Saturday, 29 December 2012

FSF: Ending

A bit of downer for this weeks FSF but the prompt is "ending" so not completely my fault ;p

The flame dark goldenrod,
Swallows the crumpled photograph,
As she watchs
Memories-no more...

The blare of punk,
Drowns the cacophony
Of silence, as she hears,
Voices-no more...

Sobs and cries reign,
Happiness is history,
As she hears,
Laughter-no more...

The sparks light up the floor,
The ceiling, the house, the self,
As she burns,
Life-no more...

It's finished.


Thursday, 13 December 2012

BCF: Escape

The following is my entry to business card fiction's first monthly contest. The prompt photo is:

Click here to read all the other entries and post your own!

Friday, 7 December 2012

FSF by sarim

Since I'm busy with my exams, I have passed on my blog to my seven year old brother for this FSF. English is his second language so please bear with his weird-though cute- translations. 
Drop a comment and make his day!

Time runs very fast.
Time is very precious.
We should take care not to waste time.
We should do things on time.
Time is mine, don't waste it.

So what do u think? N don't even ask me what the last line means. Comes from the deepest corners of a seven year old's brain. Haha.

Thursday, 29 November 2012

FSF: Joy

Dear Mr. X,
This is in response to your query dated 29th November 2012, in which you expressed your deep desire to meet one of our officers who goes by name of Joy.

It is with deep regret that we inform you that the above mentioned officer has been deemed lost by the department, following his disappearance a few fortnights ago.

This is not a behaviour unheard of, for Joy loves to go on long solitary walks to look for lost souls and more often than not, in the process, ends up getting lost himself.

Rest assured, your query would be taken seriously and if we don't find Joy soon enough than you most definitely will. 

The Department of Happiness.

Monday, 19 November 2012

Haiku: tree

Born of magic
Enchanting, forever giving,
Lost to ignorance

My first attempt.
Read the other entries here.

Thursday, 15 November 2012

FSF: It's business

Behind curtains of trust and honesty and hope,
Goes on the grisly business of business.

With a face that is but a mirror,
A reflection of the needs of the consumer,
Goes on this grisly business of business.

With one hand that's clasped in a deal,
And the other that holds a knife,
Goes on this grisly business of business.

With a mouth that spews what you wish to hear,
And the tongue that is a potential spear
Goes on this grisly business of business.

Selling souls, and respect and love,
A price tag looped in every entity,
It's business for the involved,
What happens to others but,
Is none of their business.

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

Visual Dare:Unleashed

This story continues from here. Once again I used all the three pictures and if you pay attention, one of last week's also. Tell me what you think! :)

A burst of forgotten memories enslaved her mind, as she collapsed on the stone steps of the half demolished clock tower writhing in agony. Rihaan's innocent face flashed before her eyes, and his squeaky voice resounded through the walls of the tower pleading her to stop. She stood up shakily using the brick wall to support her weight and staggered towards the first step of the endless spiral staircase. Rihaan's face vanished and a vivid image of her house scattering away became known. She pushed herself on, swallowing her pain with each step that she took.
From somewhere far above resonated the unmistakable sound of the clock chiming twelve. She knew now that there was no turning back.

Saturday, 10 November 2012

FSF: character

Some poetry, some flash,
Hope you come back. :)

Is it the truth,
Or something the society wants to believe?
Is it philanthropy,
Or something done to appear good?
Is it honesty,
Or an attempt to pretend?
Is it emotion,
Or a response dictated by the general trend?
Is it character,
Or a facade, something we can't comprehend?

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

Visual dare: unlocked

I'm not taking part in NaNo but I tried to incorporate all the three pictures. Happy reading!

The leaves crinkled beneath her gentle footsteps, acknowledging her presence in the desolate forest. They danced around her, brushing her legs, swaying in the breeze which never died down; which carried whispers to her ears from the deserted clock tower up ahead. The trees embraced her approach, their mangled branches entangling in her long golden locks as she neared the tower. The breeze strengthened and the sky darkened as her pale fingers reached for the battered lever that would unlock the treacherous secrets therein. A clap of thunder resonated across the small clearing as the lever turned and she entered.

