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Friday, October 06, 2017

Moonlight


(100-word flash fiction)

He woke up to a feeling of being touched. There was moonlight splayed everywhere, on the floor, furniture, bed and glowing pale on his feet. As he watched, it began to creep up his legs, slowly and imperceptibly. As though the moonlight was a sensuous lover caressing him softly, seductively.


It was when it began to spread up his body that he broke into a cold sweat. Then, as his consciousness began to fade, it occurred to him that the moon had been falling not rising and that thing outside that was shining on his face was not the moon.

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers

~~~


Friday, September 29, 2017

Iqbal


(100-word flash fiction)

The rain battering the roof sounded like dancing skeletons. Or machine-gun fire. Both reminded him of Afghanistan.

Behind his closed sleepless eyelids rose images of families huddled in shacks, hiding their daughters, their young sons. Their once-proud brows shrunken by war and poverty. Their once erect backs, bent.

Only young Iqbal was different. Orphaned, rudderless, hanging around the camp doing odd jobs, immune to the horrors, always smiling, as though he, impossibly, saw only light everywhere.

For him, the war ended when Iqbal was found dead, hit by a stray American bullet.


Collateral damage, they said. Bloody murder, he thought.

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

~~~


Friday, September 15, 2017

Yellow Heart


(100-word flash fiction)

I got up early to make Mummy a marmalade sandwich with a heart hole for Mother’s Day. Daddy called it Yellow Heart.  He said it would make Mummy very happy when she got home.

It’s 8 o’clock and Mummy isn’t home yet, so Daddy made me a peanut butter sandwich. But, I was still hungry so I started to eat Mummy’s sandwich too, when the doorbell rang.

But it’s not Mummy, it’s a policeman with his hat in his hand. Why is he whispering to Daddy while staring at me?

Is Mummy not coming back because I ate her sandwich?

~~~

* Apparently, on SnapChat, Yellow Heart means you are #1 best friends with each other :)

** Written for Friday Fictioneers.


Monday, August 28, 2017

Womb

(100-word flash fiction)

The baby was a gruesome freak. Of nature. Born after years of prayer and pilgrimage. The nurses would bring him for a feed but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him, let alone take him to her breast.

The woman in the next bed sobbed through the night for her perfect, stillborn baby. The small room pressed down heavy and oppressive with the weight of two empty cradles.

Her depleted womb became a bloody battle ground. Disappointment warred with Despair until Guilt started to trounce them both.

Eventually, Self Pity won. Her room on the seventh floor had unbarred windows.

------------


Written for Friday Fictioneers.

~~~


Thursday, August 17, 2017

Holi

(100-word flash fiction)

It is Holi. The neighbourhood youth are gathering logs and twigs for the bonfire.

She takes her wedding sari out and weeps into it. Endless pain after years of abuse comes pouring out, soaking the red silk into a dull-blood burgundy.

The lit bonfire is steadily growing.

She takes the mangal-sutra off her neck and tucks it into the soggy sari.

The fire is a roaring beast, flicking tongues of pure flame.

She walks to the bonfire and tosses the sari into it.

-

Elsewhere, her husband, quite by accident, trips on a naked, high-voltage wire and fries to death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The festival of Holi begins on the night before when a bonfire is lit and people perform rituals in front of it. The name comes from the mythological story in which the demoness Holika is burnt to death by Lord Vishnu and symbolises the triumph of good over evil. It takes place at the end of winter and a deeper meaning suggests getting rid of all internal, unwanted garbage (the diseased, decaying and dead) in us, so that we can welcome the oncoming spring purged and fresh. Holi - or the festival of colours begins the next morning with the smearing of colour on each other in a friendly, playful, and relaxed atmosphere. The many hues of colour signify the new, emerging colours of spring. It is also harvest season and the time to meet and rejoice, end past conflicts and mend broken relationships.
-

The mangal-sutra (literally meaning blessed thread) is tied around the bride’s neck by the groom during the wedding.  A Hindu married woman wears it until she dies or becomes a widow.

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers

~~~

Monday, August 14, 2017

Stone-heart

(100-word flash fiction)

She didn’t know when her heart had turned into stone.

She remembered the first walls, built purely in self defense, to shield her sensitive heart. She even decorated them with plastic smiles and forced cheerfulness. But, unknown to her they began to thicken.

She met everyone on the outside, playacting friendliness. Flirting with men, but not knowing how to give her heart away. Because, eventually, even she didn’t have access to it.

Arthur had come, stayed briefly, called her a ‘stone-hearted goddess’ and left.

Yes, she had a heart of stone.

Until, she found the abandoned baby in the dumpster.

