Can You See My Fingers Bleed?

I was planning to write poetry or fiction for some challenge today and here I am, sitting, staring at my laptop screen with my vision getting blurred every few seconds. I wipe my eyes with my already damp hands and start staring at the screen again. I feel an urge to hug my laptop right now or kiss it. And I feel an urge to go out for a walk in the woods with my laptop and never come back to my real world.

I have got the best friends, brothers and sisters here with the help of this little box, a machine. Who knew machines would be understanding feelings more than humans, someday ? Technological advancement or Humanity decline ? I know If I’d cry right now, there would be someone sitting right beside their computer ready to embrace me with their words. I know if I’d share my darkest feelings and the most strange emotions there would be people understanding these without judging me.

Unknown people who have no idea who am I and where I belong, what my country, cast and religion is. People who just know that there is some soul out there, craving for their sympathetic words. Craving for the Love that real world failed to give it. Craving for the care that everyone wants, but doesn’t get it. Craving for someone who could listen, just listen to what it had to say. To listen to the rants of a restless soul.

The time I spent crying while laying in the dark, for 20 years is spent writing now. My fingers dance on the keyboard of this very old model, slow laptop and ‘words’ come out along with the silent tears. My tears cried for 20 years and it is time to give them some rest while I let my fingers cry out loud. There is a difference, no one listened to my crying tears but now everyone listens to my bleeding fingers.

No matter how hopeless and depressed my real life is, my virtual life is awesome. I got to understand life, happiness and care –  The strange words which don’t exist in my real life dictionary. In this life, I am not a depressed bipolar soul….I am the queen of my world, my blog ! I walk here with pride, that my real life can’t snatch away from me. This is my world…The people here are my friends…My beloved online community is the best thing I have….And I am grateful for everything this virtual world has offered me.

Words can’t express my gratitude and Love but my tears can. And I know you can see my fingers bleed, while reading my wounded words.

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Linking to Daily Prompt and Dungeon Prompts : Community. Head over to Speak Easy to vote for my story “Waiting for a dead promise” If you like it. Do read and vote for other awesome submissions too.

Cyclic Inception

Credits : Thomas Leuthar

Life ‘Inception’

                    Riddle wrapped in Enigma

                                          Prehistoric pen shrieks

                                                                            Echoing Like

                                                                                              Tunnels in Labyrinth

                                                                                                                       Reflecting tales of illusions

                                                                                              Time follows the quest

                                                                             Of Unreachable stars

                                              Struggles and failures

                      Bleed into Hope

The cycle Continues.

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This 33 words piece is written for Trifecta Challenge. The challenge this week was to write a 33 words response to the Picture given. Click on the Badge to read other beautiful entries.

Waiting For A Dead Promise

Credits : This

It starts with a heavy pinpoint, sharp, deep in the middle of my heart. As I read Mic’s letter, it swells and blooms, licks like fire through my veins.

It’s a cold windy day and I’m at the window table trying to read the first letter he sent me. At least that is what I should be doing but I spend more time watching the dry leaves clattering across the sidewalk.

I sat here daily, for twenty years with a shotgun in hand. That shotgun is replaced by letters now.

He said, “I’d come back to you no matter what happens”.

I promised him, “I’ll wait for you, forever”

It’s growing dark and the streets are already empty. It has been a chilly, depressing day. I could hear howling wind and one long, repeated call — a bird perhaps.

The feeling I felt then, was love underneath, but it was wrapped in something hard and cold and perpetual.

Death.

Death has followed me for 40 years. Death came for my father first, it sputtered him out like a spent candle. I was seven then. 10 years later it took my mother. Everything I ever loved was gone with the tilt and flare of a scented candle against a curtain. Since then, I resolved never to put myself in a situation that could shatter the way my childhood did. The only way to avoid death was to run.

It worked perfectly for nine years until I met Mic. I felt life exuding from him, surging and bright. For a moment I was certain Death must be looking elsewhere. It stirred at my shoulder, tickled my ear, reminded me it was watching, waiting, poised to poison anyone I opened my heart to.

Everyday little letters from Mic, yellow envelopes addressed in green pen, would wait for me. I replied back, I told him about my father, my mother. About Death on my shoulder.

That day, I was woken from a lay-in by a tentative knock at the door. It was Mic. I was overwhelmed, frozen. He dived at me, wrapped his arms around me. My heartbeats were so golden and warm Death didn’t stand a chance.

You can’t keep him… Death whispered, nervous. Run, before it hurts.

It offered me it’s most enthusiastic ‘contrafibularities‘ that could never be defined just as death could never be defined.

I smiled. And said yes to Mic’s proposal. Because I thought Death couldn’t catch either of us if we’d run together.

The shrill call comes again, thin, high, and mournful. What kind of bird calls like that? Something is out there.

The wind is tapping branches against the window. I look out but see nothing. Dusk is falling but the street lamps are not on yet. Then I see a tiny movement right under my window. Something is crouching below the marigold bushes. A hurt bird, perhaps?

