Mother and child

Nora sat by her mother’s dusty rocking chair.

‘She talked about you, everyday, at tea time. We would have tea and scones in those wooden benches in the lawn. You know, she had a pet Owl that lived in that huge Oak tree.’, her mother’s neighbor Emilia, related.

‘I hardly ever visited her, too caught up with my life ‘ Nora said, her eyes drenched.

‘Your mum was ever calm, ever warm, never complained about anything.’

‘She would wear this always.’ Emilia handed  Nora a chain with a pendant, bearing a picture of the mother with her smiling little child.

 

Word count -99

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Thanks dear Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook. Thank you, Sandra.

 

 

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The color pink

‘I hate pink. So, no pink dresses, pink cakes, pink decorations.’

‘I had always known color pink to be a lady’s friend.’

She doesn’t respond but is pulled into another world.

The hot, murky afternoon becomes bright against the dirty, pink walls of the staff room, and the long years rewind to repeat the story.

She  tries to run from the stench of his body, from the suddenness of his abominable touch, from the pain and shock of the moment that had forever altered her perception of self.

She had borne the agony, the guilt, the shame, alone.

Her past was a cage and she had fought the impulse to unload it onto  another or have them  perceive her permanent scar.

She had run from relationships too. However, some things were destined to be. She was at the threshold of marriage now.

She had to  open the cage and have him take a peep, now, before it was too late.

She hopes, he would still stay.

 

Word count- 166

Written for flash fiction for aspiring writers based on this week’s photo prompt . Thanks to priceless joy for hosting the challenge.

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Grant-Sud. Thank you Grant-Sud!

 

 

 

 

Obsessed

‘I am worried, Sanaa’.

‘What’s the matter, Grandma?’, asks a deeply concerned Sanaa.

‘It’s about your grandpa’

‘Is it the heart problem? Should I take an appointment?’

‘It’s the bird problem.’

‘The myna, again?’

‘Your grandpa is obsessed about the bird’s obsession with ‘dammit”.

Sanaa heaves a sigh of relief.

‘Well, what’s grandpa’s favorite pastime these days?’

‘Don’t ask. It’s those Neolithic tool kits. Perennially frustrated. His age   shows.’

‘..Yesterday, he clutched the little bird in his  rage, to make her greet ‘Namaste’ to Nishi ‘

‘Grandma, just shift the bird near your room’.

‘The 4th shifting in one month!’

Word count -99

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Thanks dear Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

 

 

To a paradise

Rita sat in one inconspicuous corner of the ferry, wearing a thick cloak. Her stomach churned in hunger but she barely had enough money for the fare. She would gulp down water at intervals to retain a feeling of fullness.

She wasn’t scared of hunger anymore. What had a full stomach given her anyways, except for harsh words and a feeling of worthlessness? The worst stories in life were made up of a helpless dependence on others; she knew this from her bitter experiences.

She  liked the feeling of being far away from what she was obliged to call home. She was not scared of strange faces now.  She could be who she wanted to be, perhaps, even  make happy acquaintances. Different was promising.

Rita could hardly believe her smiling heart. She smiled at the wispy clouds, the greener than green trees. She did not know how her new start was going to shape up, what she was going to be. All she knew was that she was going to be free.

Word count – 172

Written for flash fiction for aspiring writers based on this week’s photo prompt . Thanks to priceless joy for hosting the challenge.

This week’s photo prompt is provided by BarbCT/Gallimaufry. Thank you BarbCT!

 

Parallel lives

He was a writer. He would write about incomplete, even unattainable love.

I had asked ‘Do you detest happy endings?’

‘Who said happy endings are really happy?’ he’d said.

I assumed real intellectuals were all a little skeptical.

On that moonlit night by the deck, I had  professed, unequivocally.

It was too sudden for him, he had said. He  left. Forever.

He is famous now. His books are on display in stores and book-fairs.

I am still in my small town, married, with two children.

Claiming a home with another and calling him ‘love’ made me ordinary but happy, nonetheless.

Word count- 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Thanks dear Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz. Thank you, Ted.

 

 

 

 

 

Make it a better place

‘The Knollwood towers falls victim’ flashes on the TV screen .

Alice  realizes the familiarity, closeness and gravity of the situation and  makes a dash for her car.

The lanes around the apartment complex are sealed . There is huge  vigilance and she is intimated that she is forbidden to  step  into the area.

‘My brother lives in that complex’ Alice says, her voice soaked in anxiety and fright.

She had been trying to call her brother and sister-in-law but with no response.

The apartment complex had been razed to the ground.

Alice  hopes and prays for her brother’s family to be safe, somewhere in a grocery store when suddenly a few civilians standing  beside a security personnel’s vehicle catches her attention.

Alice  is relieved to spot her brother’s daughter among them.

Rebecca was at her friend’s house, few buildings away, at the time of the catastrophic attacks.

Orphaned and shocked, she is permanently bereft of speech.

In the annual peace rally, holding placards, the Rebeccas mourn the death of love and plea for a better world.

Word count- 175

Written for flash fiction for aspiring writers based on this week’s photo prompt . Thanks to priceless joy for hosting the challenge.

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Elaine Farrington Johnson. Thank yoiu Elaine!

 

 

 

 

Like a winged- bird

‘On your mark, get set, go’, resounds in the distance.

The very thought of the tracks rejuvenates me. I see myself, flying.

A zealous participant on the tracks, either in sports or in life would associate with the euphoria, the excitement, the do-or-die commitment in the pursuit of the  finish line.

I always aced the 100 meter dash in school. They called me ‘champion’ .

Now, the pursuit of motherhood and professional commitments have taken over.

I take out the safely-preserved,  cob-web-covered grey running shoes from the shelf, bearing medals of victory from renowned stadiums.

‘Its never too late’, I promise myself.

Word count- 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Thanks dear Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter. Thank you, Sarah.