Better late than never

Source: http://mrg.bz/n22FGA

 

The thing he hailed as love started corroding her, from inside out.
Once a quick decision maker was presently a powerless darling.
She had to consult him for everything, even to state if it was day or night.
Her glow faded away with her smartness.

Luckily, it was not too late when she learned to differentiate love from thralldom.
By making a dangerous but successful flee, she allowed him to rust in pieces.

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{Sunday Photo Fiction-July 7  2019}

MY DEBUT BOOK

Happy that I have published my debut work “Still Loved Still Missed”. It is a short story collection containing 14 stories and a poem. It has 78 pages and is of nominal price.

It would be great if you can read it.

If you can review it, that will definitely be a bonus and happiness.

Here are the links to purchase the paperback version:

IF YOU ARE IN INDIA

1. NOTIONPRESS
2. AMAZON.IN 

  

IF IN OTHER COUNTRIES

AMAZON.COM

AMAZON.CO.UK

 

KINDLE VERSION

AMAZON.IN  (Inside India)

AMAZON.COM

 

Beware of the old men in suits

Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

The old man in the executive suit holding a black briefcase in his right hand, impatiently examined his watch every 30 seconds. From the looks, it was evident he was waiting for his train. Late running trains were unfamiliar to him.

Within seconds two trains passed fast in opposing directions in the adjacent rail tracks. Not his.

“I would be fired today for the lateness!” He told as if to someone, but none indeed heard him as his voice sank in the trains’.

“Martha and kids would be waiting! I can’t be late!“Martha and kids would be waiting! The stranger smirked.

He sat in a vacant chair, cross-legged, his briefcase kept on his right side.

Moments later he smiled recollecting how he and his brother used to catch fish by diving in the deep waters near his childhood home. He was always better than his brother.

When the next train came, he was still demonstrating his skills, made a jump into the water.

A couple of days later a family in search of their missing schizophrenic father received his body.

___________________

180 words

{Sunday Photo Fiction}

Exceptional Lives

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Every time I think of my hundred-year-old great grandmother, I remember her room window. A black-and-white photograph that pictures a woman gifted with a rare beauty, looking out through her window, longing for her long away husband flashes in mind.

After decades, all saw her; a mother looking through the window mourning her gone son.

The youngest generation loved her as their favorite humorist who always sat beside the window.

She had seen so much life that after she was gone, even her window and the bricks of her room started recounting her tales. Something we all like to cherish.

 

_________________________________

100 words

{Friday Fictioneers}

Lasting Love

Photo by Nick Fewings via Unsplash

Many marry, just the play of immature love.
Many marry, learn to tie the perfect knot of a hanging rope.
Some marry and find the wedded bliss.
True Love is the last love, lasting love.

____________________________________________________

35 words

{Three Line Tales, Week 159}

Happy Campers in Need

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

 

Our sister’s transformation from a lively girl to a depressed doll took a toll on us.
Our cousin, Rose, who accompanied us in one of the trips could make her smile and talk, a couple of times.
During the campfire, our sister almost danced a few steps. 

Rose was quick to intervene when she kept staring at the fire.
“Well, what do you see?”

“Folded human hands, requesting help!”
“Oh! It reminds me of the grilled, spicy corn cobs, so D.E.L.I.C.I.O.U.S.!”
“That sounds yummy!” Our sister cried enthusiastically.

Sometimes, all we need is someone to alter our cerebrations.

__________________________

99 words

{Friday Fictioneers}

Cozened

Photo:Warren Wong via Unsplash

I had no reason to turn down my boyfriend’s marriage proposal. We had met only two months before. My family disapproved, but he was so kind and respectful. He seemed quite well off though we didn’t talk much on that.
I cried the day he had gifted me the tickets to The Baths, in the British Virgin Islands. He had planned to celebrate our V-Day in my dream destination.

The unique island vibes when coral sands blend with blue water, posh resorts, superb food and snorkeling, everything in our menu seemed mesmerizing. We trotted through the white beach-sand, took perfectly posed, but candid, selfies leaning against the granite boulders.

Passing an abandoned grotto, I saw my man receiving small white packets from a stranger, hiding it and proceeding like nothing ever happened.

In a drug smuggling corridor with a dealer!

I understood the trap I was in, but too late.

_______________________________

150 words

{What Pegman Saw -The Baths, British Virgin Islands}

 

 

Prophecy

Photo Jasper Wilde via Unsplash

The shabby lone woman exited her hut to inspect the sea.

Peculiar shades of red laughed in the horizon.
Birds flapped across the evening sky.

The shore was all tensed up over the impending arrival of a disaster.
Fishing nets had oarfish, which predicted an upcoming tsunami or earthquake.

She, who knew it was coming, fell into a meditative trance.

The sea was calm for the next days until she disappeared from the place.