After they reported Mic dead, I began to keep the shotgun next to the front door.

I’d sit for hours beside my window table staring outside, thinking that the day he’d return, reeking of decay, I’d run a finger down the barrel of the shotgun, propped beside me.

“Thank you for coming. I waited for you” I’d say.

“I promised.” He’d smile under the bullet hole they would have put through his forehead. Dried blood would flake off of his eyelid when he’d blink.

“I’m not coming with you,” I’d say.

“Death has done us part. Let it join us together once again.” He’d say.

“I have decided to fight against it” I’d tell him.

I drape myself in a warm brown shawl and open the door to see what that thing is.

A small bundle of grey fur, a tiny kitten, hope ? almost lost in the gloom. It meows, a thin, desperate sound.

When I pick it up, it is ice cold and I can feel every vertebrae. It’s nothing but a skeleton. I look out for any scratches or bites, she was safe. I take it into the warmth and give her milk. It opens great green eyes and looks at me. It rumbles in an attempt to purr. After a while it curls up in my lap.

Some people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them, he can’t blame me for breaking mine. Before moving on, for twenty years, with a shotgun in my hand, I sat there and waited, but he never came back.

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Okay I’m in love with the zombie apocalypse, the idea fascinates me so much. I’m sorry if it disgusts you 😉 The story is written about the time when zombies would be somehow sensible, they’d actually remember things rather than just “Brains”.

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More or less 740 words story written for speakeasy. The challenge this time was to use, “I sat there and waited, but he never came back” as the last line and give some kind of reference to  a scene from the British comedy show,  Blackadder the Third. Hope you enjoyed. Click on the badge to see detailed rules and other entries on Tuesday.

Thoughts on Anger and A Thank You Note For My Dear Friends

Credits : This

Anger is the most dangerous attribute possessed by humans. I have actually seen people getting ugly in anger and doing things to harm themselves that affect the rest of their lives in a very bad way. Everyone of us gets angry and I don’t know what are the factors that contribute towards the extent of anger in one but I do know that it can be controlled. It is said that if you want to know the true nature of one, check how he behaves when he is angry. Well behaved, affable, polite and courteous people become the eye candy for everyone in no time.

I have heard of many ways how we can control sudden anger. One of which includes counting backwards from 1 to 10 and taking long breaths. Another method says that if you are standing then sit down and if you are sitting down and you get angry then you should lay down somewhere. Doing this lessens your anger. Drinking cold water helps too sometimes. Self control is the key actually, no matter through what ways you get it.

I don’t have anger problems. I get angry like others but very rarely and my anger comes for a very short period of time usually for 5 to 10 seconds and then disappears. I guess my God gifted silence is the reason behind this. May be that’s why people don’t get scared of me and say whatever they like, even if it hurts me. I don’t want to praise my own self, I’ll look like a fool then, but I’m satisfied with my anger issues as they are minor and controllable. Can’t say I’ll remain like that in the future or become a screaming furious lady. I’d love to hear about your anger problems and how you deal with them.

Also, I want you all to check out my lovely friend, Maria’s blog where she is celebrating my wedding week with such an enthusiasm and energy, I’m sure you’ll enjoy. She is a best friend and a sister, a very talented blogger who most of the times amaze me with her exquisite thoughts on life and everything else. I want to thank her for giving me such love and care. I feel blessed to have her.

I’d like to thank my brother Arindam Saha too here for his continuous support and love. He understands me more than I understand myself and he is always there for me whenever I feel down. Love you brother.

This post is written for Dungeon Prompts who asked about anger management this week and also for the daily prompt who says us to teach something to our fellow bloggers.

Best Steak Ever -A Story Of Perfection Spellbound !

Copy Rights: This

Someone once said that there is no love sincerer than the love of food and I tied that quote to my shirt tail. Since then, ‘eating good’ is the best and consistent habit that I possess. I once happened to visit a restaurant to grab a bite for lunch and that restaurant became my dreamland afterwards. Let me tell you my story of “Best Steak Ever”.

It was a beautiful bright sunny day and the breeze was as cool as a cucumber and some rose water mixed together. Hungry as a bear and cheesed off by the office work, I wandered around in search of food but couldn’t find anything but closed restaurants staring at me. My belly bubbled and squeaked and bones started to melt when my eyes caught a glimpse of some heavenly lights dancing far away. I followed the lights blindly and there it was, ‘The Restaurant” gleaming like a royal palace, minus the stiff-like-ice-cream-stick guards.

I entered the restaurant and took a table beside the window. Black and red velvet chairs were warm like a freshly made toast. A beautiful menu card tied with red ribbon was laying on the table. After a while, that red ribbon was laying on the ground and my eyes were sliding through the card long with my finger. A bunch of  mouth watering dishes blocked my mind and I couldn’t decide which one to order, it happens to me very often. In this case I usually tell the waiter to ‘Surprise Me‘  with a romantic smile and trust me, this trick has never let me down.

