Tuesday, 16 December 2014

All that is left is silence...

My fingers trace the dust lined walls; derelict.
There was a school here once, they say.
A school that resonated with the chants of the alphabet,
with laughter, with innocence, with dreams.
But I can not see it, in these crumbling walls
in the silence,
in the absence of those carefree voices.

It swallows me, this emptiness.
It wasn't always empty, they say.
Inside these walls was life,
as vibrant, as jolly, as bursting with energy
as a galaxy of stars; immortal.
But it is gone now.
In these broken chairs, cracked windows, abandoned backpacks,
the only thing left
is silence...

This heinous act unites us,
in our battle against such monstrosities.
And we shall stand together
6 billion of us fighting for the hundred of you.
And when our struggle starts to fade,
Your memories shall be our fuel
The absence of your voices, our bugle.
And we shall strive for victory
yearn for compassion.
Rest in peace, little ones.
I'm sorry we couldn't save you.
But you won't be forgotten.
We are here...
We are here... 

My heart goes out to those little kids and their families. May they find the strength to bear this loss. 

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

SOULLESS Cover Reveal!


The amazing Crystal Collier is out with a new book! Introducing...


Alexia manipulated time to save the man of her dreams, and lost her best friend to red-eyed wraiths. Still grieving, she struggles to reconcile her loss with what was gained: her impending marriage. But when her wedding is destroyed by the Soulless—who then steal the only protection her people have—she’s forced to unleash her true power.

And risk losing everything.

What people are saying about this series: 
"With a completely unique plot that keeps you guessing and interested, it brings you close to the characters, sympathizing with them and understanding their trials and tribulations." --SC, Amazon reviewer

"It's clean, classy and supernaturally packed with suspense, longing, intrigue and magic." --Jill Jennings, TX

"SWOON." --Sherlyn, Mermaid with a Book Reviewer
About Crystal:
Crystal Collier is a young adult author who pens dark fantasy, historical, and romance hybrids. She can be found practicing her brother-induced ninja skills while teaching children or madly typing about fantastic and impossible creatures. She has lived from coast to coast and now calls Florida home with her creative husband, three littles, and “friend” (a.k.a. the zombie locked in her closet). Secretly, she dreams of world domination and a bottomless supply of cheese. You can find her on her blog and Facebook, or follow her on Twitter.
Sounds awesome? Pre-order it here! 
All the best for your book Crystal! =)

Thursday, 19 June 2014

VisDare: Restoration

A chilling scream breaks out and I whirl around and spot her, her chubby face contorted with horror, her mouth gaping wide. I rush to her and steer her away from the madness, from death.
"What's wrong with them?" She whispers beneath sobs. "Mommy and daddy," I reply and my voice catches in my throat. I don't know how to tell her, but she guesses. The intensity of her wails increase.
What do you say to six-year old? I can't tell her it'll be okay. Because it will never be okay. It'll never be the same. The tears will stop, yes. But like a dried up river, they will leave a meandering scar on your heart; of how things were and how they could be. 
I hold her close as she sobs and screams and finally weeps silently, exhausted and helpless. I can't 'fix' things for her, for us. But I can avenge. A plan forms.

Sunday, 8 June 2014

S.O.S.: Satisfaction vs. Ambition

Photo by Saad Ibrahim
(Please don't use)

Since time immemorial we have been subjected to two seemingly dichotomous trains of thought. One that portrays satisfaction as the highest spiritual goal. And the other that regards ambition as the front runner of development. To believe in these two ideologies simultaneously is very much like running while standing still. And yet, everyone seems blissfully unaware of this fact, and continues to tell themselves that they are satisfied as well as ambitious. So today I'll leave you with this thought.
We strive for satisfaction. Day in and day out, all our hard work is done to achieve this utopian state of complete contentment. But the more we have the more we crave. For satisfaction is a mirage. Just like a thirsty traveller in a desert spots water just over the sand dune, we see the end to our wanderings at the next job, the next gadget, the next luxury. And just like the water, it vanishes as soon as our worn feet tread to its edge. Ambition, on the other hand, drives us forward. It lures us with the prospect of finding water ahead along with a small cottage and maybe a camel? We tread and tread thinking we have a definite plan until one day the realization hits. Satisfaction is an illusion. And ambition the fuel that propels us towards this illusion. 

What are your thoughts on the dichotomy between satisfaction and ambition? Which one do you prefer? Leave your thoughts in the comments below!

