I Don’t Wanna Cry Daddy

There was a time when I used to write poems when I was sad and had to ease my pain. I wanted to tell the whole world how miserable I am and how painful my life is. I don’t know why but I liked receiving pity. No one could imagine what I went through, and I tried hard to shout and tell everyone here in blog-o-sphere. May be it was my way of a catharsis. Everyone here, specially some beautiful friends helped me so much emotionally.

Then things changed and I stopped writing poetry. Pain was a strong driving force for me to write. It’s intensity lessened. So did my interest in writing. I just wrote a poem again, after I guess two or so years. It’s my life story, more or less. I don’t remember how to use fancy words and amazing allegoric phrases. It is a very simple poem written in very very simple and plain words. There would be many poetic mistakes, but it comes straight from my heart, that weeps right now.

Is it worth reading or not, that’s upon you to decide.

 

Full of life, shinning eyes

Energetic box of chatter

I don’t wanna cry daddy

She writes him a letter

 

Shivering hands holding a pen

Scribbles on paper damp with tears

She shows him her bruised heart

Filled with heartbreaking fears

 

I am in so much pain , daddy

It doesn’t go, no matter what I do

You are so far away from me

All I need is a hug from you

 

As I laid with head on your arm

Be happy always, you used to say

May you never guess grief in my laugh

Now, while on the telephone I pray

 

You used to call me your innocent fairy

Guess what daddy, the innocence was gone

Long before my sensitive heart needed love

And I searched for it in strangers unknown

 

I needed a friend daddy, to share tales

To listen to my problems, hold my hand

While you were busy earning money

Life tore me apart, turned me to sand

 

My nights became so agonizing and long

Burning wounds, dying soul, bloody eyes

I cried and cried daddy I was so lonely

But in the day I covered it all with lies

 

And then you married me off to far away land

I saw you cry while you gave away my hand

I had a chance to tell you what I went through

Instead, I’m happy, I silently made you understand

 

This time daddy, after a few years

I went through the same heart break

The demons under my bed followed

The curse once again kept me awake

 

The pain tortured your little girl daddy

She needed the mask she used to wear

People changed, circumstances different

But the old depression won’t disappear

 

But guess what daddy, all that suffering

After mourning all night for so many years

Your girl refused to live and enjoy misery

She fought with her demons, faced her fears

 

Tears and pain made her strong

She fought and got her Allah back

Blocked memories that ate her flesh

Forced her dead soul back on track

 

Love and Pain both here but outlook changed

Heart silent, loneliness there but no despair

Still afraid of watching dreams as they shatter

But refusing to live in misery, I stopped to care

 

Remember the day when you were sick

Devastated, love you daddy, I cried aloud

Your little girl daddy, is all grown up

And all I wish is to make you proud

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dark Mornings, Sunlit nights

As the sunlight shines through the sky, night falls.

She would open her big black eyes with no eye-lashes and try to listen closely to the mesmerizing music of ear-piercing cries. It soothes the grayish red stone in her chest.

She balances her heavy sobs with the rhythm of pain stricken shrieks that originate from her drumming heart and reflects through her eyes while flowing through her veins. Oh the melodious song that forms, so dramatic.

Her soul, a black shade of white light, punches the walls of body around it so hard that it cracks open and let it out to dance with the music of pain. The music of pain laughs out loud at the soul and holds it in it’s arms while whirling round and round like a dervish.

Vanished hopes, unheard prayers, unfulfilled wishes and broken dreams tightens their orbit and grabs her throat. The music of pain inside her starts evacuating itself through her mouth which she covers tightly with her own crooked hands.

Hours pass as she tries to fight this battle. She could feel poisonous snakes biting her face with sharp teeth. She smiles with fear, as she is tired of crying already.

Her heavy eye-lids start dropping down. It is dark outside when sleep blankets her. Morning’s here.

She looks Beautiful while sleeping. She is Happy… Yes she is.

 

 

Dead I am.

When I try to absorb inside me, the warmth of this beautiful sunshine, I feel nostalgic. Putting “The alchemist” upside down half opened on my neck, I lay down on this big sofa in my sitting room and close my eyes while the sun rays caress my face and take me back to the winters of Pakistan. Three  months of winter were a real treat after nine whole months of summer. Laying lazily outside beneath sun was my favorite hobby back then as well.

