrified. She cut the vein a second time; and it was quite a deep cut. But to her dismay and shock nothing came out except the hurt and humiliation that she had suffered all these years.

When he saw her lying prostrate on the bed, one arm hanging lifelessly, he had laughed, almost like a hyena; he laughed as if it was a charade.

“Now you know for yourself, don’t you; you are a good for nothing person.”

She kept looking; not at him, but at the abuses, the accusations and the insults gushing out of the vein of her lifeless arm.

******

A post for Three Word Wednesday

Word prompts- Cripple, blood, lurk

White Woollen Socks

“Yes, it was a girl; I saw her entering that house; I could not see her face; but there was something strange about her, she was wearing white socks; yes, she was wearing white woollen socks,” the child went on with his narration.

But the police officer was lost in his thoughts. For a moment he was totally stunned. He was investigating the murder of a retired school teacher. He had not yet detected any clue. And now he could not believe what he was hearing.
"This can't be happening," he said to himself, as his mind went back to an investigation he had carried out five years earlier.

Five years back he was investigating the murder of another school teacher. He had not found even one clue. Then an eight year old boy had come forward to tell him that he had seen a girl entering the house of school teacher.

“There was something funny about her; she was wearing white woollen socks. No, I did not see her face. But I remember her socks,” the boy had said.

Couple of other people had also claimed seeing a girl, wearing white socks, roaming in the area.  No one had seen her face. The girl was never identified. The case was never solved.

Police officer kept on investigating the recent case.  He revisited the case file of the teacher murdered five years back and learnt that both teachers were teaching in the same school.

A chance meeting with a retired employee of the school and relentless probing revealed that, years back, both teachers had one day badly humiliated a girl who had come to the school wearing white woollen socks instead of normal grey socks.   The girl was unable to bear the humiliation and stopped coming to the school. No one, however, took any notice of the incident.

Police officer began to suspect that that girl was perhaps involved in the murders. He tracked the parents of that girl and made some polite inquiries.

“She was totally shattered and refused to go to school. I suggested that she could shift to some other school. But she would not just agree,” said her father.

“She never left her room, she was in such pathetic condition,” said mother.

“Did you not take some professional advice?  You could have taken her for some counselling?” officer asked.

“We kept persuading her but she would not listen,” said father

“Would you mind if I talk to her?” requested police officer.

The parents looked at him without saying a word; their eyes were blank.

“Can I meet her?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“She is not..... alive; she died eight months after that incident.”

Police officer did not know what to say.

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Written for Magpie Tales on a picture (given above) prompt.