Sunday, 1 June 2014

S.O.S: Letting off some steam

Introducing Speak Out Sunday (or S.O.S) to voice opinions that might be different than your average Jane Doe's. You can contribute to the discussion by commenting or posting responses on your blog and leaving a link in the comments. 
Oh and don't worry, flash fiction and poetry will soon resume, (hopefully next week). Until then...

 Letting off some steam
Religion is a response to revelation, and different people respond to revelation differently.”
-John Green
This article, in its entirety, stems from two things. The above mentioned quote and my personal dissatisfaction (which I am sure is echoed by millions) of the inherent stereotypes that emerge from my religious belief.
The purpose of writing this article is not to explain Islam. There are people who can do that task infinitely better. The purpose of this article is to examine the prevalent ideology that associates Muslims to a monolithic people, where all one billion of us are answerable for the crimes of handful. I said Muslims and not Islam because Islam is monolithic. It's principles are articulated in the Holy Quran and are supplemented by the ahadith. It is us, the followers, whose varying interpretations is the root of all the trouble. The religion teaches us peace, I can assure you of that and so can countless other scholars. But we can't ignore the constant bombardment of verified and unverified news that accuse our religion for the problems of the world. Because there are people out there who claim to be pure Muslims and who capture, murder, torture in the name of Islam. Because there are people out there who profess a love for Allah and in lieu of that love, demean, devastate and destroy the lives of others. But at the same time, there are us Muslims, present in various stratas of a fragmented society, who live an ordinary life, trying to wrap our head around the fact that our every move is being publicly scrutinized. That there are some people who attest that they are fighting for us, for our rights and our freedom, even though we have never asked for a war and they have never consulted us about the same. It is us who live a life of constant fear. It is us who are discriminated every day. It is us who are tagged as terrorists, the only evidence being our recitation of the shahada. It is us who have to endure the public denigration of our religion. It is us who suffer for the crimes of others. And it is their understanding of Islam that is unanimously considered the only one. And so I ask you a question. What is it that validates their interpretation of Islam? What is it that legitimizes their definition and negates ours? Is it because they manage to make it to the headlines every day? Or is it because the rest of us, consciously or unconsciously, keep out of them?
We can continue to harp about the true principles of Islam. We can write article after article enunciating our beliefs. Or we can act. Open up counter organisations, orphanages, NGOs, relief camps and schools. The bottom line is, we have to fight for the true identity of our religion. We have to transform the image of jihad from murdering innocents to saving millions.
The internet already overflows with arguments against terrorist outfits. A curious person is free to research and form his own conclusions. But the masses, who either don't have the time or the energy to expend on this long (and confusing) process, whose only source of enlightenment is the media, would forever remain ignorant of this other and significant fraction of us. There are many muslims who have done and try to do great deeds for the world. But they have failed to garner attention for the simple reason that the rest of us find faults in them. Astagfirullah, we shout, she claims she knows about her deen! Look at her make-up infested face. He will guide us to the right path? His clothes are western. You have only read the translation of Quran and that permits you to question the scholars? Exile him. He is not a Muslim. And so it proceeds. From what you wear, to the fact that you choose to converse in English can bring the wrath of the community upon you. Instead of praising the deeds said person has done, we chide, rebuke and humiliate him or her for the slightest of flaws.*If we can not stand together, we have lost the right to blame 'external forces' for driving us apart. We have to realize that if we want respect for our religion and for ourselves, we first have to learn to respect others. And I am not talking only about Muslims, but the people at large. We need to 'agree to disagree' with those of differing opinions. We need to stop threatening people with hell fire and respect their choices.* After all, we are no one to judge. If we are desirous of gaining honour, we should be ready to honour too.
So this entire rant boils down to one thing. And it is a solemn cry to all the people of this world. Learn to respect. And also research before forming an opinion. Debate instead of argue and love instead of hate. Maybe its not too late yet.

*P.S. I am not advocating a society where we stay mum to those who promote inherently wrong beliefs (read: justifying stealing, murder or rape)(oh and bombs). I envision a society where baseless allegations are replaced by an intelligent discourse, where a different opinion is met by an engaging discussion and not the “you-will-go-to-hell” phrase that thrives in both the cyber and the real world.

Sunday, 25 May 2014

Writing Contest

I chanced upon WRiTE CLUB yesterday while scrolling through my google feed.