________________________________

74 Words-Inspired by a recent news

{Weekend Writing Prompt #93 – Horizon}

 

Paper Boats in the Monsoon

Photo Credit Subramanya Bhat (Photo for SPF)

A delayed child, who never spoke, giggles to herself.
Everyone except me thinks she is defective. None in that big, rich family cared.
Somehow she knew I appreciated her. She hugs my gifts and giggles.

I visited her last monsoon. She was playing with paper boats in puddles of water. She appeared angelic.

A fallen coconut, her port. Boats named in an unknown script. Suddenly she spoke a peculiar language fluently.
The signs were good enough, she was an angel.
She hugged the pink sweater gift and giggled.

A month later saw her lifeless body wearing that pink sweater.

________________________

99 words

{Sunday Photo Fiction – February 10, 2019}

{February 7: Flash Fiction Challenge}

Freedom

Photo by Robert Hickerson via Unsplash

“A barbed wire fence for the cattle,”
The lady of the ranch announced,
“Intangible fences between freedom and us!” she sighed.

______________________

21 words

{Three Line Tales, Week 158}

Winter Birds

Photo by Clever Visuals via Unsplash

A nest with a nestling, waiting for its mother.
Far away a mother bird cried, worrying about
A hungry chick, in the withering winter weather.

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25 words

{Three Line Tales}

My Granny’s Patio

Photo Credit: Joy Pixley

A long patio covered with garlic vines where my granny rested in a rocking chair is one of my strongest childhood memories.

I had constantly wondered why my granny selected those vines to decorate our patio of all the flowering climbers. She had told it was because of the lovely purple blooms, as blue shaded flowers were the rarest. I had believed that for quite some time.

As I grew up, I realized those plants resembled my granny in a way. She cherished me so much. She was the family I was closest to. She maintained the serene look befitting an angel and was an epitome of love. It was shocking to know she had beaten up her long-estranged husband, who left her for another when he tried taking away my little aunt.

I know why she had been growing garlic vines. It was a reminder.
Garlic vines are one of the most rewarding plants when left alone. They did emit the intolerably pungent garlic smell only when crushed.

_______________________________________________

169 words

{Sunday Photo Fiction – January 27, 2019}

In Search of Love

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Tiny, the apple of our eyes, went missing.
Pining for a lost puppy was laughed upon. A gone pet wasn’t a reasonable excuse to overlook my work on short notice either.

After managing to get a day off work, I and my son went on to search for our pet. 
His pictures were pasted wherever possible.

Feet away from our home was a ghost forest. On hearing little cries we headed to where an old wrecked car was parked.

The front trunk was open. There laid a noble dog feeding her puppies along with Tiny. 

Mother’s love is peace.

______________________

100 words

{Friday Fictioneers}

A Knitter from Eastland

Photo by Beau Swierstra via Unsplash

The way Kaisa had introduced herself during our undergraduate course was interestingly informative. She was a cheerful lady in her 30s.

“Hello friends, I am Kaisa. I see I am older than you all, but I come from a nation much younger than yours. I come from Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, a remote country in Europe. Many believe we are the defenseless dorp of Russia or just a Baltic hinterland or an idiosyncratic population of renegades. But I oppose, may be humble, but we are unique. A splendid group of people who possess a distinct culture, language, food and lovely lands. We witnessed various rulers, endured a lot. I dream of the day my country is known for the right reasons, not as an appendage of any nation!”

My fond memory is Kaisa hand knitting gloves for gifting. 
Before parting she had gifted me a knitted phone pouch. Precious.

_________________

150 words

{What Pegman Saw- Estonia}

 

Still Waters

Photo by Sam Loyd via Unsplash

The riverside, echoing eerie stories, stood notorious for its paranormal activities.

The still waters that never reflect the starry night skies, the large mangrove trees which hide the haunted palace, the broken statue of a murdered prince which is heard making pleas for help in nights.

Sam and Jill brushed aside all these until they heard mysterious footsteps and disembodied screams the night they had arrived at the riverside. 

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69 words

{Three Line Tales, Week 156}

The Genes

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

I enjoyed the way my three-year-old girl, Disha, pointed her chubby fingers towards a painting placed in her pre-school. I have asked her which picture she liked the most.

It was a picture of a girl presenting a flower to a pooh bear.
“That’s an excellent picture!” I congratulated her selection.

She surprised me by pointing to another picture saying,“ No like, no like!”
I asked her why.

“The cow is eating flowers, Mama! No like!!”
My eyes scrutinized the painting. It was a donkey.

I knew correcting my kid was useless, as she thinks she created and named almost all animals and birds. Still, I tried, “That’s a donkey, not a cow, Disha! Look at its head.”

She swayed her head negatively.
A memory struck me.

