The Hero

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Everything was ready for the Fiesta. The town came alive with banners and colorful festoons. The people of Ronda were ready to welcome Spring.

The 500-odd inhabitants gathered around the town square. That’s when they saw the army jeep coming. It could mean only one thing. One of their sons was returning from the war. A hero. The crowd waited with bated breath to welcome whoever it was.

Uniformed men got out, and lowered the coffin to the ground reverently. Yes, a son had returned. He was a hero. A martyr.

There would be a funeral now, not a Fiesta.

This is written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge – Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. Today’s prompt is the above picture.

Hope you enjoyed.

The Window

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Rishi looked out of the office window. That’s where he spent his free time. He never understood what the big fuss over sports was anyways. He stayed there, reading and dreaming, till Papa came to pick him up.

Books were his friends. He needed no one else. Tomorrow he would be gone from here forever. Papa was being transferred. He dreaded the thought of a new school again.

“Come child, your father is here”, he heard Sister Antonia behind him.

Rishi took his crutches and looked out his favorite window for one last time.

“Goodbye Sister”, he said.

This is written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge – Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. Today’s prompt is the above picture.

Hope you enjoyed.

The Painter’s Muse

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He was a painter. A bad one. His subjects looked like they were ready to puke. I bet the red lady was feeling queasy.

How I hated the constant partying and chatter of snobbish starving artists. God, how highly those penniless beggars thought of themselves!

When I decided to run off with Juan, I thought he was rich. I wanted the glamor of being his muse. Little did I know the bugger was penniless and too proud!

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It didn’t make the toilet either. The red lady was ruined. Oh, well!

This is written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge – Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. Today’s prompt is the above picture.

Hope you enjoyed.

Right Now, I Am…

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Right now, I am;

Planning tomorrow’s lunch.

Planning next week’s schedule for my other blog. This one still feels like a mistress or whatever is the masculine equivalent of that.

Concocting a Valentine’s Day dessert in my mind and simultaneously scoffing at just what an empty shell of a celebration it really is.

Thinking of making a list for an impending travel.

Dreading the cleaning, sorting, packing and organizing part of it.

Wondering if I should do something about my sore throat.

Thanking my lucky stars it is not as cold as last week.

Looking at my word count!

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Written as part of the 100 Words On Saturday challenge at Write Tribe. Today there is no prompt or theme. Kind of a write whatever comes to mind exercise.

Hope you enjoyed!

Her Father’s Lamp

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Image Source: Dawn M. Miller

“Are you sure it’s here?”

“I don’t know. All mother would say was that she sold it to Bob.”

“This is Bob’s stall, but I don’t see him or the lamp.”

Kate thought of her mother. Sweet but senile. Yesterday, she had sold most of her antiques to her neighbor, the nosy dealer. He had ripped her off.

All Kate needed was the lamp. Her father’s.

Her only memory of her father was that of him sitting in the study, with the lamp on and a book in his hands.

She was 4 when he died.

She was never going to find the lamp now, was she?

This is written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge – Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. Today’s prompt is the above picture.

Hope you enjoyed.

An Alien Abroad

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matchbox__jeep_hurricane_concept-640x420Dubaku woke up all sweaty. Was it a nightmare? The silence terrified him. He was not used to it. Back home, the still night air was punctured by the sounds of gunfire and terrified screams.

He got out of bed. His feet sank into the soft “carpet”. He had learnt the word from Claire. Her house was covered in it. It felt like walking on a cloud.

Dubaku stretched his back. He couldn’t believe it, but he found that he missed the packed mud floor he was used to lying on. This large, soft rectangle in this new place felt like heaven at first. But he had tossed and turned all night.

The silence still bothered him. Like the calm before a storm. Or right before the Kwazai men raided his village on some nights. He did not want to think about that now.

There was something he wanted. Ah yes, water. He made his way to the kitchen downstairs. This house had so many rooms. Claire had left the hallway lights on. She knew he was scared.

In the kitchen, he halted and looked around. The stove and refrigerator loomed like big, steel giants in the dim light. He had never seen them before in his life. He still couldn’t say the word “refrigerator” correctly. That was where the water was.

He had never had such clean water before in his life. He didn’t know that water was colorless. Back home, it was brown. Sometimes red. But he didn’t want to think about that now.

He opened the refrigerator and let the frigid air envelop him. What was this thing? Was it a tree? A river? Or God? How did it have so much food and water inside it?

He took the bottle of water in his hands and opened it. He brought it to his lips, but couldn’t  drink it. He thought of his little sisters back home, the youngest had died after going without food and water for a week. His little heart filled with a sudden sadness.

Something on the floor caught his eye. It was Max’s “toy”. A smooth, red thing that Max stuck on the refrigerator. Dubaku forgot what it was called. Then he remembered, Max had a lot of things in the other big room. He made his way there in the dim light and found Max’s trucks. Some of them looked just like the one’s the Kwazai men used. Max had called them “Jeeps”. Dubaku picked up a shiny green one. He sat down on the carpet and played with it.

My entry for the daily prompt at The Poetry Question. Today’s prompt was – “An Alien Abroad” (Take a tour of your house through the eyes of a person who has never seen anything like it.)

Hope you enjoyed.

My Hands, They’re Glowing…

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My hands, they’re glowing. They’ve stopped shaking. Now, they glow. As if they are lit from within. As if my bones are luminous. I look down to see if my feet are glowing too. I can’t see them. The lower half of my body seems to be covered in a cloud of some sort. Is it the morphine they gave to ease the pain? But shouldn’t it be up in my head? How did the cloud cover my legs? Then I see them. More cloud-covered people. They look like demi-gods. Long hair, flowing white robes, glowing hands and the faces. They all look so much at peace. Is that how I look? Am I at peace too, at last?

My entry for the daily prompt at The Poetry Question. Today’s prompt was to start a story with “My hands, they’re glowing…”

Hope you enjoyed it.