What is WRiTE CLUB, you ask? Well, in the words of the creator himself, " It’s a modest writing competition whose inspiration was derived from the movie FIGHT CLUB."
The rules are on the link I provided above. I might or might not be participating this year. Truth be told, the entire concept of 'anonymous entries' intrigues me. This should be fun. 
Anyway, go check out the link, write your entry and submit! See you all in the 'ring'.

Are you signing up? Any other ongoing contest that you know about? 

Sunday, 18 May 2014

A-Z slump, posting schedule & other odds 'n ends

So. I quit A-Z challenge midway. Mostly because college caught up with me, exams started and what not. A big shout to the folks who hung around waiting for M's story. I'll complete it one of these days in sha Allah. 
Apart from that, I have realised I can't run this blog on the 'post-when-inspiration-strikes' schedule. So from this week on I'd try and post at least once a week (most probably on Sundays.) I also would be getting back to all the wonderful blogs that I follow, which I have so far shameless neglected. Sorry for that. 
And what else. I have been struck with a story idea (5000 words already!). So I hope to flesh it out before it disappears in a puff of smoke.
That's it from me.
See you next Sunday!
Did you participate in the A-Z challenge? Have a posting schedule? Any tips on starting a WIP? 

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Day 14: Negligent

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, these can also be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

I wonder whether it is possible to be negligent and not at the same time. I feel I'm that. Meticulous and negligent. My nails are timmed. My hair smells like lavender. I'm chewing mint. I'm going crazy. I'm going to break down. I miss her.
It's dawn.
It's dusk.
Its all the same...

Intrigued? You can read the rest of the story by clicking on M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon!

Tuesday, 15 April 2014

Day 13: Maryam

This year's theme is story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, these can also be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

I sneak a peak into her journal. Just to see how different it is from mine. I'm shocked. Its pages are devoid of words. Instead they are full of pictures. All our escapades sketched in black. Not even a word written. Just sketches. And those too, drawn in exact detail. The little girl with the ponytail. The chocolate wrapper I threw on the street. Right down to the clothes we were wearing. An exact replica. I flip the pages slowly, the memory of each day burning into my mind. The pages turn faster as I near the end until all I can see through my teary eyes is black blotches. The tears snake down my cheeks. I close the diary and weep.

Its not that hard after all,
to say goodbye.
 Intrigued? To read the rest of the story click on M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon!

Monday, 14 April 2014

Day 12: Loss

 This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.

And if it is pain as intense
as a dagger tearing away at my insides
that propels me to compose
then I do not seek to be a poet...
Intrigued? You can read the story till now here. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

Sunday, 13 April 2014

Day 10 & 11 (not giving up so quick)

So, I almost gave up. Missed two days because I couldn't find the time to write. But here I am, back again, with two letters in one post. Here goes:

I'm the only person that knows she's missing. Other people believe the "note" she left, talking about how she has to "find" herself again and needs some time alone. I'm the only person who is looking for her. It's been two weeks since the media labelled her a psychopath. Her parents have accepted that she ran away. I have not. I will find her. I just hope its not too late.

I lurked around Mr. Raj's house today and almost got caught trying to sneak a look through the window. The man gives me the creeps. But no sign of her. I'm worn out but I won't give up. I'll try his other apartment tomorrow. I will find you Maryam.

Something shrill is hell bent on depriving me of sleep. I realize its the phone and it has been ringing for the past five minutes. I groan as I "slide to answer".
"It's Maryam." The voice at the other end-who I recognize to be a friend says. I jolt up.
"Where is she? Is she okay?" I scream.
"I think you should come to the police station. Please hurry." 
My head is a jumble of thoughts. What did she do? I don't remember rushing out of the hostel at five in the morning, don't remember how I reached the police station, don't remember getting drenched in the storm. The only thing I remember is seeing her parents there, crying against the wall, and my friend whispering those three awful words. She's no more.

They say she jumped off a bridge. They say she didn't eat her 'medicines' on time. They say she was unwell. I...

Intrigued? You can read the rest of the story by clicking M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon!
Also sorry for not getting back for the past two days. Have been awfully busy with college, tests, assignments, life in general. I'd definitely be seeing more of you guys this week!

Thursday, 10 April 2014

Day 9: Innocence

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, these can be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

Maryam isn't backing down. She says she fights for the lost innocence, for the plight of those who won't speak. She doesn't say this to me of course. Still not talking. She wouldn't see reason. But I still wrote her this. 