While waiting for the food, I looked around. A teenage girl and twenty something boy were sitting right next to my table, enjoying their salad days. The girl was eating like a bird and the boy was staring into her eyes with a charming smile on his face. She was hiding her shyness behind small bites of that Tuna fish sandwich. Two fat men wearing suits were sitting at my right side. Expressions on one man’s face were perplexed like he was spilling beans about some pie in the sky. The other man was indulged in eating like a horse.

Waiting for half an hour wasn’t that easy but it paid off when I saw the waiter approaching towards me with a tray in his hand. I could hear the soothing melody of the world’s best music coming out of that sizzler. A seductive fragrance of cooked meat mixed with the steam entered inside my body through the nostrils and initiated a fire in every inch of my body. A scrumptious divine delight was laying right in front of me. Two beautiful grilled chicken breast fillets were placed delicately between creamy buttered mashed potatoes on one side and colorful vibrant vegetables on the other. All these heavenly ingredients were dipped in a dark red streaming peppercorn sauce.

While supporting the chicken fillet with a fork in one hand, I made a soft elegant cut at its edge with a knife. The layer of chicken split up and an exquisite surprise, a river of melted cheese came flooding out of it and filled my plate. With my fork I assembled  a small chicken piece, tiny portion of mashed potatoes, a mushroom and a carrot, dipped them in the cheese, rolled them in red sauce and put the first bite in my mouth.

Copy Rights : This

The first bite-oh, what heaven that first bite was. The mushroom like the freckled breast of an angel, resting gently on top of buttered mashed potatoes and the meat, flavors mingling  in a seductive pas de deux. Then the carrot cuddled up with cheese and some more meat brimmed with the sauce…. And then a black pepper grain! The most playful little grain ! The mixture so exquisite, swirled in my mouth breaking apart, and combining again in a fugue of sweets and savor so delightful. A meat Christmas was celebrated in my mouth.

The second bite- the third- fourth and I came back to senses when my fork screeched with the empty plate. It was an out of the world Booze cruise journey, a perfection spellbound. I felt like resting in heaven under the blue skies after having it and most amazingly, I kept eating that steak in my dreams for a whole week after that.

I can proudly say now that there is  only one right way to eat a steak – with greed in your heart and a smile on your face. It’s finger licking good !

This post is written in response to Weekly Writing Challenge: Lunch Posts. Don’t forget to share your experiences. Feedback is always appreciated.

Why ?

Sacredness makes me strong

Blessed with wings but I creep along

Carving words of silence, I sing a song

In Meadows, Beyond ideas of right and wrong

Lies the soul absorbing light through the pierced wounds

Home of love invite to be the guest unknown

Paths to you are shown by trees long

I Search inside where you belong

Empty-handed, I still Roam.

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I don’t know if this photo prompt relates completely to my words or not but these were the thoughts that came into my mind when I first saw it. As I am feeling down these days too so couldn’t come up with anything creative. I hope you’ll bear me with that.

This poem is written in response to Daily Prompt and Friday Fictioneers. Click on the link to see other awesome entries this week.

Photo Copyright – Björn Rudberg.

 

 

I Don’t Need Chicken Pieces….

Source : This

She is stirring Chicken curry in a black stainless steel pot when I see these thin tiny wrinkles on her hands. She pours some of the Gravy with my favorite chicken piece in a white bowl and hands it to me.

“I’ve made your favorite food today” A confused smile captures her beautiful face.

Her eyes fighting with a fear that her daughter might still be angry over last night’s fight and her heart assuring and reassuring her, No she isn’t.

One warm desperate tear flows out of my eye.

I can see my soul that gets up and hugs her passionately leaving my stone-heart body behind.

I take a bite of chicken piece that cuddles up with the tears stuck in my throat and a soothing peace occupies her face.

She puts a glass of water beside my plate leaves the kitchen.

All these years I kept complaining to myself and she kept cooking my favorite dishes. She never understood that I wanted more than my favorite chicken pieces and I never realized that I’ve to tell her that.

Nodding my head upside down wasn’t easy that time but her face glowed with an ethereal shine and my heart swam into the pleasure. The pleasure of watching happiness on her face because of me, for the first time. This time, she didn’t even try to hide it, she ACTUALLY hugged me.

She didn’t realize that all my life, I never ate the pieces I didn’t like.

I’m waiting for the surprises life has to offer after 10 more days.

I wonder how beautiful I’d be looking, wearing my bridal dress on a body in which a stone pumps white blood in the ruptured veins and it spills out on the grave of broken dreams caged in shackles of love and respect for my parents.

I hate chicken curry now and she doesn’t know that.

I wish she could know, ever.

Shadows

Credits: This

He was with me like shadow under the Moonlit skies since I was a baby who’d been in this world for not more than a week. I was certain then, that walls of my room were blue and Lucy, the white cat hated me. And I knew that I shouldn’t cry when my Mom was already crying because she’d not pick me up.