Word count: 100

Wednesday, 31 October 2012


Rock-a-bye- baby,
Alone as night falls.
When the wind shrieks
And the monsters crawl.
When the owl hoots
And the night cries out.
And the baby starts screaming
Alone as night falls.

Five year old Sally pushed her chubby little fingers against her ears as the malicious cackles and the all too familiar humming arose from somewhere under bed. She folded her legs under her and receded into the castle of pillows she had created.
Baby is drowsing
Cozy and fair.
The demons wait under
In their rocking chair.
Up and down
The bed they swing
And though you don’t want to,
You hear what they sing.

The squeaking grew louder as the monsters ascended from their underground lair. No. No. Please go away. She thought, as the creaking began. They were coming up. She could hear the boxes moving under her bed-the boxes she had asked mommy to put to block the demons; the boxes, her mommy had found funny; the fear her mommy had found cute.
A rip.
They tore through the cardboard box-probably the one containing her old stuff toys. She squeezed her eyes closed and curled up into a ball; her two foot frame condensing to half a feet. Go away. Please go away.
From up in the sky
To down under the bed.
Nothing’s as pretty
As little Sally’s head.

She flinched when she heard her name-it being the first time they had said it. Her pale fingers clutched teddy’s hand in a futile attempt to calm her nerves. They will go away. They never come up. Never.
With fingers delectable
Eyes wide and in fright.
Don’t pretend to be asleep.
Come visit us tonight.

Her breathing quickened and her heart raced as fast as an athlete on steroids. She buried herself deeper in the pillows just as she felt the bed sheets being pulled down. The sound of sharp nails scraping the floor became audible- tomorrow mommy would ask why there were scratches on the new tiles. Tomorrow-if she survived tonight.
And then it all stopped. The sheets slackened. The scraping stopped. The menacing cackle stopped. The only sounds in her pillow fortress were of her own shallow breathing and the irregular beating of her heart. She started counting.
One. Two. Three.
No sound. She relaxed a bit.
Four. Five. Six.
The wind outside calmed down reducing its angry pounding fists on the window to a slight caress.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
She heard the cardboard boxes move under her bed again. She felt the torn box be put back in place. She felt her grip on teddy relaxing.
She opened her eyes. Her tiny fingers quivered as she moved one of the pillows aside for a quick look.

Thursday, 25 October 2012

Potion of happiness

A stalk or two of budding love
A twig of faith, a petal from the eternal flower of hope.
Add the roots of the family tree,
And a memory or two from the memory lane.
A bit of insanity, a cup of sane,
A dollop of honey, 
(HONEY not Money).
Add spice to taste,
And to ward of hate. 
Mix it all in a cauldron of forgiveness,
That my friend, is the potion of happiness.

Friday, 12 October 2012


The mirror reflected a thick white layer of snow. Not a soul was visible; something which was in stark contrast to the scene it was supposed to be reflecting. The dark cloaked figure who's face was hidden behind the mirrors forbidding edge, took a step towards the frightened little girl on the floor. 
"The whiteness will engulf all." A hoarse voice croaked from behind.
The girl didn't say anything, the fear freezing her voice just as it had paralysed her hands.
"The whiteness will engulf all." the unearthly creature repeated and took another step forward.

Thursday, 11 October 2012


Experimenting with humor, for this FSF. Enjoy!

"Turn right; I'm telling you to turn rig-
Why didn't you turn right? Are you even listening to me?
Oh great, I'm just talking to myself now!"

"I knew I would regret exchanging the GPS for a wife..."

Thursday, 20 September 2012


It's a place where the cries of the agonised
Are drowned in the perfect harmony of artificial beauty.
It's a bedlam of emotions, selfish beyond doubt,
Devoid of love, except love for money,
Devoid of hope, except hope for success,
Devoid of philanthropy, except when it's for self-benefaction.
It's a place where relations are measured in numbers.
It's a mirage of perfectness, where reality is smothered by the ever evolving art of pretension.
Because beneath the perfectly chiseled face of the human race,
Lies the grotesque contorted form of a zombie.

