Daily Post: Hideout (Fantasy Fiction)


(Unintentional continuation of Glitter fiction piece I wrote yesterday)

‘What are we doing sir?’

‘We are waiting Maddy.’ One Eyed Solomon grumbled. No one knows why his name is One Eyed as he has both of his eyes.

‘We are hiding aren’t we sir?’ Maddy said.

‘No, we are waiting. We are looking for an opportunity to go in.’ Solomon explained to his long time friend and biggest critic. Wiseass.

‘Sir, the three dragons are inside. What do you expect to do with the said opportunity?’

‘Why Maddy, steal the gold!’ Solomon said with a glint of greed in his eyes.

‘The three dragons breathe fire sir!’

‘We breathe oxygen and they burn oxygen. We are somewhat alike than you think Maddy. Plus, I am going to steal the gold and not try to ask them not to breathe fire. ‘

‘Aye. I’m sure that is what the 20 soldiers outside the cave did. It clearly didn’t work out well for them. ‘

Solomon couldn’t say anything to that. He has seen the bodies with his own eyes, or the one eye he still had working. 20 or so soldiers’ bodies were burned beyond recognition and some bones had fused together. It was an estimate that they were just human bodies and no animals were mixed together with them. When those three dragons had ventured out unexpectedly, the soldiers were not ready.

No one will be ready for one dragon and those poor soldiers were facing three. Their last moments would be filled with smell of shit, piss and intense heat.

‘Yeah you are correct. I need gold Maddy. I can’t go back to being a fisherman. The dragons burned my boat, they boiled the lake water. Did you know that fishes were cooked in the lake because of the heat. Sure there are enough fishes for everyone now, but it will not last. I am collecting gold for the damage they have caused.’

‘The dragons will not see it that way.’

‘They will never know when I am in and out’

‘That is what she said’

Solomon looked at his friend and saw him trying to hold on to his maniacal laughter. Once Maddy started laughing, he laughed like a madman.Maddy succeeded for a second but looking at Solomon’s lips curl he burst into loud laughter. Solomon couldn’t stop himself and started laughing with his friend.

In their laughter, they gave away their hideout position to the other groups arrayed around the cave mouth. They never noticed the dragon’s head looming out of the cave either.

Daily Post: Glittter (Fantasy Fiction)


‘I wanna go out Dad!’

‘Out? Did you say OUT?’ Dad screamed back at his son.

‘Yes dad. I am bored here, there is nothing to do. We are living on heaps of gold which is really uncomfortable to sleep over. I have not seen the sun or the moon in over 3 years.’

‘What are you talking about? We have been here only for 3 months.’ Dad said and then looked elsewhere. He turned back to face his son ‘Anyway you know there are people waiting outside so that they can kill us.’

‘Humans are small. We can kill them.Killing most of them is how we got inside right?’

Dad looked thoughtful, contemplating his son’s logic as that is how he got the bed of gold. He arrived like summer’s heatwave, scorching the fields outside the mountain. He would have had a difficult time to kill everyone if he had come alone but he didn’t. He brought his family with him.

Humans might be able to withstand and rally together to fight one of his kind, but against three they would have to run like babies. He looked towards where his mate slept. She looked so peaceful sleeping there that he had urge to go to her. She wouldn’t like that though, after all between the two of them: she was more ferocious.

His son though, he was the perfect mixture between his reptilian methods and his mate’s hot anger. However, his temperament was marred by the lack of patience and for the last couple of days he kept bothering for different things to do.

‘Alright, what do you plan on doing once you go outside?’

‘Fly! I don’t even know if I can fly anymore. I think I am just too fat to fly now. I also want to scare the sheep. I want to set lands and trees on fire. I want to make new friends.’

‘You know right that your friends will the first one to try and kill you?’

‘Yes I know that.’

He waited for his son to say something more but clearly his son had nothing more to add. He looked carefully at his son then: the glitter of the gold lying all around them shined on his jaw. His son looked…sad.

He got up, and shook off the gold coins off his scales. He can always find another cave filled with gold. But first he needed to entertain his son around and that is what he was gonna do.

‘I am taking our son outside. Do you wanna come with us?’ He asked his mate and braced himself for her attack. She did not like being awakened from her somber.