When Mom’d hold me in her folded arms to feed me in the morning, I’d gaze at blue scars beneath her starlit eyes. Those scars’d change their colors and places daily and when I’d try to reach them she’d hold my tiny fingers in her soft hand and tears’d fall on my forehead. She’d whisper in my ear that we’d leave this place soon.

My dad’d smell like medicine when he’d hold me while he’d cut my Mom down with his words. He never left his habits and mom never left this place.

He’d sit beside me with a wooden face, covering my ears with his hands to block the shouts; blades with tiny bayonet pointed firmly at my heart.

I’d laugh when he’d tease me that I broke my head when I was thrown from the sky into the world. Mom never liked him and whenever I’d tell her about him she’d not answer. I’d start talking to him and Mom’d start crying.

We celebrated my 18 birthdays together and he was with me that day when dad brought some quaint people in our house. I heard shouts, dad’s cries were a pitcher of bitterness and mom’s quivering voice tasted of sacrifice.

Dad clamped his hand onto my wrist and pulled me through the lounge where Mom sat squeezed in a corner, mouth covered with hands and tears brimming through her opaque eyes.

Pain paralyzes my mind when doctors pierce needles in my arm and I see his shadow fading into the light of nothingness.

We all have to fade, as we all are shadows on the wall of time.

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This is my 333 words response to Trifecta Challenge. This weeks word was Quaint and we have to use its third definition ( unusual or different in character or appearance : ODD ) in our response. Feedback is always appreciated. Click on the badge to see other entries.

Love, Coffee And Lavender Truffles

Credit:: THIS

“I’ve spent years chasing the tail of my darkness; the same darkness that has once again blurred my vision”, Harry thought, as he lay the phone in its cradle. He’d been expecting this news in quite the same way you expect winter to follow autumn. But just as you can never prepare yourself for bone-chilling winds, you can never prepare your heart for the loss. Poor Ron. His voice had been shaking as he gave Harry the news that Hermione was gone.

Harry cupped his mug of coffee in both hands and sunk into the chair trying to distract his thoughts.The warmth of coffee mug seeped into his fingers as he clutched it and gazed at the deep brown liquid. He wished Ginny had made this coffee. She always had a way of choosing just the right amount of ground coffee beans to use. Since Ginny died after thirty years of passing out from Hogwarts, he never had been to that coffee shop they used to visit together. The coffee shop smelled of musk with a hint of cinnamon that was too close to Ginny’s essence.

He squinted out the window and caught a glimpse of the sun.  He felt a vague sense of whiplash witnessing a sunny day knowing that the earth travels at thirty kilometers per second in its daily trek around the sun and spins zero point five kilometers around its own axis. He remembered Ginny teasing him with all those magic spells when he would spout the mathematical trivia.

Shifting in his chair, he tried to focus his eyes on  Paul Cézanne’s painting ‘The Card Players’ that Ginny had hung on the wall of their lounge three years ago.  The painting looked like it was drowning as his tears welled.  His mind kept straying back to Ron’s call.

Hermione. Her presence on the planet had always been enough for him; it didn’t matter that they weren’t together. They spent her birthdays together every year and he had fulfilled her every wish silently in the form of birthday gifts. Six years in Hogwarts and six birthdays, one year for every day it takes the moon to orbit the earth with a speed of 3680 km/hr.

He recalled one of her birthdays when he took her to The Wonderland following the footsteps of Alice. He had allowed himself to swim, just for a few minutes, in the depths of her azure eyes making a straight angle of 180 degrees that day. They wandered there all day meeting the king and queen of hearts, Mother bird, Mary Ann and white rabbit, all her favorite characters and they celebrated her birthday with special lavender truffles that were made of rich dark chocolate infused with lavender and cardamom and some flavors of hot chocolate.

Even though she only glanced over her shoulder when he took her back to Hogwarts, he waited. And hoped, like the forever unknown ‘x’.  But two months later, Hermione and Ron announced their engagement and Harry knew he waited in vain.  He mustered his strength to achieve an escape velocity. With time as he settled into his new trajectory around Ginny, he felt Hermione’s gravitational pull for long.

But now Hermione had succumbed to the cancer that had been wreaking havoc on her for five years. Memories:  that’s all he would have of her now.  Maybe that’s all he ever had.

He pushed his chair away from the table and decided to get ready. He had to meet Miss J. K Rowling to make a quick apology and he was sure that she’d forgive him.

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Note: The characters Harry, Ron and Hermione are JUST characters. I took these names because their background history was already clear to you. You can take them as characters of Harry Potter OR some other people who studied in Hogwarts, choice is your’s but please don’t read this story as a continuity to the Harry Potter stories.

This is my 598 words response to the Speakeasy weekly writing prompt, which is to write a piece in 750 or less words  (1) using “I have spent years chasing the tail of my darkness.” as the first sentence, and (2) make some reference to the art prompt, The Card Players, one of a series of paintings by Paul Cézanne.

The challenge is open to anyone, so if you’re inspired, click the badge below to check out the challenge details!