I love winters.

And I love reading books. And I love going out alone, walking by the streets or at sea front. I love going gym and trying aerobics, cardio and weights as well. And cooking… I love it too.

If I can go whenever I want, to a nearby library and browse through books for hours while forgetting completely about everything happening around, feeling a beautiful emotion running through my blood vessels after grabbing a book in my hand to take home…

If I can go to gym daily in the morning and enjoy working out different schemes in different days, sweating out smelling bad but still feel awesome…

If I can take long walks by the seaside with hands tucked in pockets and stare at the sea sitting at my favorite peaceful spot and listen to the whispers of water and winds….

If I can cook anything from curries,rice,steaks,soups,pastas to cakes and brownies… anytime I feel like giving myself a treat…

Then, Why am I still not SATISFIED with my life ? What is it that feels missing, what is this silence that seems to be a permanent part of my soul ?

I am happy. My life is almost the same everyday, but I am happy with what I got. I don’t have any wishes at this point in life. I don’t dream for anything at all. There are no particular regrets left to haunt, no broken dreams to pinch my heart, no fresh wounds dripping blood.

Then what is the reason that I feel empty? I am struggling to take one step forward at this point of my life, whether it is about knowledge or love or spirituality… There is a strong desire in my heart to push myself forward, to do something but It seems like I am stuck at this point and some force is pulling me backwards to stop me from taking a step forward.

The irony is, I don’t know where to put my foot after taking this forward step. I don’t know what exactly to do with my life.

Why? Because I didn’t struggle back then for my destiny and let myself go with the flow ? (Paulo Coelho)

Whatever it is, They say that if your life is same everyday, then you are already dead. You just don’t realize it.

Maybe that’s the case.

May be I AM dead.

 

 

 

A Walk To Remember

Water, it is everywhere. Right behind the place where I live, there is a magnificent sea where shades of blue shine with yellow glitter dust of sun rays. Sometimes, fresh fragrant breeze cushions the sun and delicately wraps it in the blanket of clouds. While sometimes, showers of fresh water purifies the surroundings.

I wander at the beach and get lost. Lost in the sadness of sea waves that travel all the way to the beach and slowly crawl back. Lost in the roars of sea waves that strikes the rocks in fury and make me think, why are the waves that reach at the beach so calm and why are those which strike stones so angry ? I don’t know. I don’t want to. I just know that I have to find myself between this calmness and fury, somewhere between sand and rocks.

While searching for my lost self, I walk through life with hands tucked in pockets. White trainers imprint stamps of my past over the sand of my present while I stare at the void of future. I stare with -4.00 shortsighted astigmatic eyes, at the blurry line that tends to join blue and white shadows. The enchanted beauty of this place overwhelms me.

I see a lot of people on my way, taking a walk with their dogs. I see them loving and caring for their dogs as if they are their own children. I feel the connection and I can understand the reasons. Everyone has his own way of getting over life after all. But I don’t know why, every dog barks at me and tries to jump over me. Maybe they see me as an ugly alien or may be they are racist, reality is tough both ways !

Their is a brown colored long bench at one corner of sea front which I can call as my happy place these days. It has a wall build all around it and a roof which makes it appears like a small dark room open at the front. There are names carved on this bench and at some places a sign of heart appears to be drawn too between two names. I don’t understand why people would do that, and then I find myself doing the same. It feels good to be a part of crowd sometimes.

 

I sit there and breathe. Breathing is new to me, I held it inside myself for too long and it aches at times to let it out all at once. With an empty mind I absorb soothing silence inside me. Thousands of seconds pass by and time stops. Or may be, it repeats itself in endless loops. Past, present and future flow somewhere along this loop.

A mobile beep brings me back to reality, where my husband waits for me at home to give him lunch. I have to go back, but this walk… I will remember forever.

Topic Inspired by Weekly Challenge.

 

 

 

 

Of The Being….