The eyes that were once,
brighter than a thousand suns
lie overcast today
witnesses of apathy
of life's slow decay
The lips that were once,
Forever twisted in an intoxicating grin,
lie sober today
Mute voices of hatred 
Of being cast-aways 

Minds polluted
Their cherubic souls tainted 
Robbed of their innocence
A precious few rise from the rubble, dauntless,
The unfortunate others 
suffer in silence...

I'll try and talk to her again. 

Intrigued? To read the rest of the story visit M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon. :)

Wednesday, 9 April 2014

Day 8: Help denied

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, the stories can be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

The number belongs to a Mr. Raj. The very, rich, well-connected man that I had feared. Within minutes our child witness confesses to being bribed my Maryam to lie and the 'breaking news' changes.
"Young activist mentally ill." Scream the headlines along with a statement by a psychiatrist who claims to be treating her. And just like that both our worlds, mine and hers, begin to shatter.
"It's a lie M! They are making things up. I do visit the doctor once in a while but its nothing serious. And they must have held the poor kid under duress, forced him to change his statement!" Maryam says with tears in her eyes. "You have got to help me M. Please."
I know the smart thing to do is quietly back down. You don't mess with the powerful in this country. I try to explain that to her.
"He'll ruin you M. Be practical. This is not our fight. You have to think about-"
She silences me with a glare. Her eyes flash with betrayal.
"Maryam, listen to me..." I say.
"No. You're right. This isn't your fight. But it is mine." She turns around and stomps off. I almost yell at her to stop. But I know she would never listen to the voice of reason.


Intrigued? You can read more of M's story by clicking on M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon!

Tuesday, 8 April 2014

Day 7: Guilty

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though,the  entries can be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

DL 08 AA 1000 
The number that changed everything; that catapulted her from anonymous do-gooder to a full-blown activist. She didn't hide behind the garb of 'confidential sources' whilst declaring to the world the identity of the 'child killer' as he was dubbed. No. Sweet, innocent and ferociously determined Maryam gave her statement on national television. 
Her phone is engaged when I call. But her face is splashed all across TV along with the eight year old boy who is the only witness of the killings. I can't help but shiver at the thought of all the unwanted attention she is attracting. 
We still don't know who the car belongs to. Here's to hoping that it isn't some 'rich, spoilt brat' as Maryam so eloquently puts it. 

Crazy. This is insane. You shouldn't have interfered Maryam.
In a country where the law is literally blind,
It's foolish to think justice will always prevail...
Intrigued? You can read the story until now by clicking on M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.
P.S. I'm travelling today so today's post is picture-less and unedited. Sorry for grammatical errors if any!

Monday, 7 April 2014

Day 6: Fate

  This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.


"It could have been us, if we were born to a different set of parents.” Maryam breaks the silence suddenly. We sat in the college library, she reading “The End of Poverty” and I doodling aimlessly.
“Maryam, I can't believe you are still thinking about the accident! You do realise that the person who did that would never get caught! There is no proof.” I say. Her lips twitch and I can see the smile that she suppresses, very clearly in her eyes.
“Maybe someone will.” She whispers.
“What-” but the bell rings and she hurries off to our class.
What are you hiding Maryam?

Intrigued? You can read the story till now by clicking M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

Saturday, 5 April 2014

Day 5: Elite

This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.


“I know it's some rich, spoiled brat.” Maryam says, unable to control her anger over the accident that took the lives of five innocent, homeless kids. I try to tell her that things like these are commonplace in our country. She fumes and mutters all the way to the flyover, under which the accident happened and under which we were going looking for stories for our assignment.

The group of kids that greets us here is different. They are quiet, the deaths of their peers still hanging about in the air. They don't ask us for money. They don't rush towards us. They sit silently in groups and watch us; a dozen glassy eyes weighing our every movement. Attempts at conversation are met with a frosty silence. Attempts to bribe the story out of them are met with glares. Soon enough Maryam realizes the fruitlessness of it all and suggests we return.
Halfway back, she remembers something and tells me to wait while she rushes back. Fifteen minutes later she comes running, slightly out of breath.
Let's go.”
Day 2, wasted.
 Intrigued? You can read the story till now by clicking M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

Friday, 4 April 2014

Day 4: Death

This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.

"Freak accident kills five kids"
Delhi, 4 April: A car ran over five homeless kids who were sleeping on the footpath yesterday. There is no clue yet of the culprit though the police...