 

A Glimpse through The Curtains

Wikipedia

This is the city that never sleeps. Behind all the shaded windows, countless mysterious stories unfold themselves in the nights and veil themselves in artificial colors as the sun rises. 15 thousand People; but they are as unknown to each other as they are to their own selves. Thick apathetic curtains conceal their inner self and even identities. And hence they live, as neighbors under the sinful shadows.

A young boy wearing a T-shirt and denims appear from one of the buildings among an array of other sky-high buildings. His hair are styled with jell and a shiny brown leather jacket covers his shirt entirely. His breath smells of friend eggs and his face expressions look as simple as noodles. Hands in pockets, he looks around standing in the middle of the colony. He can hear dull laughter coming out of that red door, where a decent woman lives who once sold her own girl to a rich businessman abroad. A man wearing black suit passes by the boy, a respectable man who supplies drugs all over the country.

He stand there impatiently biting his lips until he took a glance of a girl looking through the window. His heart beats become irregular and a pain initiates at a place where his heart lies, pumping blood through his veins, blood that turned white since all his family got killed in drone attacks when he was 15. She is only one person left in this world that he loves, but he can’t be with her because she is from a high class family. Her father is a politician who is involved in big time frauds and embezzlement but her respectable family can’t marry their daughter to a boy with no job and status.

His past starts playing in the form of a movie in front of his eyes. He remembers the time when a man in black coat came to rescue him while he was shedding tears sitting beside the graves of his entire family. He told him to save his tears and anger for the final day, and he did. He lived 8 years waiting for that final day and today was the day. He stole a final look of her beautiful face and walked forward to catch his flight.

The other day, news papers were filled with headlines about the Suicide bomb blast; several people lost their lives and many were injured. Somewhere in the pile of blood stained body parts lie his head void of pain of losing his beloved ones, eyes caught up at a scene of the place where five graves lie side by side. He didn’t know how many graves he has made to take revenge of those five graves.

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A flash fiction piece of 450 words under the limit o 500 words, written for Daily Prompt a well as Write On Edge. This challenge gives a photo prompt along with a quote. It’s up to you whether you want to follow the photo or the quote or both. I chose the photo. To read other awesome entries click on this badge.

Untitled Again ! (Because titles are not enough to portray feelings)

 

This is a photo of a boy from Syria who is sleeping next to his father’s and mother’s grave. I am gazing at this photo and I am crying so hard and so loud. I don’t know why… May be because sometimes you need something to initiate a spark inside you that allow you to let out what you have been collecting inside for a long time. You wrap your pain in layers of fake laughter and smiles and indulge yourself in the colors of this mortal life and at one point, all your tries of faking it dash to ground. You come out as the same weak personality that can’t even carry the weight of itself. The burden of problems and pain seems unacceptable;e at this point.

I had no idea I’ll write this post and I have no idea now what I am writing and where it’ll end. I just want to be real, for a while, for some seconds in front of a crowd and yet still in front of no one…. A crowd who don’t know me and a crowd to whom I owe no expectations and may be that’s why this crowd do more than I expect from them, always. Expectations are the things that create all those differences all those problems, No ? We’ll be happy on what we’d get if we don’t expect and yet here we are, expecting from others even more than we can do for them. Isn’t it funny ?

Sometimes my heart and mind needs a break. While engaging myself with this so called ‘life’ I sometimes get tired. At that time I want to run away from life for a while, I need to take a break from the artificial and live the real, I want to breathe in fresh air at a place where I can find no trace of my ongoing life or I need to sleep for a long time, very long time when no one could wake me up. I want to hide from the people who say that they love me and care for me, why ? I don’t know. I want to be invisible and see what these people will do when I’ll be no more around them. It’s not like I don’t know, but I want to see that.

I guess I have started liking this miserable condition of mine. May be that’s why when people talk of positivity and hope and happiness, their words don’t seem real to me. As if no such things exist in nature, as if they are just performing their duty to make a miserable person in depression feel better. No, despite all your words of support I am still standing here with the same hopelessness and empty hands and I have no positive thoughts.

Was I sent to this earth and given a life for this what I’m doing ? The world would be a far better place without me then why did Allah sent me here ? Any particular reason ? There is no answer. He wants to tell me but I am not ready to listen. There’ll never be any answer till the day they’ll be pouring mud all over my lifeless body. A body made of mud going into the mud. That’s the rule. That’s the truth.

And I am still crying…What should I do to stop this ? Any magical tablet any treatment that’ll stop all this chemical naughtiness going on inside my head ? There must be something that I’m missing…. But what ? My fingers won’t get tired of typing questions but your eyes will get tired of reading. I can’t do any good for anyone, I can’t make anyone happy. This task is not made for me. And that’s why I can stay happy.