The unbearable lightness of being (1998)

Seeds were sown, in the infertile lands

an immortal being was born

pain do it yield, tears make it torn

as it, eats up self of its own

Story be told today

Of the bouquet of

yellow faded leaves that this being is

Of the sore cramps all over it’s soul that

blisters gather up to tingle

Water in the blisters be like

in the inquisitive

eyes of a sad Mother

whose children sob in the nights and

sleep beaten arms can’t comfort them

Their pain, they don’t tell

sympathies don’t make them well

Of the stinking fragrance of it

fragrance like of the flowers in the eyes

of a beautiful damsel

flowers that bloom on the plants of

abandoned gardens and die there

Of the angelic body

as of the body of a married lady

which is, tired of embellishing

loveless deceitful fancy beds

Story of the being that bathes

in the moonlit nights under

flaring silver skies of it’s darkest desires

that burn in their own sweat

Story of the being that, with all it’s imperfections

is dunk in the divine sanction of Him

as it suffuses beyond time and space.

Dedicated to all the readers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cracked Pink Mirror

Holding a small cracked pink mirror in her right hand she would stare at her bald head for hours. Her lifeless stone eyes would feel focused and concentrated as if they were trying to break the mirror into pieces with their melancholic gaze. Left corner of her bottom lip was swelled with bruises and clogged blood on it. A similar kind of wound could be seen at the center of her neck near the collar bone. Sometimes when she couldn’t stare at the mirror, her hands could be seen scratching her wounds with her sharp nails. It was impossible for her to rest her hands even for a few seconds. That’s what her Mother would say, three years ago, when she would keep herself busy in doing unnecessary chores along with the necessary ones. Three years later, her habits were more or less the same.

Close your eyes and think about the happy moments in your life if you want to end your depression, a voice would echo in her head. She would close her eyes but she could see nothing except the haunting black darkness. You come alone in this world and you have to return back alone. At some point in life, every relation fades away from your life. It is you who are left, hanging alone between the sky and the ground. Just start living for yourself, the voice would continue. She would look around gently and smile. He would smile back. She never was alone.

Thick tear drops would come out of her stone eyes and get absorbed in the pillow when she would yell and cry her throat out. Her feet could be seen rubbing against the hospital bed. Her fists clenched, struggling with immense pain. Eyes, closed so tightly as if they would crack themselves from inside, like her cracked pink mirror. She had to go through the same, everyday for three years. Her cracked pink mirror wasn’t broken yet. He always gives you the amount of pain that you can bear. She sure was made tough enough.

It spread in her blood through her veins, like the same way love spread once. Suffering was the same. The only difference was that love used to kill her everyday while this would kill her once and for all. Waiting for death is awful. Waiting is always awful. Death on the other hand is comforting. It gives life. It completes the cycle.

Love was necessary, so were the departures.

White is life, black is death. Living in the shades of grey is always painful.

She has Him. Who knows He would hold her hand gently and walk her to the black meadows or He would let her rejoin white.

Only in the darkness can you see the stars.

——————————————————————————————————

 

 

 

I Am That Little Girl Today…..

I am the 8 years old me today. Thinking about the time when I was laying in my dark lonely room and when for the first time I cried, not for some childish wish to get fulfilled but with pain… because of intense pain that I felt in my heart. For the first time when I was 8. When I saw one of my brothers sleeping on one arm of my father and the other brother on the other arm. I stood there beside the door staring at them while he told them stories, of fairies and brave commandos till they fell asleep. I stared at his arms and wished for sleeping there for once, only for once but that wish never got fulfilled. Wishes have been abandoned for me since then. Instead of telling my father what I wished for that night, I came to my room and cried. That was my first real encounter with tears. Tears, that have been my friends since I was 8.

And then I remember the time when I was 15. My uncle gifted me a cell phone and I used to send random jokes to my friends when one day I met a wrong number. That wrong number remained a wrong number for me, besides he would talk to me and I would listen. I never knew his real name or who he was or where he lived. What I knew was that he was the one person in my life who would listen to whatever I had to share with him. Every problem, every change in my life, every reality revealed… I would speak and he would listen. He became my one best friend. Back then, I didn’t know that my society don’t understand or accept this kind of friendship. All I knew was that I have got someone who understands me.

