One day at a time

Rahul stood aloof, lost in the magic of the greens and browns of the lawn.  ‘Hey Rahul, catch!’ said one child. The flying disc darted across and kissed Rahul’s feet but he made no effort to pick it up.

The other kids kept coloring the front yard with their evening- hues of laughter as they eagerly took turns.

‘Play time over, children’, i instructed, evaluating the swelling shadow of darkness around me.

‘Rahul, you’d have to take your turn at least once, so i can tell your mom, you did’, I said.

Rahul toe-walked toward me, his lips curled into a  beautiful smile.

Word count – 99

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

 

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Mili

I saw Mili,  standing by the window, looking at her pretty garden and purposeful passersby, absent-mindedly. Sad and alone.

I joined her. ‘Lovely, aren’t they? she said, pointing at the flower buds. I could see her tears.

Proverbially beautiful, she married at 16, became a mother at 17, was  abandoned by her husband at 21, soon  after her daughter was born. Her husband didn’t even allow her the kids. ‘Mad’, he called her.

That evening, I had  brought a new flower pot for her. I knocked with no response.

On breaking in, we found our lovely  Mili hanging from their ancient ceiling fan.

Word Count – 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Yarnspinnerr. Thank you, Yarnspinnerr.

 

Please listen to me

‘Don’t you ever feel like sitting and relaxing and talking to me?’ He would ask, desperation in his voice.

‘I am busy, can’t you see? She would reply. She was always busy online, building dream castles.

Sometimes, his words would go completely unacknowledged. He would express his displeasure, calmly, never a harsh word.

‘I will return tomorrow evening’ she had said.

On  the meandering, uneven way back home, she read ‘goodbye, my love’ on her screen, again and again. This was the first time she was listening to him, intently. Only, now it was too late.

Word count- 96

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson. Thank you, Dale.

 

 

They are there

My grandmother’s afternoon stories, my first friend in Kindergarten, my adorable English  teacher explaining, ‘The Daffodils’, my best friend’s inspiring words, fumbling at writing my first love letter, sitting by the lake on my first date -clumsy, nervous, excited, receiving the most outstanding student award, happy patients in my clinic, my dazzling and happy bridegroom, Tuli and Sid’s graduation- the scenes unfold, one after another, like a cinema roll.

My chair too, would  be empty, soon.

Whoever had said ‘you will be all alone on your last day’ was wrong. I have my memories – the happiest ones.

Word count – 97

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria. Thank you, dear Fatima.

 

 

‘Miles to go before i sleep’

‘Gosh, Mimi, new shoes again?’

‘Top secret Ayesha, I’m going trekking to the Himalayas.’

‘But, what about your  Journalism classes?’

‘It  doesn’t interest me anymore.’

‘You had said the same thing before forfeiting Engineering and also before naming the five-month-long music course a misadventure! You and your volatile dreams!’

‘You see, I have a family pool of 101 to draw inspiration from.’

Mimi dreamed of diamond-emitting waterfalls and gold-emitting volcanoes.

‘Mom!?’

‘You can’t be an adventurer. Not now, not ever. You are my only child.’

At least, this time, it wasn’t disinterest but destiny that had aborted her dream.

 

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg. Thank you, Bjorn.

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere, love

It was a unique evening.

She was flying in his sky of adoration and hope.

‘I have never been anyone’s subject’ she had blushed.

‘And, I have never called anyone mine.’

He had paused and clicked all evening, enough to get her intoxicated with his focus.

‘You are most perfect’, he had declared.

Her routine work-packed days became a collage of his images and thoughts.

He welcomed her to stay, his ‘beautiful muse’.

On a bright, promising day, the accident happened. She survived,only lost her perfect face.

Her dream of togetherness lies buried in an anonymous grave.

Word  count- 98

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

 

 

 

A lonely soul

This is my favorite play area. I skip  and hop, giggle with the carefree wind, talk to the charming butterflies, dance with the mighty trees, all here, in my favorite play area. No one calls me at mid-day  for  lunch, no one takes me sight-seeing around the town. But, I am perfectly happy here. This is my world. Only, deep at night, I step inside, scan the rooms, unseen and unheard. I haven’t found a friend yet but I saw a chirpy  little girl enter the cottage today.  I think she can be my forever friend. We never grow old.

Word count- 99

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook. Thank you, Sandra.