Wednesday, 19 September 2012


You can't do it Kelly. The annoying sing song voice whispered.
Of course she can do it. Go on.

They were everywhere. Everywhere.
Don't do that Kelly.
Let her be.
Stop getting irritated kelly.
We don't like u irritated.

She banged her head against the brick wall.
Oh you can't hurt us like that Kelly. Can't. Can't. Can't. 
The voices were sweet, sweet to the point of being lethal. And they were everywhere. Some were echoes, subtle and passive while the others had the intensity of a tornado and the high pitch of a whistle. 
She tried to climb out, digging her nails in between the gaps of the bricks. One of her nails chipped of and she screamed-more in frustration than in agony.
Little kelly is mad. 
Don't be mad Kelly. Just give up.
Give up and join us. 

She kicked the wall getting a soft musical chuckle in response. 
Give up. Join us. Kelly. Kelly. Kelly.
She closed her eyes and felt something change. Unwillingly, she felt herself letting go. She felt lighter and the voices were quiet. It was nice like this. Quiet and peaceful. Was she dead?
She opened her eyes and saw the four walls of the room. Just as they were supposed to be. 
But this time she was trapped in one of them.
Welcome home, Kelly.

Saturday, 15 September 2012


She stared vacantly at the blur of colours on the tv screen. 

Tom and Jerry came into view. 

The flickering screen was the only source of light, creating an ambience of agony, insinuating seriousness even though the channel was cartoon network. A loud boom of thunder rocked the building. The sound brought back painful memories from a past that was better left forgotten, almost making her mask of calmness crumble. Almost.  She let her brown curls fall across her face, liking the obscurity brought by the natural veil.

Tom chased Jerry straight into the kitchen. 

She pulled her legs closer to her chest in a futile attempt to suppress the pain akin to a thousand daggers boring through her heart. Her pale fingers clutched mr. Bear in the same way her mind grappled for sanity. A quiet sob almost escaped her throat. Almost. 

She swallowed and continued staring blankly at Tom juggling a number of plates that jerry had thrown down. She could empathise with the feline, herself juggling a myriad of emotions that destiny had thrown at her. A purple saucer slipped and she gasped as it crashed unleashing a shower of broken glass fragments. Broken like her. A sudden jolt of pain- an aftershock from the ordeal, amplified by the supposedly humorous cartoon, carved out a huge piece of her heart. 

Tom jumped in air horrified at the mess jerry had made. 

Her face, though, was emotionless. Inside was a raging storm, the dams blocking her feelings were on the verge of bursting, almost letting the tears seep drop by drop. Almost. She wiped out the tear before it emerged. 

Tom, meanwhile, was cleaning up, feverently sweeping the heap of evidence under a carpet. 

Sweep. Sweep. Sweep. 

She had almost managed to sweep the pieces of her shattered life under a rug. 
Almost. She missed one little piece and the skeletons had come back to haunt her-a cyclone of hate and guilt screaming in her brain, shrieking, shouting, cursing.

Tom's owner stomped into view, screaming something unintelligible. Tom bowed his head as the owner called him a worthless, useless cat. Jerry, meanwhile, laughed away at the window sill.

Footsteps became audible in the corridor. Someone yelled something akin to a worthless, useless woman with the tv. She closed her eyes and waited for the head that would soon appear in the doorway. She knew the words before they were even uttered.

"Ms. L, it's time." 

Jerry waved goodbye and 'the end' was splashed across the screen in big, bold italicised letters.

Wednesday, 12 September 2012

The observer

Shoes. They would tell a lot about the wearer to the haggard vagabond slumped next to the trash can on 26 street. All kinds walked by him everyday. Pink high heels, black steel toed boots, fluorescent converse, stylish pumps and even the odd worn out derby. Grabbing his attention today was a pair of bright red pumps strolling alongside pink running shoes. The red pumps were obviously irritated by their partner. You could tell by the fact that they hit the ground with a little more force than required. The running shoes were patient, like a lioness stalking the prey, their gait apparently casual yet the tightened leg muscles suggesting apprehension. The pumps stopped, turning a hundred an eighty degrees. The runners, taken by surprise, stopped abruptly in their tracks. The heel of the pumps came down on the toe of the runners. They stepped back.
"Sorry. My bad." A voice as lethal as the crimson pumps spoke. The shoes resumed their journey seemingly unaffected by the episode but the vibes of malice were easily identifiable.
The vagabond chuckled as the odd pair retreated into a coffee shop and a new one comprising of sneakers and loafers came into view.