And yet I portray myself as if I am the most sad pitiful being in the world. I don’t see that Syrian boy sleeping beside those two graves. What would he be thinking ? I know he is not sleeping, he just can’t. How can he ? He must be thinking about those four hands of Love that once used to hug him and slide their fingers through his hair, those two pair of eyes that had nothing but pure love in them and those arms that protected him once like no one ever can. They are sleeping now under layers of mud and he is still here, fighting with a fierce thing called life….fighting to protect himself from being eaten by life.

I don’t want anything from life…I just want my senses to get numb. I just want to stop thinking and enjoy a peaceful sleep, Is that more than enough ? I can now understand why people use drugs and alcohol and why these are forbidden for us. I have lost everything, and by everything I mean ‘everything’ that can’t be described in words.

I wished this writing might help me out but it hadn’t. Don’t know why. I don’t need pity, I don’t need ‘I am sorry for what you are going through’ and I don’t need “I can understand” because trust me, you don’t. No one can. No one has. No one ever will. I just have to live with my damn self.

The Magnificent Woman

Source

I am in love with that wonderful women who performs on the stage and people hold their breaths, their hearts skip the beats and magic of her glory en-wraps them in ecstatic joys — People say that she knows spell of bewitchment and she makes people unconscious by casting it but I don’t believe this, her magical beauty is mysterious enough to get entranced in.

She has booked a room that was abandoned for forty years, the room that is well known by a story that a woman burnt herself and her child here, forty years ago.

I can hear my own foot steps as I walk towards her room, my heart beats in my ears and I feel shivers while walking through that dead silent corridor but my fear is invaded over by excitement to meet that magnificent lady.

The door opens with an unfamiliar noise, tearing apart the intense silence — There lies a coffin in the center of an empty room and I am in a trance of that glowing beauty again as I open the cover.

I try to pull her out wondering who may have imprisoned my love inside the coffin, when I feel my leg clutched by tiny hands — I turn around and see a small child looking towards me with pain in eyes… Everything went dark.

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A Flash fiction written for Lillie McFerrin Writes : Five Sentence Fiction – Clutch. We have to include the word “clutch” in our story and take inspiration from the photo given. Five sentences is what this challenge requires, no word limit. Click on the link if you want to participate.

Cannibal

Source: Joycreations.

His sharp knife pierced through the flesh and cut it to pieces at a single jerk. It was the lower part of a leg. Upper part was already cut. A head smoothly cut apart from the neck was laying at a corner of the table. Small pieces about the size of 3 inches each were arranged along the sides. After cutting the leg into similar pieces he put them along with the others.

Then he leaned towards the head and pulled out the eyes, one by one with the tip of his knife. He saved the eyes in a small glass bowl and licked the stains on his fingers.

After that,he pulled in some air, grabbed a big bucket in both his hands and started pouring a viscous red fluid into the bottles, one by one. When all the bottles got filled, he closed the lids tightly and put them one by one in the lower shelf of his almost empty fridge, a single half filled bottle of this red fluid was already lying there. Head was placed on the first shelf and finely cut meat pieces went on the middle ones.

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He opened his eyes while laying under the blue sky and green grass midst a row of long trees. After his blur vision got clear he realized that he was present in an alien place. Wiping off his hands he stood up.

The last thing that was saved in his vivid memory was a fight with her mom and he ran away from home after that. “It’s been two days, she must be worried for me” He thought to himself, setting the school bag on his shoulder.

He gazed for a while at a light shining far away at the end of the long road and followed it. It was coming out from a bulb hung on the roof of a small wood house. He knocked at the door and pushed it inside.

The door opened with a sharp squeak. He glanced inside, a man was sitting on a chair. A glass half filled with a red viscous fluid was lying on the table in front of him. “Can I come inside?”

An evil smile occupied his face. “Yes kid, come in !” He said in a heavy voice and locked the door behind him.

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Daily Prompt:show us CLOSE.

This story is written for Write on Edge. This challenge gives us two options, whether to write about the quote or about the photo. I chose the photo. Click on the badge to see complete guidelines and to participate.

‘Mornings’

With every sunrise, sparkling sun-rays tear up the dark night and initiate a ray of hope in my heart’s plant moist with dew drops. It grows everyday, it has formed a big tree now. A tree that stopped giving fruits 30 years ago.

30 years of marriage and 3 beautiful children, What can be more perfect than that?

A hollowness grows inside me. Questions remain unanswered.

Mornings, a new chance, a new life — It was never for me.

I am still standing on the same spot where I stood 30 years ago — empty handed, When life snatched him from my hands.

And Life continues……

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This 100 words fiction (Not really) is written for Friday Fictioneers which demands a 100 word fiction inspired by the given photo. Check out the link if you want to participate.

Enchanted

I was enchanted by her beauty

the first time I saw her.

Laying there with her silky velvet body,

crisp skin,

fluffy red cherry-lips tempting enough to caress.

One soft bite of that

cheesecake took me to heaven.

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This piece is written for Trifecta Writing Challenge .They wanted a 38 words piece including “The first time I saw…” Line anywhere in the piece. If you like it, don’t forget to vote on Friday. Click on the badge to check other awesome submissions.