And one day my mom caught me texting with him. She read our texts and all that she understood by reading them, was that I was talking to a boy. That was the first time when I got cursed. At the age of 15. My mind will collapse if I’ll try to think about what happened next but all that I remember now, is a miserable me, sitting next to my mother and staring at her lap with a boiling wish of putting my head in there and crying out loud. But I never was able to gather that much courage to do that. I used to crave sharing my matters with her and cry on her shoulder but never got a chance. I wasn’t strong enough to tell them who I am. I was afraid they would abandon me if they’d know the real me.

Every night is a night in hell for me, since then. These nights taught me how to fake emotions and how to wear a smile in public. They taught me how to collapse in the dark and weep till I gather strength to stand up in the day light. I admit, I am emotionally weak and I craved emotional support since I was 8. Yes, I am selfish because I never got expression of love that I wanted and every illusion of love felt real to me since then. I admit that I am hateful because I forget every other thing when a little ray of love strikes my heart. For all my life I have begged for love and care, I have rubbed my heels on broken stones to get a single second of peace and serenity.

I may have done thousands of sins to get a little satisfaction of being cared, but I am not that bad, am I ? Every time I loved, I ended up empty-handed. I am shedding tears in this very room of mine for 14 whole years and I am tired now. I understand that I am hateful and you have every right to hate me. I too hate myself so much that no one can even imagine. I understand that I screw things up for everyone whether it be my parents or the person I love, or the person that I was meant to love. I am tired. If I get to bear the same pain all over again, I would die. And that pain has started consuming me once again. It would have been better if it wouldn’t have gone at all, in the first place.

I really wish memories could be erased just like that…. with a little push on the button of backspace. And I really wish I could sleep one day without the burden of endless regrets, pain and guilt on my shoulders, In tranquility !

 

 

Hiatus

An elegant beauty with glassy, unblinking eyes and a straight face veiled in abyss.He couldn’t find better words to illustrate her charm at that time, in his mind.He sat next to her on the bench she was sitting, with her hands clenched to the corners.

“I thought you have stopped thinking like you used to do. That deeply.”

“I tried but I couldn’t” She replied with a thousand years tiredness echoing in her voice.

He nodded his head as if he understood what she didn’t say. They told each other their stories, the day to day activities, those pleasant smiles and the tears followed by them, In a silent conversation. Silence was there to speak, words were never enough for them.

He looked around to pause and all of a sudden she disappeared. A tiny regret occupied his heart, he shouldn’t have shook his head. He knew, she has to return to the reality.

He has to return too, but he knew they will keep meeting like this, in the meadows where dreams meet reality.

He was satisfied, she was happy. She was satisfied, she wasn’t there in his life to create troubles.

While watching them vanish into the thick fog of reality, the meadows almost cried. For they knew, once they both wished and insisted Him to be with each other….

Meadows didn’t know, life is a step more than this greenery that brown bench and ‘love’.

He smiled and continued merging reality with eternity.

———————————————————–

 

 

 

 

 

Wounds That Turned To Wisdom

Credits : This is no dream by Alessio Radice

There was a time when things were different.

At that time, I wasn’t aware how life’d treat me. I was in school when I came home with my first hole. After repressing the pain while I had lunch with my family, I locked myself inside my room and bled for too long.

Then, the next day, I came home with two more holes. One on my upper thigh and the other one on my shoulder. A stinging pain sprout out of them that made my whole body, a wound.

The next day, after returning back home, I left my mother shouting and hustled towards my room while leaving a trail of blood on the white carpet. I slammed my bag on the bed and lifted my shirt in front of the mirror. Half a dozen holes were revealed that dotted my stomach and chest. It was hard, bleeding for hours that day. I needed someone to treat my wounds with gauze. Instead, they were left open. It took half the night to stem the flow of blood and I was exhausted. Excruciating pain was the price of healing.

In the morning my mom made my favorite pancakes for breakfast. I wished she’d have kissed me on the forehead instead of stuffing me with those delicious pancakes.

I returned home that day, more battered than usual, covered with holes from head to toe. I gazed inside my mother’s brown eyes, longing to see the reflection of my holes. Instead, they were filled with every other dilemma our family endured.

I locked my room that day, and stood beside the mirror with blood pit-pattering on the linoleum. The holes looked like tiny flickering tongues. A sucking wound on my back, square between my shoulder blades was hurting me the most. It was too wide, too deep and a gentle touch brought back the memory of my best friend at school. May be that’s why the wound was the worst.

