Lift the lies

 

I don’t believe in “hallucination”.

Out of the corner of my eye , I had seen him lift the knife from the kitchen counter .

Instinctively, I had dialled 911, though a terror-stricken, trembling “hello” was all I had managed to utter.

“I saw him “, yells the middle aged Jena, my friend and inmate in the asylum .

The nurses arrive to prepare her for the torturous electroconvulsive therapy that they rely on to whip out her hallucination.

I hug Jena to lift her spirits momentarily, for, I know, more than anyone that unfortunately ,  sometimes, “hallucination” is nothing but a prison… a bait… an imposed facade .

This story was written for Six Sentence Stories at Zoe’s uncharted , the cue of the week being “lift”. Thanks to Zoe for hosting the challenge.

The golden year(s)

The photo album enlivens a vineyard of memories.

That glass-wooden room was our “secret den” . No, I have been furthest from police stations and/or criminal records. Thank God! Our “den “ was the sanctuary where we had the  freedom to be as deliriously happy as we wanted to be! We, the “gang” of siblings, cousins and  close friends relaxed in the “den” over guileless conversations and imported music sans supervision.

I received an “urgent “ mail today .

It read :

‘Please join  us for  Rachel’s 50th Birthday celebrations with her “gang “.

Date : July 10th .

Venue: “the den”.’

I turn 50 on 10th July.

Word count – 99

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

Photo prompt courtesy : Sarah Potter.

 

The uncanny silence

“…and the woods were an example of co-existence between members of different kingdom-family-species and the Xangua tribe . Xanguans were advanced in traditional medicinal knowledge .They knew the “formulae” to concoct salves for treating chameleon venoms to snake bites to climate and weapon injuries. Xanguans were safe until another set of humans called Zikus appeared on the scene , heralding the dawn of unfortunate clash for supremacy over the woods . Zikus were masters of fierce supra-human reflexes “ my enigmatic husband read into the pamphlet, he had gathered from the campground office .

The dazzling glorious sun had vanquished the clouds . We stepped out of our enchanting tent home ,excited to enjoy mother nature in all its splendor .After an adventurous “caveman” breakfast , we embraced the hiking trails . Something familiar caught my eyes – the “mound of the dead “as mentioned in the prominent pamphlet picture  – the  burial site of Xanguans, covered with stones of different sizes. I screamed my husband’s name. There was no response.

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

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Pamela S. Canepa. Thank you Pamela for our photo prompt!

 

Get, set, go!

“Its gorgeous , Rick . Thanks for the present “ exclaimed Ria ,admiringly inspecting the pair of black sneakers.
“But a week’s practice is hardly enough “ , Ria posited .
“You can’t let go of the golden opportunity, Ria “ , Rick pleaded earnestly.
The tracks filled Ria with a sensation akin to that of the  first showers on the  parched land .
Day 1 at practice session had declared that Ria would see the exercise till the conclusion.
The athletes were “all set to go” on the brick red tracks for the 100-meter Zonal race championship. Rick was elated to see Ria take postion on the tracks . He uttered a prayer and closed his eyes  with the nervousness and anticipation of a participant .
A few steps from the finishing line , Ria took a deep exhausted breath, all eyes set on the two leading participants, subjugating the tracks with their pace .
“Go Ria!”cheered an excited Rick .
Those scenes replayed like a cinema roll as Ria paused at the commercial of  a popular sports shoes brand.

“Get, set, go !”, the Zonal champion  commanded her life.

Written for FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017 WEEK #23 where participants are required to write a flash fiction piece under 200 words, inspired by the photo prompt.

Image courtesy : https://www.pexels.com/photo/action-adult-athlete-exercise-260288/

“It’s my life !”

Smita gets furious and frustrated with the “try again “message flashing for the fifth consecutive time, before the phone switches over to “disabled” mode.

Seething with anger, she charges out to her bedroom for a fresh round of question- answer session with her husband Amit.

“Why did you have to change it again, you want more space, just give me a divorce , all right? “ hurls Smita and almost throws the phone on the bed with a “just , unlock it “,before marching out.

A perplexed Amit is at his wit’s end to discover all his official mails , contacts , apps, calendars erased, on account of Smita’s carelessness and battles to fix the damage with an urgent official meeting awaiting him in less than an hour’s time.

“What was the problem?”,Amit asks Smita in his characteristic cool temperament , before counter-accusing her , only to receive the insanely immature reply “ your phone is my phone now and I don’t want you to keep changing passwords, what is it that you are hiding , after all?”

Amit feels nauseously repulsed , dashes out of the door, “time to take charge now” ,he resolves and the car zooms off .

This story was written for Six Sentence Stories at Zoe’s uncharted , the cue of the week being “charge”. Thanks to Zoe for hosting the challenge.

Charred

“Papa, will you be proud of me, if I become a doctor when I grow up ?” my 4 and a half year old daughter Alice would ask ,adjusting her toy stethoscope around her ears. A father’s emotional heart, that’s what a daughter is .

I am waiting in my car , struggling to find a way to break the news to her mother . My eyes and heart bleed tears as I picture her orphaned charred toys in the mound of ashes. I wish we had not sent her to school today . She would have been safe at home and ALIVE.

Word count-97

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle . Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge.
Photo prompt courtesy : Karuna.

 

The heritage ride

A post doctoral student in the University of Pennsylvania, it was Anu’s first adventure into the city . Alone. Anu smiled as she spotted the approaching “heritage ride “. The tram ride to the Alipore zoo in Kolkata as a 10 year old and the episode of accidental loss of the chocolate popsicle to the crocodile well flashed in her mind’s eye.

The diverse people around intrigued her. She admired the country for welcoming and embracing diversity. The three gleeful elderly ladies, possibly in their mid-seventies, seated near Anu in the tram made her pause to appreciate the blessing of enduring friendship/s . A bohemian playing “If i had a hammer” on his guitar reminded Anu of “follow your passion “. She put a five dollar bill in his hat in her charitable spirit. At the far end of the compartment, Anu saw an enthusiastic young couple playing with their lovely daughter , an image of pure joy.

The tram stopped near Betsy Ross’s house with  pages of History turning  into a reality for the dream-chaser.

This short story was written based on this week’s photo prompt at flash fiction for aspiring writers. Thanks to priceless joy for hosting the challenge.

Image courtesy : Yinglan.