Twinkle Twinkle O’ Little Star

A story dedicated to my family where the number of mentally abnormal children is increasing due to the trend of Cousin marriages. Story is inspired by my cousin, a girl who is 20 year’s old physically but her mind is like a small child’s mind. Scenes pictured here are fictional but the facts discussed are real.

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Image Source : This.

“Colors – red, green and blue mixing with each other. Green color is at the top of red now. Red is busy mixing with blue”

“How can you guarantee that in future your daughter’s children would be normal when her own sister is abnormal?”

Silence – followed by tears.

“Sorry we can’t allow the relationship of my son with your daughter. He will find someone else”

“Colors – Red is at the top now. It has dissolved blue and green in it”

Sound of a slap followed by mournful cries.

“Colors transformed to black . Painful black”

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“She slapped me yesterday, My own sister. I won’t talk to her now. She thinks I can’t feel the pain but it hurts. She is not good and oh the cat finally ate the mouse” She thought to herself and giggled.

Her sister who was siting right beside her, eyes on TV and mind strolling somewhere else glanced at her, giggling. She felt a volcano of love bursting in her heart and a sense of regret mixed with embarrassment seized her.

“What was I thinking while slapping her yesterday? She is innocent, that’s not her fault that no one wants to Marry me” She dragged herself closer to her and kissed her on the cheek softly.

“I am sorry my love. You can’t speak but I know you are angry at me” She hugged her and burst into tears.

“I love my sister, she is so sweet. She loves me so much” She thought to herself while enjoying the cartoons again.

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“A heavy burden on my heart don’t let me sleep at nights”

“What burden Mom?”

“You know sweetheart your sister is a special child. Our society don’t accept her as a normal child. People think she is crazy and she should be in a mental hospital. How can I send my innocent girl to a mental hospital?”

Each tear falling from her Mother’s eyes was dropping in her own heart – her eyes flooded with tears.

“Some things can’t be forgotten and this very thought keep spooking me all the time that What will happen to my daughter when me and your dad will be no more in this world”

“Please don’t Mom. Please stop” She begged her and the room reverberated with the sound of their sobs.

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“Colors – butterflies – stars – lights – children, beautiful children – I want to play”

With this thought she ran towards small children playing in the kids area in a fast food restaurant while her Mom was buying Ice cream for her.

She looked around, her daughter was standing beside some children who were gathered in a corner with expressions of fear and anger on their faces.

She ran towards her. A woman said “I don’t mean to offend you but please make sure she stays home. Our children just got scared”

She grabbed her hand and took her to the car without saying anything, eyes directed downward with embarrassment.

Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes

And she’s gone

Lucy in the sky with diamonds

Music was blending with her sobs.

She put her head on her Mother’s shoulder and spoke in a soft voice, “Ma ! Sor-r-ry”

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Many beautiful special children in colorful dresses were standing on the stage in a circle. She was there too laughing, sitting inside the circle wearing a fancy fish dress. A wheel chair was lying at one corner of the stage with a small cute girl sitting in it.

Hall was filled with people. Parents of special children occupied the front rows.

The girl in the wheel chair spoke:

“We are like a fish in the tank. The sun heats the glass to boiling, setting us on fire. The moon freezes it to ice, trapping us in unbearable cold. Tapping vibrates the glass, tearing at our ears and flesh. It is agonizing and exhilarating and enthralling. Don’t be like the sun and the Moon people. Be like the glass that protects us and like the water that keeps us alive…….We feel joy and pain equally like you feel. Your words and actions hurt us people. Treat us with care. We need your love”

And the hall echoed with the sound of applause. People stood on their chairs, tears shining in their eyes.

“I wish my daughter gets a chance to live a normal life like everyone else here” She thought to herself while wiping her tears.

Image Source : This.

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This 720 words story is written for The Speak Easy Challenge. If you like this story, Don’t forget to come back on Thursday to vote. Click on this image to read other entries and detailed guidelines.

8 Words that should be added in English Dictionary

Harvey Specter Rocks !

I encountered a Facebook page that shares very exquisite German, Greek, French, Latin and Arabic words along with the meanings. Since many new words have been added to the dictionary recently, these beautiful words should have a place there too.

These are the kind of words that we yearn for, while writing prose in English and then come up with a bunch of senseless words giving almost the same meaning.While fighting with my writer’s block I exercised these. Here’s how my exercise came out:

1- La douleur exquise (The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable)

An explanation of abandoned love, broken dreams and unfulfilled wishes in one word.

I can feel a piercing la douleur exquise at a place where my heart is. The pain mixes with my blood and flows through the veins…to my heart. Each pore of my body burns with it but I can’t supplicate for a cure. Love hath no cure.

2- Lalochezia (The emotional relief gained from using abusive or profane language)

Have you felt lalochezia ever ?

I felt lalochezia after half an hour of slapping and punching her in the face but she was standing there, in the same condition as she did before. I felt all my efforts of tearing her apart going in vain. I have to think of another plan to get rid of this freakish scary doll that my wife had brought from the market and placed near my bed.