~~~

It's that time of the week when we scratch the FF itch and conjure stories of all form and manner in 100-words all of which presided over by our ever gracious hostess Rochelle. :)

Friday, August 04, 2017

The bouquet


(100-word flash fiction)

The flowers were sitting on her doorstep glowing in the golden hour sunlight.

“Thank you, dearest Simon,” she smiled at the thought of her at-last-found true love.

She scooped them up as she let herself in. Taped to a stem was a heart shaped card. Her heart fluttered then burst into beam exactly like the light she had turned on.

“You cannot live without me. I will not let it be.” It said in Zac’s sloppy hand.


Behind her bowed head, a bee rose from a half-open bloom and found her neck. She was dead before she hit the ground.

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers

___


Thursday, July 27, 2017

The call



(100-word flash fiction)

The phone rang at the oddest hours, at night when she was asleep.

It was always a child, whispering plaintively, sometimes frantically, but in a strange language. She was sure it was a prank, someone mimicking a child's voice to pester her. The next time, however, an adult shout was heard followed by the sound of a slap and whimpering.

She decided to record the call. She had to wait for two months.

She then spent the rest of the night on Google Translate which translated, "Save me from these people. Help me find my parents. Please come rescue me."


~~~

Written for Friday Ficitioneers. 

___


Monday, July 24, 2017

The chariot


(100-words flash fiction)

The curtained chariot waiting at the edge of the forest had strange markings. It was only after a while that she realised there were no hoof-beats, no shudder, only a gentle swaying.

When she had parted the curtains and looked out, they were gliding through the air, her castle retreating below in the gathering gloom. The swaying had lulled her into peaceful sleep.

She awakened to a sudden noise. Light was streaming in from every window.


The door opened and there he was wearing the strangest clothes and a wicked grin. Opening his arms, saying, “Welcome to the 21st century!”

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Firefly


(100-word flash fiction)

She put the last firefly into the jar and closed the lid.

Twilight had quickly turned into night in the woods. Holding the jar up to let the glowing light from her captives guide her she pushed forwards.

Light glowed from windows in the distance. Soon, she would be home.

That’s when she saw it. A huge firefly, meandering lazily to her right.

“Ah! The prize catch,” she thought as she stepped towards it.

Her hand closed in on a cold metal object on the other side of which was a sneering face.


“What have you got there, little girl?”

~~~

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Pen

(100-word flash fiction)

She grabbed the red-ink pen as though it was a dagger.

The blank, white page looked like a virgin, innocent and waiting.

When she put pen to paper, words flowed as though blood were pouring from her fingers. Her mother’s words were dim in her memory, “words can heal or they can kill.”

She didn’t care. For her these words were like a vicious blood clot, cutting off supply to her life, choking, almost killing her. Blood had to be let.

And hand delivered.


She drove to his house. Outside, there was an open ambulance with a covered body inside.

~~~

I wrote this story for the weekly Friday Fictioneers fix at Rochelle's blog. I have been a bit behind posting on Blogger. Need to catch-up :)

~~~


Monday, May 01, 2017

AUTUMN -Haiku


Autumn comes russet-
robed. Gold in her hair. The sound 
of departing wings.

~~~



Autumn outside my window

---

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

The dance


I wake up to dancing dappled sunlight.

The sky has forgotten
last night's thunderstorm.
But not the mother bird
whose nest has fallen.

Yet seeds will sprout at that spot
among the knitted twigs
and broken egg shells.

Life moves from form to form.

I only need to sit back and
watch the play of illusions.

Like the playful sunbeams
dancing gaily on my face.

~~~ ~~~

Friday, January 20, 2017

The Rainstorm


The wind howled through the night flinging raindrops against windowpanes and bending trees. The rain came and went like noisy guests partying on the rooftop. Needless to say, I didn't sleep. I lay there listening to the music of the heavens and conjuring up haiku. 😀


THE RAINSTORM

Thousands of berserk
horses leaping through the night.
I, drenched in rapture.

Seams of bulging clouds
Crackling bursting through the night.
I, cross stitched with joy.

A wet wind howls a
Sad litany through the night.
I, mute with delight.

--------------------------------

Today, the sun is out and my front yard is looking freshly washed and happily smiling :D



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