My five-year-old self who believed all the eggs in our farm was laid by our bunny and the hens were the enemies who came to peck them. None of my family could convince me otherwise, for a long time.

I laughed at the way the genes work.

__________________

174 words

{Sunday Photo Fiction-January 20, 2019}

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An Exploration

Photo:Simbi.com

Mel and Sas disembarked their unique vehicle. Switching on the internet that works with extraterrestrial intelligence, they confirmed their destination. They have landed on the earth where molten lava inhabits some of the active creatures seen in their native planet.

Nearing the magma, their sensors indicated a temperature exceeding 1600 degree Celsius and the presence of all the radioactive elements they had expected. They wanted to collect specimens of the creatures, resembling fish. After satisfactorily completing their job they headed to their vehicle.

Sas told Mel, “ Just survey the spot history, Mel!”
“Okay!”

History revealed the location name as Radium Springs Gardens, some thousand years ago. The place contained hot springs where earthlings used to take a swim. After finding the presence of Radium element, swimming was forbidden. It remained a tourist destination until the doomsday after which the planet became a ball of fire.

Closing the history, they emplaned.

_____________

149 words

{What Pegman Saw-Radium Springs, GA}

Partners in Crime

Photo prompt by H.R.R. Gorman

Our friend, Gary, paid us a visit after satisfactorily completing a mountaineering attempt.
Being an adventure loving couple, we paid attention to his every detail on hiking and camping.
Our six-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, fell absolutely silent on that day.
We seized upon the opportunity to devise a hiking plan for our anniversary.

The following day, both of us arrived home earlier. Shockingly, our bedrooms appeared messy. We assured robbery until we spotted the robbers.
Our twins with their two friends have constructed an absolute camp house in our bedroom using tissues, bed covers, and pillows. 

Eight little feet were seen projecting out of their tent.
Four crime partners in deep slumber. 

_______________________

115 words

{FFfAW Challenge – 201st}

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The Fault in our Stars

Photo by Ian Parker via Unsplash

As an armed truck driver who rides ugly trucks, those vehicles breaking down occasionally at the loftier altitudes weren’t an unfamiliar experience.

When that happened at night on the cliff tops, Charlie felt solemn.

Staring up at the beautiful Milky Way, he would admire them sometimes and other times curse the fault in his stars for not allowing him to become a poet or even an incredible cook.

_________________

68 words

{Three Line Tales, Week 155}

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Colonnades

Photo: Canva.com

Reflecting on memories during the late thirties is like taking a walk through long colonnades. She has felt it a hundred times.

The ranked memories, each alcove created for each event from the childhood, adolescence and the glorious youthful days.
Some nights, when we are all alone, we see a full moon shining through the colonnades; whose solemn look befits all the sweet evocations.
On radiant days, shadowy but warm colonnades remind of the unspoken apprehensions, and agonies we once survived.

Just as the colonnades are magnificent, so are our memories.
Still, somewhere exist fallen colonnades, the vexed memories.

________

99 words

{Flash Fiction Challenge January 17 2019}

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes colonnades.

The Unfortunates

Photo  by Yinglan

From where he stood, the place appeared like a verdant meadow.
The rich kids in colored T-shirts were playing. Their posh houses were visible from his spot. Witnessing their plays, shouts and screams delighted him. 

The winter has caused all the trees to look like tall skeletons. 
It was noon. But the haze didn’t give way to the typical noon-day warmth.
The kids didn’t bother either. What’s more important than playing outdoors with friends?

His stomach grumbled. He hastily moved to the gully side of the meadow.
His ungloved thin hands started sorting the things found there.
Being a ragpicker kid, he was searching for his ‘gold’ in those ditches.

________________

111 words

{FFfAW Challenge – 200th-Photo Prompt}

Unavoidable Cries

(Photo: Stéphane Hermellin via Unsplash)

Mala peeled off, at a snail’s pace.
Suffering, she couldn’t hasten it either. 
Tears overflowing her red eyes.

All the while she was paring the onion, thoughts about the layers maintained by her only son plagued her. 

Decades ago her mother, while working in their onion fields, had remarked, “Life is like onions!” But the twelve-year-old Mala had no clue.

Her parents toiled like slaves to make the two ends meet. But, when they were all set to sell their bumper yields, onion prices had stooped down too low. Obtained nothing, not even peanuts.

Poverty-stricken farmers protested. Mala’s father had gone a little further, burnt his onion field and committed suicide.

She hated onions.

Still, working as a cook in Mumbai City, she had no choice.

All she could do is cry, daily, hoping that someday her pains get cocooned in its many layers, just like the onions.

__________________________

150 words

{What Pegmain Saw-Location prompt-Mumbai}

India is the second largest producer of onions in the world. Maharashtra state leads in onion production. Mumbai in Maharashtra has some of the largest onion markets.