Saturday, 8 September 2012

Flash fiction contest!

The lascaux review is holding the first annual lascaux flash fiction contest.The submissions open today and close two weeks later. Hop on over to their site to submit your entry! It has no entry fees and a prize of 250$ for the winner. The rules are on the site as well. check out my story at number 41- Just like old times...
Happy blogging!

Friday, 7 September 2012

FSF: Numb

In psychology, memory is the processes by which information is encoded, stored, and retrieved.
It always felt easy for her to transform everything into equations, digits, technical jargon.
Endless words threaded together which were meant to give meaning but in the process of their formation ended up becoming just dark blots on a yellow page kept in heavy dusty volumes of encyclopaedias in old abandoned libraries.
Memory became a process governed by the complex working of neurones and neurotransmitters , just as life became directly proportional to respiration and independent of living.
For her, life was better off lived as numb.

Friday, 17 August 2012

Cinderella: the true story

This is my entry for what if blogfest.
I'm with 'team tragedy' though for some reason I'm not able to upload the team picture so apologies for that.
Enjoy reading!

And the prince and Cinderella lived happily ever after.


Or that was how the story was told, generation after generation to eager kids and awestruck toddlers-monitored closely, first by the prince's own ministers and then by their surviving relatives.
But sooner or later someone was bound to ask the question. And one day, a little kid finally did. 
Ironically, it was one of the prince's own descendants who asked the life-changing question.
'But what happened after, mommy?' 
The mother stiffened, the living descendants of the ministers stiffened. It is even rumoured that the grave digger near the dead prince's grave, heard him turn inside.
The child was expertly distracted, but the question had been asked and that meant the prediction of the good old fairy godmother might just come true- not that she could be any happier than they were, for the fairy godmother was dead. 
The Internet immediately filled up with all kinds of 'what if' stories. one  of the stories that popped up online under a tag of Therealstory01 told how Cinderella met an untimely death due to the hatred that emanated from her towards her step-family once she realised how badly she had been treated. In her anger and pride she had given them a death sentence shocking even the coldest of hearts in the kingdom. But something happened. The prince realised this wasn't his cinderella and condemned her to death but not before crafting an elaborate story, one which all of us have heard about.
The story received a thousand comments most of them rubbishing it off as false. But for those of us, the descendants of the real witnesses, it is a huge burden off the soul. We don't have to lie anymore.

Word count: 291

Wednesday, 8 August 2012

Step back

He stared at the tower of papers sitting on his desk, taunting him with their ink scrawled face and the typical 'freshly-printed-paper' smell. He stared at them letting the frustration build, letting the anger seep through the locked corners of his brain. He reached out to grab the one at the top. Slowly, revelling every moment, he ripped it to shreds. The floodgates opened and the fury  that had raged within for the past ten years drained out.
 Rip. rip. rip.
He was all the way down to the last when a chuckle escaped his throat.
The grass needed mowing. The report needed to be finished. The bills had to be paid.
Tomorrow he would do all that. But for today he would just take a deep breath, step back and break free from the incessant ticking of the damn clock.

Tuesday, 7 August 2012


She stood on the beach.
Seeing the golden globe dip into the endless waters of the ocean.
Watching the sky turn orange.
Witnessing shades of grey engulfing the hues of red.
Seeing the sky turn dark.
She stood on the beach living the moment,
Knowing there would be no tomorrow.

Friday, 3 August 2012

Blog flash 2012: Day 3

The prompt of the day- Colour.
She opened her eyes to a black and white world.
Where shades of sorrow hid in the subtle grey.
A hint of darkness loomed in the endless sky.
A cry of pain and a soundless sigh.
She opened her eyes to a black and white world.
Devoid of colour. Harsh. Cold. Emotionless.