I stood there for too long, dribbling blood on the surface of clean mirror and staring at my face. The taste of loneliness mixed with the sleepless night was bitter. I heard my family talking, my brothers fighting over stupid things. My mother knocked at my room’s door. She waited for an answer but silence was all she could hear while I struggled with my cries, cupping my mouth firmly with both hands. She screamed and called my dad.

I got up, wiped my eyes brutally with one hand while holding a knife in the other. After hiding it under the bed I slammed the door open. My eyes saw fierce expressions on their faces and their lips moved angrily but my ears heard nothing. A shrill sound as if a drill was making a hole in the wood echoed in my head.

After it was all over, I shook my head and locked the door, again. My steps felt heavy as I motioned towards the mirror. The two days old wounds sprang open. Blood spilled out of the crusty scabs that were peeled off.

In the morning, I left the bloodied bed sheets as they were and headed towards school with my head cast towards the ground. I came back that day with more holes but they didn’t hurt that much as they did before. Because, I made dozens of holes that mustered over my torso, to avoid pain from the ones given by others.

“Soon these holes will all turn into scars and they’d be the reminders of how tough I’m“, I thought. The light had started entering inside me, through my wounds.

I bled that day on my bed but the door was wide open. My parents passed by as I lay there, un-noticed, for they had their own monsters to fight with -and I had my own.

“She was not quite what you would call refined.
She was not quite what you would call unrefined.
She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.”

That was the day I promised myself, that I’ll try to fix my daughter’s holes with gauze, made with love and care. But as they say, life is what happens to you while you are busy making ‘plans’.

Every one of us has to unfold one’s own myths.

———————————————————————————

This 695 word story is written for Speak Easy. The task this time was to use “There was a time when things were different” as the first line and to give a reference to a photo that was of parrots. I should admit that, while writing this story, my mind started wandering in my own past and when I read my story now, it seems more like my real life story than fiction. I have decided to leave it unchanged, as it reminds me of my ‘fresh’ old wounds.

This story can be an end, or a new beginning of my writing career. I am getting married this coming Friday and life had been hard on me, lately.

Meet you after my wedding ! Miss me and pray for me, Please. Love you all.

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.

——————————————————————————–

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”.

——————————————————–

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.

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.

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.

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.

——————————————————————————

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.

——————————————————————————————-

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.

——————————————————————————-

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……

——————————————————————————

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 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.

Story Of A One-Eared Theif

There was a loud crash in the hallway. My thumping heart missed a beat. By the time I had collected enough gold jewelry while they were still snoring.

My name is Jim and I am a renowned thief. I have earned quite a fame by the name of one-eared man. This is the story of how I lost my ear.

With the idea of taking a break from stealing, I once decided to tuck away in some place afar. I took my belongings and hid in a truck that was leaving for an unknown location. I dozed off and when opened my eyes, I was laying at a place that was alien to me but very beautiful, with greenery all around. Beautiful flowers were smiling and the sun embraced me with its light. Chilled wind tickled me and I started roaming.

Wandering in this beautiful valley, I saw a small house. My thief-nerves gave me an alarm and I headed towards it. I broke in from the rear door and cloaked myself behind the curtains in one of the rooms. The moment I decided to come out, a bulky woman entered the room.

She was wearing a white shining silk dress with white gloves on her hands. Big gold ear-rings were hanging down from her ears and a gold pendant was caressing her neck. The thing that terrified me wasn’t the dress, but the voices she was making. She sat on the bed and started crying hysterically. She was swinging her arms in wide arcs and stretching out her own hair with her hands. The dry skin on her hands was tanned like leather. She was speaking loudly in a language that I wasn’t able to comprehend.

My legs started trembling and I was covered in sweat from head to toe. I was cursing the time when I decided to take a break, when a girl entered the room. She sat beside the woman and put a pot filled with smoke in front of her. Within seconds, the woman’s voices started lowering down gradually. She was calm now.

“We should prepare the lunch” The girl spoke in a creamy voice and the woman nodded her head.

I caught a glimpse of the girl. She was young, wearing a red velvet long dress and her black hair were tied in a pin. She was wearing gold bangles and ear-rings too. I was charmed by her beauty.