For abducted, run away, disowned kids who find themselves on harsh, unforgiving Indian streets.
Hit us, use us, make us cry,
What are we but expendable low-lives?
Abduct, incapacitate, make us beg,
Till even our tears are no more ours to shed...
Parade us in dingy streets,
in alleys where even shadows weep,
Exploit us, fear not the sleeping law,
For we are but voiceless kids.
 Intrigued? You can read the story till now by clicking on M's tab up over there. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

Thursday, 3 April 2014

Day 3: Children

This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.

Their eyes regard us with open scrutiny. They notice the blue handbag I'm carrying and I can see how they start to gauge the amount of money they can get off of me. Maryam on the other hand, is already beckoning them forward.
I have got chocolates.” She says drawing out a packet bursting with candy. They rush to us; a pack of hungry street kids, a genuine smile spread across their faces.
So here's the deal.” I say before Maryam sabotages the entire operation by giving the candies for free. “You tell us your story and we'll give you candies.” Maryam frowns and withdraws the treats. A hush instantly descends on our ravenous little crowd.
Police me ho? Are you with the police?” Is the first question that they ask. We assure them that we aren't. Five minutes of convincing and a few more candy bars and we get our first story, well sort of.

Day 1
Her name is Kiran. Flaky brown hair cascade her face and she plays nervously with the ends of her skirt as she talks. Her voice comes in suspicious whispers but the candy is too alluring. She hasn't eaten anything since morning.
Her story? She was five when her drunk father lashed out at her. She ran away. She is seven now and she works... She stops suddenly. “Can I have the candy now?” She asks. Maryam of course gives it to her. She hurries off, followed by the rest of the gang, all interest in chocolates and treats suddenly vaporizing in thin air. It's strange. But the work for the day is thankfully done.

Intrigued? You can read the story till now by clicking on M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon. 

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Day 2: Befriended

This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.

“So, let's go to the metro station today,” Maryam speaks as if continuing a previous conversation, “we'll start close then spread out.” I am starting to like her already. For one thing she didn't start by talking about a random new shade of lip gloss.
“Yeah, but what are we working on exactly?” I ask.
“Oh didn't I tell you? Street kids of course.” And with this she starts speaking at length about the atrocities bestowed upon children, the cruelty, the injustice of it all, pausing only to tuck her hair back in her headscarf. I'm awed. How quickly her demeanour changes from bubbly teen to ferocious activist.
“Ok, ok calm down. I get you.” I say interrupting her. She stops immediately and looks abashed.
“I'm sorry, I get all excited when I talk about these things. If you want we can talk about other things like shoes and...lip gloss.”
That is when I know we'll be friends. That is also when I burst out laughing effectively disconcerting everyone in a five mile radius. That is also when we make our first mistake.


Regular updates? Nah. 

Intrigued? You can read the story till now here. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

P.S. Visit M's tab on top to read more about her story

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Day 1:About M

It has officially started. The great A-Z blogging challenge. I'm writing a story this year. To read what it is about hop over to this post. 

Photo by Sania Heba, 
(Please do not use)

This shall not be a diary. Some crazed girl's list of crushes and secrets. The pages of this notebook are sacred, not to be insulted by chronicling the mundane routine of a mediocre college student. Or so the professor says. Well his words per se were something akin to 'take this assignment seriously' but I have taught myself to read between the lines.
The first task of the said assignment is working on introductions. My partner, Maryam, is already unleashing her inner writer. Furiously scribbling down the best introduction ever, apparently. I know the probability of these assignments getting checked is somewhere around minus five so I'll just save my already-overused brain from the tiring task of thinking up adjectives and synonyms to describe myself. I always end up picking the cliches: reader, writer, thinker, socially-inept cheese eater. Speaking about me is difficult, so let's talk about the assignment. Because seven hours of gruelling classes were not gruelling enough, the professors have devised yet another mode of torture. In the name of bringing us out of our 'shells' (by which I assume they mean smart phones) we are to do actual field work. Go to places and work on a specific social problem. The findings would be reported in this...err...diary/journal/spiral notebook with a grey cover. Of course mine would be filled with all sorts of random stuff which will never see the light of the day. That said I should get going. The class is almost over.

New beginnings

Don't pause until the end is in sight

Intrigued? Come back again tomorrow for more! Also drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog in the comments as well and I'll hop over soon.
P.S. Visit M's tab on top to read a prequel! 

