Tag: Photo Prompt

Beware of the old men in suits

Train Station

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

three line tales, week 159: a little fellow dangling from a graffiti heart
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}

Paper Boats in the Monsoon

Subramanya Bhat

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}

Dragons

SPF 10-07-18 CE AYR 4Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Every day I despise,
The diverse dragons in disguise.
Those with a fake smile.
The ones who offer a false style.


Every day I despise,
The diverse dragons in disguise.
Every so often they appear as,
Chilling fears or milling tears.
Off and on they appear as, 
Burying worries or worrying hurries.

Every day I despise,
The diverse dragons in disguise.
Now I have made a will,
To bring all the dragons to kill.

___________________

{Sunday Photo Fiction – February 3, 2019}

My Granny’s Patio

spf 11-18-18 joy pixley 2Photo 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}

Still Waters

three line tales, week 156: stars over the sea
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. 

_______________

69 words

{Three Line Tales, Week 156}

The Genes

img_2072Photo 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}

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}

The Fault in our Stars

three line tales, week 155: an old truck in a ghost town
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}

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}

Seasonal Jumps

three line tales, week 154: people skipping over stones in the waterPhoto by Nattu Adnan via Unsplash

In the spring of life, we jump with rhythm, in the water, on the bed and the trampoline alike, our priceless joys. 

In the autumnwe jump to rediscover the lost childhood or to keep a check, on the heart and the fat.

In the winterwe jump every time the body goes numb, and reassure the world that we are still alive.

____________

63 words

{Three Line Tales, Week 154}

In Search of Organic

spf january 6 2019 ce ayr

Photo Credit: CE Ayr

The bone-creaking old man was desperate. His noisy joints and spindly legs were limiting his movements. 

“Only broth can save you,” assured his trusted healer. “But mind you, the lambs must be completely grass-fed, organically grown!”

The old, but rich man set out with his dearest companion to purchase as many lambs he could get from the sheepfold on the outskirts, which guaranteed to provide organic cattle.

The direction board helped him reach his destination.
He paid no attention to the huge waste bins at the entrance

Just before fixing the deal, a garbage picking van made an appearance at the gateHis gut instincts made him limp towards the entrance. 

Huge trash cans filled with numerous bottles and covers of the hormone drugged feed were being collected by the van driver.

Money can’t buy health!” Muttered the old man while getting into his SUV.

_____________

145 words

{Sunday Photo Fiction – January 6, 2019}

Sweet Tooth

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Saras has learned the lessons only a toothache can teach, promptly to disregard when the ache is gone. The fifty-eight-year-old woman can’t quit the sweet stuff. 
A tooth removal was essential. Being a heedless patient, her dentist has stopped exchanging pleasantries. Services weren’t denied, thanks to the Hippocratic oath.

At the clinic, while experiencing excruciating pain, her eyes fell on the multi-colored candies kept in a jar on the pebbled surface teapoy. 
Before leaving after the procedure Saras queried someone if she could take some.
“Of course!” 

Candy-like papers with dental health tips left her bitter for the remaining day.

________________________________

100 words

{Friday Fictioneers}

 

Peek-a-Boo

Photo prompt by Jodi McKinney

The terrified couple plodded into the refugee campNeither they nor the others memorized exactly the sequence of events since the last 30 hours.

Hurricanes weren’t new. But that time they had walked the delicate rope between life and deathThey had the slightest worry about their ripped off house and the wrecked farmland. But they mourned for their only kids- cows, goats, horse, rabbits, a puppy, and a cat. None made it.

At the camp, they received food and essentials, were even tested for infectious diseases. Though touched by suicidal ideation, none cried.

The woman looked out of the window to find a peek-a-boo session by the sun and the dark clouds. She smiled. The husband looked at her questionably.

One of the nurses enquired. “Miss, you are expecting, right?”
“No.” She answered surprisingly fast.

The nurse smiled. “Yes, absolutely, you are. I know it’s challenging. Things will turn out fine, but only with your care.” 

When she had left, the woman smiled more beautifully increasing the perplexity of her husband.

______________

Word Count: 171

{Written for FFfAW Challenge – 199th}

Depth Images

PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

 

“Mom, do you ever think of dad?”

The seventy-eight-year-old mother retained a dazed look at her son’s query. They were walking up the valley towards the pale mountains.

“No!”

“Why?”

“We never enjoyed that connection.” 

 His mother was seen grim-faced and silent. 

To his surprise she continuedpointing at the mountains.

“Your dad was like those mountains. He wanted attention and adoration. Somehow, he gained it. I waslike this valley, always unnoticed, unattended and unappreciated. Everyone forgets mountains are inseparable from valleys”. She paused. “… It’s good that he’s no more…!

Alan credited the unfathomable depths of human relationships.

