Category: Sunday Photo Fiction

Nasty Dreams

SPF 10-14-18Joy Pixley 3Photo Credit: Joy Pixley

I remember I was trudging. Was that a real place? I was cursing someone for putting me through that sea of cacti. The ones I have never seen or imagined.

Cacti, whose long spines tried to pierce my bosom and my spine to make sure I don’t escape alive. No spot to rest but walk, as if on a moving roller coaster. Some spineless cacti had disgusting round holes. That made me wish for long, cruel claws to crush everything. 

I could behold the mountains at a distance, but no, I can’t make it for that sea was uncrossable. I felt like falling into a bottomless pit.

With a jolt, everything resolved. 
dream so vivid during a siesta is quite maddening.

{Written for SPF}

Word Count: 122


Deepest Yearnings

SPF 10-2-18 Anurag 3Photo Credit: Anurag Bakhshi

“What’s the best thing to long for this vacation?” Litta asked Mona.
“An escape from our orphanage!”

“Yay, I announce you good news. We are going on a trip this vacation!
“Really? Litta, I think you are kidding… Mona was half hopeful and half curious.
“No Mona, I promise!”



Contrary to what they believed they were taken to a beautiful green hill-top.The valley was filled with houses. For the kids, everything was new and mesmerizing.

An ocean seemed adjacent to the houses. A vast, blue shining water body!
As they settled down under a huge tree’s shade, the lady manager asked the kids.
“What did you like the most?” 
“Everything!” All of them shouted.
But which you liked the most, this hill or the ocean?” 
Silence prevailed. “Come on! Tell me!”She encouraged.
The answers pierced her heart.

We loved houses the most.
“It will be great to live in such homesWe can run or roam until the sea and return. It will be fun!


The deepest yearnings were all the same.

The lady promptly changed the topic to snacks and drink.

{Written for Sunday Photo Fiction}

The Invite


Photo Credit: Sunday Photo Fiction


“To Mom and Dad…”

Harley started reading his sole son’s much-awaited letter.

The phone communications always ended abruptly on account of “urgent work”.

 “Martha, does our son love us anymore?

Harley’s voice sounded tired while calling out.

“I can’t even see a ‘dear’ expression in his note.

Martha beheld him silently. 

“…We are busy…” 78 years old Harley sighed.

We purchased ourselves a new home at Portland.” 

“Wow!” Harley was seen smiling.

“It’s superbly cozyfully equipped four bedroom home, the type our place has ne’er seen. 

“Martha, did our son really write this? Does he think Seattle is a behindhand place? Between, he hasn’t even asked about us so far.”

“He might be busy, might have scribbled it in the middle of work or sleep…For all that,  he wrote to us,  right?” There was a comforting tone in her words.

“Hmmm….see, he has left us the address, but no phone number…Our son says

Harley read aloud.

….You are welcome to come over any time. “

Harley and Martha exchanged looks. 

Silence prevailed.

Twelve days later they were seen arriving at the Seattle airport for next flight to Portland.


(Word count: 189)

(Sunday Photo Fiction – December 9, 2018}