Thursday, 2 August 2012

Blogflash 2012: day two

Today's prompt is 'a furry friend'. Happy reading!
"Can I keep it mommy? Please!" The six year old begged.
The mother looked at the cat, appalled by its worn out fur and strangely hypnotic black eyes. The cat mewed in response-the voice casting a strange aura around them.
"Please!" the son said again.
But the mother didn't listen. Entranced and enchanted she picked up the battered ball of fur and nodded a yes. The son shrieked delightfully.
The cat mewed again. <I> Another prey captured. </I>

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

A butterfly

It originates from the mind's deepest abyss, breaking the cocoon of inactivity and fluttering it's golden wings, breathing the sweet air of accomplishment as it flies off in an unprecedented direction.
It prances around from flower to flower, until it finds the one strong enough to bear the weight of its uncertain future - down in the dumps or up in the clouds.
And then it blooms, deriving nutrition from our perseverance and being ignited by that smallest of sparks that's called creativity.
Thus, the seeds of a better future are sown.
Word count: 92

Monday, 23 July 2012

Silly hope...

This poem is a bit of a downer really, but happy reading!

Silly hope,
Why do you give me
Reasons to expect
When in the end,
All I can do is grieve your death?

Silly hope
Why do you give me
A thread to hang on to
Only to see it snap
And me plummet towards the end?

Silly hope,
Why do you falsify
Blind my eyes
Make me cry?

Silly hope,
Why do you make
This life a hyperbole,
Put plastic flowers,
Where there is only coal?

Silly hope,
You don't deserve
A place,
In a heart
That easily breaks...

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

Visual dare: gutted

For part one click here.

He pushed open the door and hurried inside. The old wooden panels gave way under his heavy six foot frame, each crack in the wood equal to a spear right through his heart. He stared at the objects which had meant everything to him in a past life.
Don't think. The memories would cripple you. 
A slight breeze swept in through the broken window panes, wrapping him in a cool embrace. 
Don't feel. Don't think. Don't stall.
He strode purposefully to the end of the deserted room, his heart fluttering with excitement. He looked at his old worn out desk and smiled.
All was not lost. The 'rooh' was still there.

Saturday, 14 July 2012

The innocent dreamer

My sister just opened her blog showcasing her stories. As with anyone new to this blogging world she is still finding her feet. Help her improve her art on her
Blog. Read, comment, follow n flood her with support and encouragement! :D

Thursday, 12 July 2012

FSF: Composure

The sweltering heat made her blood boil but she resisted.
The thirst made her throat constrict so as no sound would come out but she resisted.
The hot sands of the desert scorched her bare feet but she didn't betray a single emotion.
Clouds of uncertainty hovered over her dying brain and yet she couldn't muster a single tear.
The only thing that was certain was death and an inane hope that it too might change.

Visual dare: Distorted

I stared at the leather bound journal sitting across me on the desk tempting me to steal the tiniest glance inside.
"The forbidden pages," the monk had said, "no one had read it for the past 500 years. It holds the secrets of life and death but there is a price...a heavy price."
He had kept the book on the desk and left me alone to decide. The book unnerved me, the secrets that lay a page away intimidated me but the knowledge -the knowledge in those old fragile pages excited me. 
I remembered by life before I became a seeker. A normal high schooler with a very average life. But then I had found out about the pages. Now it was all a passion for magic. It had become more than a hobby, it was a crazy addiction and I was willing to pay anything to learn.
"The price is your soul." the monk had said. And I had decided.
How had life suddenly become so distorted?

Monday, 9 July 2012

FSF: Pirates

He felt the tip of the sword graze his back as he stumbled towards the edge of the plank.
The sea underneath, roared with the wrath and fury of an angry dragon thirsty for blood.
“Jump! Jump! Jump!” hollered the excited crew.
He closed his eyes, feeling the air caress his face as he braced for impact.
An angry shout came from the back-“How many times have I told you kids that my garden shack is not a pirate ship?!?”