Friday, 21 March 2014

A-Z theme reveal

"Tis from the harrowing tales of endurance  
Everlasting hope is born..."

Meet M. A narrator who would remain as tangible and as obscure as possible; her voice only a lingering whisper-subtle yet haunting. This April, you and I will flip through the pages of her journal (she dislikes the term diary); breathe in with her the sights and smells of a colourful country called India; embark on a journey as she gets entangled in a college project that turns out to be much, much more. 
Meet M. A story teller who never imagined her story would be worth telling. 

Her story is my theme of the year. 100-200 words per day, poems, journal entries, flash fiction, a powerful dose of all the three for the entire month. The posts aren't yet written , the story is yet to be fleshed out, M is yet to speak. That said, I do hope that I'll see it through. 
Wish me luck. Drop a comment. Leave a link to your blog and I'll see you soon. 

Thursday, 13 March 2014

VisDare: A-Z Prequel

I was so excited to see this picture because this serves as an excellent prequel to my A-Z story! The theme reveal is on 21st March so you can read about the theme then. If you are intrigued by the excerpt below come back in April for the complete story. Comments are appreciated. Drop a link to your blog in the comments and I'll visit you soon. =)

(Photo source: http://anonymouslegacy1.wordpress.com)

The plank was feeble and wobbly and their only way out. 
"Jaldi Mihir-hurry!" One of the boys said already perched on the wall.
Mihir hesitated, an old fear of heights temporarily incapacitating him. 
"We have to leave!" The boy on the top beckoned impatiently, his voice laced with fear.
"Oi! What are you doing?" The shout of the warden pierced the night. Mihir gulped and grabbed the plank taking the first step up.
"Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!" 
"Stop!" The warden yelled, running towards them.
The plank wobbled under Mihir's weight. Just a few steps more, just a few steps more. He told himself. 
"Here, grab my hand!" Saleem stretched a thin shaking hand. Mihir reached out, now only an inch separating their bony fingers. 
The jerk was sudden. Before he realised what was happening, Mihir hit the ground with a heavy thud.
"Run Saleem!" He screamed before the warden's baton darkened his world.

Friday, 7 February 2014

FSF: Ache

               (Image taken from http://lilliemcferrin.com)

Somewhere in the deepest confines of his frosted heart something ripped. 
It was a strange sensation.
A cry built up inside him threatening to break his carefully stitched calm.
The onslaught of all these internal reactions confused him. 
It almost felt like being alive again.

Written for Lillie McFerrin's Five Sentence Fiction. 

Sunday, 2 February 2014

FSF: Frozen

Her chubby fingers unclasp a silver box unleashing the calming notes of Fur Elise and a twirling ballerina. 
She wipes her tears with the back of her hand and falls asleep. 
Her fingers are frail and they ever-so-slightly quiver when she unfastens the clasp. She closes her eyes as the melody plays out till the end. The notes trickle down to the last bar-much like her faltering breath-and the ballerina jerks to a stop, forever frozen in a pirouette.

xx Constancy xx

Thursday, 16 January 2014

FSF: Clutch

The roller coaster creaked up the steep incline, fifty hearts beating nervously, a hundred hands clutching the bars, fifty people waiting for the rush of adrenaline.
A curious pre-schooler clasped her mother's hands after repeatedly being threatened with the stories of lost children, separated from their parents forever.
Another kid who would have easily passed on as a Weasley held a handful of coins, acquired-after a week of begging-from his father.
And right next to the 'Astrologer's hut' a solitary figure cradled an extensively wired, beeping contraption, the sounds of which were lost among the chattering crowd.

Written for Lillie McFerrin's Five Sentence Fiction. 

Sunday, 5 January 2014

The endings blogfest

What do you know of the end?
Of countless tears that bathe the pillowcase?
Of shards of broken glass scattered carelessly?
Of unassuming smiles masking an aching sorrow?
What do you know of the end
Of flickering beacons of humanity
Dying out in the swirling mist of hate
And greed?
Of retracted hands, poisonous
As a jellyfish's tentacles
Of slipping fingers, tantalising dreams 
dangling beyond your grasp?
Of course you know of endings
Of broken trusts and patched up hearts.
Of the shadowy nights and faltering will 
Of oblivion, solitude, isolation.
And also of wisdom that says the sun shall rise
And the rays will heal your open wounds
Of the night being darkest before dawn 
And that the end ever ends with a beginning.

What do you know about the end?
Just that it will come and you'll begin again. 
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