The circumstances convinced me that the woman was under a magic spell. After some time my fear was conquered by greed. The luster of gold jewelry they were wearing blind folded me and I decided to leave this house at night along with  jewelry.

“Stealing from two bare handed women can’t be that difficult”, I thought to myself.

I peeked into the hallway. It was dark. The woman’s snores were piercing the silence. I entered the room after making sure that they both are under the influence of deep sleep. I started removing slowly, the gold pendant and then both the gold ear-rings from the woman’s ears. Her ears were thin and brown as coffee beans. After putting them in my bag, I went closer to the girl, an innocent beauty. My hands shivered while removing her bangles and other jewelry.

As I finished, A loud crash in the hallway destroyed the peaceful silence. I ran towards the hallway to stop the sound. My eyes bulged out and a scream was stuck in my throat, as the vision became clear. A gigantic man with black long mustache like tail of an elephant was standing right in front of me.

He came closer and the bag of jewelry fell down from my hand. He grabbed my neck in one hand and my ear in the other. I smelled the scent of death. He pulled out my ear forcefully and with in a moment my ear was in his hand. A burning sensation filled my head. My screams woke up the women. They stood in the doorway with expressions of shock on their faces.

“RETURN THIS” he growled pointing his finger towards the bag. I grabbed the bag, handed it to the girl and ran out of their front door.

That was my last theft, the first unsuccessful one.

That giant man was the women’s son. That woman was sick. And that beautiful girl is my wife now….

Sometimes weirdest things in life turns out to be the best ones and weird people, the best mates !

Story Of A 2064’s Grand-Ma !

1990’s -When people used to think ‘real ideas’

1990’s :

Mom and Daughter:

Mom: Where are you going my darling?

Daughter: To play with my friends Mommy, we have invented a new game and the idea was mine !

Mom: Wow ! That’s good. Your brainwaves are so innovative. Go play but don’t go too far.

Daughter: Okay, Mommy.

Brother And Sister:

Brother: I have discovered a new library and they have the best books collection.

Sister: Oh wow, Please give me its address.

Brother: No, you first tell me the story of book you just read.

Sister: Okay.

Grand Daughter And Grand Ma:

Grand Daughter: Please tell me the stories of your past Grand-Ma !

Grand Ma: Okay sweetheart, Come here sit in my lap and I will tell you many stories.

Grand Daughter: Yay ! Thanks Grand-Ma.

xx_____________________xx

2013 – When Ideas went online !

2013 :

Mom and Daughter:

Mom: Where are you going sweetheart ?

Daughter: In my room Mommy ! I am working on a new website. The idea was mine.

Mom: Wow ! That’s good. Your brainwaves are so innovative. Go but please come out for lunch.

Daughter: Okay, Mommy !

Brother And Sister:

Brother: I have discovered the fastest torrent website online.

Sister: Please give me it’s address, I have to download a movie.

Brother: No, First remove that weird photo of me with our family you have posted on your face book.

Sister: Okay.

Grand Daughter and Grand Ma:

Grand Ma: Have you checked my new post on my blog ?

Grand Daughter: Sorry Grand-Ma I didn’t get time.

Grand Ma: Okay I am un-friend-ing you on Face book !!

xx_____________________xx

2064 – When we’d be the weirdest Grand Parents !

2064:

Mom and Daughter:

Daughter : Mommy ! My friend told me today that long ago there were people who don’t used to have sharp brains like us but they were energetic and used to think of bright ideas about life.

Mommy: No sweetheart don’t think about that. Save your brainwaves. Go recharge your brain.

Grand Ma standing besides them, Smiles !

Grand Daughter and Grand Ma:

Grand Ma: Come sweetheart we are playing the latest version of Grand Theft Auto ! It is amazing.

Grand Daughter: No, Grand Ma ! You play. I have to go with my Android friends.

Grand Ma smiles again !

xx_____________________xx

This weird post is written in response to Daily Prompt: Brainwave.

Credits:

First photo : SHADY.

Second and Third: Google.

 

While Taking A Photograph -A Moment Of Clarity

Me and my uncle share a special connection. We’d meet at holidays once a year and that time proves to be a crucial time for me. He has three kids who are no different than the chipmunks, I be the Alvin. They turn my house upside down in front of my eyes and I could do nothing but change my positions sitting on my couch, trying to control my anger. While at the same time my uncle cleans out every eatable in my fridge.