Saturday, 7 July 2012

Visual dare: Parked outside

The sole working street lamp flickered and finally blacked out, joining the array of others who had lost their brightness years before him. Years of indifference and abandonment had finally taken its toll. With the last working street lamp gone, the town lost what little of a 'glow' it had.
Broken and battered buildings cast a forlorn gaze at the desolate and deserted street, their shattered windows becoming their tears, their cobwebbed rooms- the heart that had stopped beating. Every inch of their being held a tragic reminder of a history forgotten, bore witness to THE hell which everyone else seemed to forget.
The lone car parked on the edge of the street looked strangely out of place- a splash of colour in a black and white town. And so did the dark figure that stepped out creating a spur of movement in an otherwise quiet street. He ran his hand across the old teak door which had lost its colour but not it's grace. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
"They'll remember." He whispered. "I'll make them."

Word count is a more than 100. Hope thats not a problem. Comments and feedback appreciated!

Saturday, 23 June 2012

The booker award!

Thank you L. G. Keltner for this wonderful award!

The rules of the award:

*  This award is for book bloggers only. To receive this award the blog must be at least 50% about books (Reading or writing is okay)
*  Along with receiving this award, you must also share your top five favorite books you have ever read.
*  You must give this award to 5-10 other lucky book blogs you adore.

Here are my top five favourite books (in no specific order):
1) Angels and demons by Dan brown
2) A thousand splendid suns by Khalid hosseini
3) Fear by Jeff Abbott
4) The Bourne ultimatum by Robert Ludlum
5) Da Vinci code by Dan Brown

Here are the lucky recipients of this award:
1) The Moongazer
2) Title by Jaq

Friday, 22 June 2012

FSF: Faeries

She pranced around, from flower to flower, her silvery white wings fluttering in the light breeze.

The sweet smell of roses, the bubbling waterfall nearby, the bright sun, all added to the serenity of her surroundings.

She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself into this beautiful, perfect world.

Thats when the alarm clock rang- the shrill sound of reality.

Fairytales were good but now it was time to wake up.

Monday, 18 June 2012

Another award!!

Thank you, Moongazer for this really wonderful award.
Here are the rules and the other details.
The Liebster Blog Award is given to upcoming bloggers who have less than 200 followers.
The Meaning: Liebster is German and means sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing and welcome.

The rules are as follows:
1. Each person must post 11 things about themselves.
2. Answer the questions the tagger has set for you plus create 11 questions for the people you've tagged to answer.
3. Choose 11 people and link them in your post.
4. Go to their page and tell them.
5. Remember, no tag backs!

Here are the questions:
1. What is your greatest fear?
Hmmmm... Fear??
2. If you were to make something out of play-dough right now, what would it be?
A teddy bear
3. Do you like bumblebees?
Never thought about that but probably yeah...
4. Where do squirrels go during hurricanes?
Escape into their magical portal to nowhere.
5. What is your favourite colour?
6. Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?
Nobody. They were murdered haha
7. What season describes you best?
It's a tie between monsoon and winters
8. What was the last beverage you drank?
Coca cola
9. What if tomorrow never comes?
Today would never become history
10. Favourite movie of yours?
11. Where are you?
Exactly where I'm supposed to be...:)

Here are the wonderful blogs people that I pass on this award too:
2)Penned by Taylor
3)Making the party

So winners, here are the questions for you!
1. What's the first word that comes to your mind when you say 'pen'?
2. What's your worst fear?
3. If you had one wish, what would it be?
4. Think fast. Forest or waterfall?
5. Can you explain the concept of concepts?
6. How good are you at keeping a secret? (don't worry, I ain't telling you any)
7. Who is your favourite author?
8. Black or white?
9. Do you believe in déjà vu?
10. What's your fav letter?
11. Are you tired of all these questions?

So there you go! You have the award, the questions, the chance to pass on this award to others. Get set, go!

Friday, 1 June 2012

FSF: Orange

Five sentence fiction


She was always drawn to their beauty; watching the sun dip down in the passive waters of the family lake, changing it from yellow, to golden, to deep orange and finally to the eternal black.