3- Cafune (Running your fingers through your lover’s hair)

Complete definition of ‘romantic’ in one word.

You lie here, head in my lap and I cafune you. In those moments, clock stops ticking as if it holds it’s breath to listen to our’s. I hold your hand with closed eyes, sensing peaceful embrace of your love and asks myself, “Can life be more beautiful than that?“

4,5- Dormiveglia (The space that stretches between sleeping and waking), Clinomania (excessive desire to stay in bed)

I love this state of neither sleeping nor awoke completely. I often see best dreams in this state. And clinomania ? It’s my evergreen best friend.

I love you even more in dormiveglia. Your tranquilizing whispers “Wake up My Love” drench my soul leaving it thirsty for your touch. I enjoy a peaceful dormiveglia with clinomania everyday till my son comes crying “I have wet my bed again, Mommy!”.

6- Apodyopsis (The act of mentally undressing someone)

Okay that’s completely lame.

He loved her blindly until one day she sat in front of him in the classroom and he got indulged in a little apodyosis. Turned out, She’s a Man !!

7- Jaaneman (Soul of me)

I love this Urdu word. It sounds cheesy if used normally but life feels good with some cheesiness, sometimes.

Here in the East, when some random guy has to flirt with a random girl, he says, “Oye Jaaneman ! Aik Jadu Ki Japhi tu de de” (Hey Jaaneman ! Give me the magical hug) and she often gives him the magical hug with her slippers.

8- Orenda ( A mystical force present in all people that empowers them to effect the world, or to change their own lives)

I have discovered orenda lying deep inside my soul after several hours of mystic imagination. I am going to change the world. “Change your own pajamas first that you are wearing upturned since the morning, huh ! He will change the world” My wife replies with frowns on her forehead.

You can find many more interesting words on this Facebook page. I’d love to know how you use them in your writings.

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**The thoughts in this post are completely mine and no one needs to agree to them. This post is written for Yeah Write Weekly challenge. Click on the badge to see other entries and to vote on Thursday.

Untitled

I never thought about what can possibly be a writer’s bock since I have encountered one. I want to write, I need to and my hands crave for running rapidly on the keyboard but my mind is blank. I keep staring at the screen for a long long time and then think about taking a break and writing after some time. After watching the new episodes of How I met your mother my mood has changed to a bit funny mode and I finally prepare for writing again. 10 minutes….20 minutes….30 minutes….And my mind is blank again.

My life is basically like a stagnant pond these days. Nothing to do except sitting beside my laptop and watching seasons and writing and reading and……struggling with this writer’s block. I am not a writer and I can never become one if it continues poking me. What should I write, fiction ? Non-fiction ? I am too scared to do that anymore. And why should anyone care about what I write? I am not a magical writer who fascinates  his readers with creative stories and innovative thoughts. I am just a simple person struggling with things sitting in my room.

I don’t know when did writing become my hobby. I never had any, before that. It’s been six months since I’v started writing but it seems like I won’t learn writing ever. I don’t even know why am I writing that and whether I’d post it or not…. These are useless stupid thoughts. There is no point in sharing this kind of absurd piece, right ?

But I am mad and you know that. So I’d post it without reading what I’ve already written. Hope you people are doing fine with writing and with your life. Have a good day 🙂

Moon, Moon on the sky…….Watch Me Die

“Moon, Moon on the sky,

Hold me up, take me high

Clench your sigh, watch me die”

A morbid smile conquered her calm face. Calmness that escalates after a big storm passes, or when one is about to come.

“Have you ever talked to the moon?” Without glancing at me nodding head in negation, she continued.

“I have, It is my only companion since I was 5. It was my hero, a mysterious bewitching radiant ball of light. I played with it, told my secrets to it and slept in it’s shadow. And then…. and then it started playing with me” Her voice turned quivery.

“I got tangled up in it’s myth. In the full moon nights I feel supernatural. A nice sharp feeling starts cutting inside me and my hollowness grows. Instead of blood, loneliness comes out and I swear, It is more horrendous,  dreadful. It pierces my soul….It aches, It hurts !”  I felt tears mixing with her voice.

“Today’s a full moon night” I thought to myself. Shifting my eyes from the moon towards her, I realized – She was gone.

A werewolf was standing right beside me.

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A post written in response to Daily Prompt: Heroic and also for Five Sentence Fiction – Moon.

Enchanted Illusion

Copyright-Dawn Q. Landau

She lives at a place far away. Perspiring sun rays of hope caress her face to welcome her mornings. She opens her home’s door and walk through the stairs like a queen. Butterflies take her to the seraphic valleys. She dances in ecstasy. Tickling winds make her giggle. Her laughs are loathed in euphoria. She opens her wings and flies with the birds. Sparkling sea water washes her feet. She sings with mermaids and fall asleep in ethereal embrace.

And yet in this monstrous world, resides her body void of soul – indulged in the weightless mysteries of naked truths.