I remember an incident from the last time he visited me. He needed a photograph for his passport and asked me to help him. I knew my life is in danger as it was his utmost duty to ruin family group photos every time. Even though, I agreed. I had to.

I take a glance of him through the lens of my camera. He is sitting on a chair with a broken leg (thanks to his kids) and looking right towards me. I notice some gradual changes in his appearance. His face turns more red and his eye-brows move some more towards his head and closer to his nose. His jaws seems like coming out of his skin. A thin red vein is visible on his neck and it feels stretched like a rubber band. His eyes bulge out even more as if he has seen a zombie coming towards him. He is still – I feel like he’d give a sound of  ‘tunn – tunn’ if I hit him with a stick.

I was horrified. Before I could pull out my head and ask him, I hear a strange sound. Like someone has made a hole in a Tyre and air is blowing out with pressure.

I figured out, he just had his moment of clarity. Do you had ?

_________________________________________

A post written in response to Daily Prompt: Moment of Clarity

Credits: 

Idea taken from a lesson in my Urdu book of 6th or 7th grade, I don’t remember now exactly.

Image: Imagesss.com

Pages From Diary Of A School Girl

Ghosts Of December

December 23rd, 2005

Dear Diary,

Today was a bright day, partly because the sun was bright and partly because I got my results today. My class teacher who is the sweetest person I’ve ever met, gave me the certificate and first prize. She kissed my cheek in front of the whole class and said, “Congrats sweetheart”. I blushed and smiled. My friends were happy for me. Everyone loves me.

My mom gave me my favorite chocolate brownie for lunch today and after eating that, I played hide and seek with my friends. It was the best day ever.

December 23rd, 2007

Dear Diary,

I am taking the final exams of my fifth grade in school so I have to study hard. My mom says I am a grown up girl now so I should behave well in public but I don’t know how to behave well. I still love running away after ringing the door bells of houses and telling stupid jokes to my friends and laughing out loud.

I sometimes feel awkward when my friends keep admiring me because of my beauty and looks. But this is fine I guess. They are my best friends. Life is good.

December 23rd, 2009

Dear Diary,

Tears have blocked my throat as I write this. I am alone in this dark silent room scared of my own shadow. My friends don’t talk to me and people around me hate me. My smiles are abandoned and my life is a living hell.

It all started when last month, on my way back home my car met an accident. My face was injured badly. I heard doctors saying that these big black scars will fade away in some years. When I saw my face in the mirror I hated it and smashed the mirror into pieces. After that I cried hysterically scratching my face with my nails.

My mom has removed all mirrors from my room now. Doctor says that I am in depression and I should not look at my face. I am tired of listening heartbreaking comments from people. They HURT me. I feel like I am dying.

December 23rd, 2011

Dear Diary,

Life has become cruel. Are LOOKS everything ? I keep wondering in my lonely December nights sobbing in my bed but I don’t find answers. I never caused any harm to anyone nor did I think about anyone negatively then why do people hate me ? Just because I am not beautiful anymore? Why don’t they see my heart ? It is the SAME.

My vision just got blurred with tears but there is no one to wipe them. No one to pat me on my back and say, “You are beautiful, I see your beauty”. But I have decided to be strong. What if I look ugly, I am not ugly from inside and I will make people see my heart.

December 23rd, 2013

Dear Diary,

A new flower blossomed in my heart today and I am filled with its fragrance. Today was my best friend’s birthday who was not talking to me since my accident. I made a card for her with my own hands last night and in the morning when she got it laying on her chair and read it, I saw her crying. She came to me and gave me a hug saying “I am sorry !”. I smiled.

I made 10 birthday cards with my hands this year and now all of my friends love me again. One of my class fellows got sick for weeks. I gave her my notebooks so that she can complete her work. Her smile has filled my heart with calmness and peace.

I have never felt that happiness before that I feel now by making people smile. Every time a person smiles because of me, a flower of peace and happiness blossoms in my heart and I pass on its fragrance to others. I have learnt a lesson, living for others is the real way to live life.

After all, Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.

————————————-

Image credits: Google.

A post written for Weekly Writing Challenge: Ghosts of December 23rds Past