She wasn't allowed to leave her room,apparently always in danger, of baseless fears, of catastrophes that never were, unseen enemies and the constant threat of mishap.

The sunsets were the only thing that always cheered her up.

She wasn't the only one sinking into depths of oblivion, the sun was too, but it managed to rise back up and one day so would she...

Thursday, 31 May 2012


“Fear is a distressing negative sensation induced by a perceived threat. It is a basic survival mechanism occurring in response to a specific stimulus, such as pain or the threat of danger.” The new professor droned on. 
The windows shuddered under the wrath of heavy rain and incoming storm. Every now and then streaks of lightening would splash across the sky, followed by thunder which reverberated in the entire school building. A bright Monday morning had suddenly changed into a cataclysmic storm and the last thing we needed was a lecture on fear.
“In short, fear is the ability to recognize danger leading to an urge to confront it or flee from it.”
The class nerd in the front row furiously took notes, giving us a glare now and then – a warning that his notes were his alone. A curly haired girl a few rows away slept soundly, the voice of the professor a lullaby; while another, texted feverishly on her new blackberry. A paper plane hit the front wall-obviously the creative mind of the raucous back benchers at work here. The professor ignored the interlude and continued with his mind-numbing speech. A few moments later another one landed on the professor’s desk receiving a hearty applause from the students. Again the professor preferred to overlook. The kids at the back took this as an opportunity and started throwing all sorts of things at the front wall.
Paper balls. Pencils. One even had the courage to throw his notebook and now that I think of it maybe that’s what really put off the new professor.
“ENOUGH!!” he roared, and as he did so a bright flash of lightening blinded us all. The lights burst in spray of glass. The classroom was now in entire darkness. Kids shrieked and tried to get out of the room. The doors slammed shut bearing the weight of fifty pounding fists.
Another flash of lightening illuminated the room permitting us a glance of the surroundings. What we saw made us gasp with horror. The place where the professor had stood only moments ago was now splashed with blood and a single head- yes a head! - adorned the table. It went without saying it was the kid’s who threw the notebook.  
“In extreme situations fear might result in paralysis, freezing you on the spot.” The voice boomed with a ghastly fervor.
The light faded and once again were alone, engulfed in darkness.

Sunday, 27 May 2012

For eternity

Naja Tau, I hope you like this poem. Feel free to correct my flaws. Enjoy reading!

I wish my life
Debilitated by hate
Could be fortified
By love
For eternity

I wish the thorns
That ever my path would cross
Transform into roses
As I walk across
For eternity

I wish the life I condemn
Become the one I desire
Satiating my thirst, my greed
Lifting me higher
For eternity

I wish to be
Under God’s loving hand
Never be
The target of his wrath

Saturday, 26 May 2012


Constructive criticism and feedback welcome! Enjoy reading...


The sun beat down upon her, as she walked along the familiar, dust clad road for the first time in twelve years. Her feet adapted quickly to the rugged terrain, as the memories of a time forgotten flooded her heart and soul. Everything was the same as she remembered; it was like her town had slept in its tranquil cocoon as the world around raced ahead. She walked in a trance, taking in the sight, the smell, the sounds, each bringing with it a longing for the time she could never have back.

People she had known in another ephemeral time glanced at the strange woman, intruding the quiet, insipid life they were so used to. Whispers. Rumors. Suspicion. She walked straight ahead, the burden of the stares weighing her down.

Please, please accept me.

She stroked the trees as she passed them asking forgiveness, pleading for acceptance. They felt harder than she remembered.

Of course, hardened by years of pain, agony, abandonment.

The last thought formed a lump in her throat which slowly materialized into a single tear. It slid down her cheek onto the dry sand, vaporizing instantly. Even the land doesn’t want any part for me.

But as she neared her family farm, the sadness alleviated. The stares no longer mattered. The people’s thoughts were secondary. She looked at the trail of footprints that she had left behind. An overwhelming sense of euphoria engulfed her. She was elated. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy, as she realized that she had finally reached her destination. She was home.
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