_______________

Word Count: 100

{Written for Friday Fictioneers}

Blissful Reassignment

New YearsMorgueFile Fidler Jan New Year’s

The bridge was filled with the impatient hundreds who have turned up for the celebrations. The New Year was near. 

Mettilda has put on the appropriate dress she had saved for the occasion, a crystal embellished pink maxi with a matching neck scarf and a hat. Her eyes were sparkling with the delight of life

For a second she rewound all the pains and agonies endured, because of her identity being trapped in the wrong body of Matt Henry. Mettilda was looking forward to a renewed life she had always desired.

The New Year was born, sparkling spectacles filled the sky. There was joy everywhere. People greeted each other.

 She left the place leaving behind everything that belonged to Matt Henry.

Word Count: 121

{Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner 2019: Week #1}

The Irony

Photo Akshata Ram

The non-tech-savvy mother struggled with the smart device every time her daughter sent a message or call. She has already spent around 45 minutes to download a snap.

Finally, when the picture was visible, she couldn’t take her eyes off it. Her daughter has detailed that it as the view from her apartment window.

It was winter in Oregon. The mother could see snow filled park followed by snow-covered pine trees.

Living in a desert, where men marry twice or thrice to bring in more people to carry water, the mother laughed at the irony.

Word Count: 95

{Written for FFfAW Challenge – 198th}

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

Satisfaction

(Photo:Yarnspinnerr)

It was noon, the last Tuesday of the month. Moreoverit was Christmas.

The kids had neither a watch nor a calendar. They knew not to read or write either.

But the entry of a trolley into the dim-lit factory, filled with triangular puffs, made them smile, a little extra. They knew the day.

Rectangle puffs, filled with beet-root were provided every last Tuesday of the month. Some ate it as soon as they got their hands on. A few took it to their homes to share with their siblings.

They were five to seven years old.

Daily they worked from early morning in the dingy factories, which gifted them feeble bodies and lifeless eyes. Their only fuel was the wheat bun and water provided in the factory.

 

They eagerly awaited for their share. They knew triangular puffs were egg puffs, a luxury for Christmas.

When they finally obtained their portionthey realized it was just a potato puff.

Definitely better than no puffs!
They smiled once more.

__________________

 

{Written for FFfAW Challenge – 197th}

Beautiful Endings (Setting #writephoto)

They ended it amicably.
Possessing no children was a blessing in some ways.

The procedures took long to finish.
It was dusk. They were a bit tired. Despite that none of them appeared gloomy.

She was alone, so he offered her ride back.
The setting sun, over the hills, presented a fabulous view. They talked throughout.

As the sun set, they explored a contemporary eatery on the way. They enjoyed the tasty continental dish before resuming the drive.

Sometimes endings can be beautiful too.

 

(Written for #WritePhoto)

The Spy at the Opera

(Photo:Local-life.com)

 

She clutched the opera tickets firmly and stepped into Juliusz Słowacki Theatre, Krakow.
It wasn’t like any other time. For she possessed fewer clues and had to rely more on her instincts.

She looked majestic in the silver, backless maxi dress. She never failed to draw attention anyway.  

She knew the question and the accurate answer.

 

The man in the tuxedo was ogling at her for more than the standard seconds. She knew. She approached.

Balloons. Gold or Black?” she winked.
Purple.” 

She turned back sensing the danger.

The opera was yet to start. But she must leave.

As she hurried out, the doorkeeper asked, “Black or Gold?

The extent of danger was so evident that she transmitted all the secret alarms as possible.

___________

{Written for What Pegman Saw- Juliusz Słowacki Theatre in Krakow, Poland}

 

Precious Possession

Copyright – Adam Ickes

They were our mother’s absolute possessions.

To everyone’s despair, they secured a place in the living room showcase. She was adamant.

pair of soiled, spoiled, blood-stained military boots!

The boots of a soldier who died while serving his motherland.

The boots of a beloved husband who retained nothing as a gift to his wife, other than his blood-stained uniform.

The boots of a father who instilled selflessness among the children while sustaining them struggling far away.

It’s humane to gloss over precious things.

{Written for Friday Fictioneers}

Christmas Hopes

(Photo:Akshata Ram)

“Flying the nest is the purpose of parenting!” They said.
She would disagree.
Not a solitary day passed without grief and loneliness.

It has been six years since her two daughters left her home for their new lives.
All festivals passed without notice for six years.

To her surprise, she received communication that both of them were visiting home for ChristmasShe could feel the new surge of energy and joy.

The house needs to be cleaned and painted again.

The cupboard had the Christmas adornments in grim shape.

She managed to buy everything new. She baked their favorite cake and bought new dresses.

Only to know they had to postpone the trip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count-115

{Written for FFfAW 196th challenge}