‘You are an idiot. You will not be able to care for him so I will have to come along with you. ‘ his mate grumbled. She wouldn’t have liked if he went to her but for her son she would let go of her sleep and he would let go of his bed of gold.

The three dragons went outside that night, flying and kissing the moon. Then they set the night sky aflame.

Daily Post: Tremble (Science Fiction)


‘How is my baby?’ I ask the doctor. He looks like he is going to say something but then he stops. He looks away from me for a second while I wait for his face to show any sign of trouble. He is old, definitely more than 150 years old as his silicon skin has developed wrinkles. His hair is starting to gray and his irises are dissolving into his eye substrate.

He looks at me again and says ‘Lucy should be fine. Her operation was not without consequences but she made it through. As you may know, consciousness implantation is hardly done on 8 year old kids. The brain is just not strong enough to sustain the imaging.’

He pauses expecting more questions from me. I don’t want to ask questions, I want to stand up and shout at him to tell me how is my daughter. I couldn’t do that though, this man is trying to save my daughter. I grab on to the seat posts and squeeze to control my anger. I hope he does not notice my white knuckles.

‘She is still under medication, so we do not know how will she be when she wakes up. Her medication should wear off in the next two hours.’ he finishes.

I take a deep breath. Lucy is alive and sleeping for now. Nothing has happened to her, and when she wakes up she should be completely okay. A lot of people have done consciousness implantation, they always turn out okay.

I turned out okay and my implantation was 50 years ago! Surely the technology has advanced enough for Lucy to be completely fine. She should be able to live a long life, her new body should be able to take care of her mind.

No more trembling limbs or seizures.

I thank him and go out of his office to call my relatives and friends. Most of them went home during the implantation surgery, even though it was only 6 hours long. Those were the longest 6 hours of my life.

Now I have to wait another two.

I spend the entire time calling people and lastly I call up my parents to inform them. They had been living for nearly 200 years now and yet they still have trouble using holograms. They always know how to make me smile with their simplicity.

Two hours later, Lucy gingerly wakes up. The heart rate and other body signals were being displayed on the wall screen behind her, the sound of her heart beat smooth and healthy cause if it wasn’t then there would be alerts.

She looks at me and smiles. I smile back, hope surging through my heart. I pick up her hand to hold her and say I am here sweety everything is going to be just fine.

I am the first person to notice her hand tremble.


 

Thank you for reading!

 

Daily Prompt: Craftmanship (War Fiction)


‘Metal forging is a craft, a skill that one in every 100 men have. Sure, anyone can heat up metal but how to mold it into a sword or an armor: that is a skill. When to cool a metal and how much to beat it, these things can be only done by instincts. You have the knack for this kind of craft. So promise me Pete that the only time you pick up a sword or a hammer is to deliver it. Battle is better off for others.’

Pete remembered that particular conversation with his grandpa. He could never forget it, he has trouble remembering his grandpa’s face at times but that conversation was easy to recall. It shaped his life.

He deeply breathed, trying to steady his speeding heartbeat. He was scared. He has never stepped out on a battlefield before and now the battle was outside. His brothers, the soldiers with whom he has grown up were getting slaughtered outside and he could hear women screaming. Houses were aflame, horses were running wild and the world sounded like it was about to end.

Maybe it was.

He looked at around his armory: he had a hammer, his favorite, a sword and some knives. Enough to fight with, enough to die with it. He knew a little about fighting but he was prepared: he threw his sword into the flame to heat it up. Nothing burned more than seared flesh and he was going to use the heat. His hammer had a long shaft which would be perfect for swinging and gave him reach. Knives would be perfect for arm to arm combat.

Let’s go.

He could hear some men standing outside his hut and swords clashing. He was not sure but he could hear someone cursing in his native tongue. There was a squeal and the swords stopped ringing. One final curse in his native tongue and someone fell down.

Pete ran outside his hands on the heated sword with his hammer on his back. In a second he had swung his sword and had cleanly decapitated a soldier. The heated metal had sealed the wound so no blood came pulsating out. Maybe it was the lack of blood that gave him an advantage as no one turned towards him until too late.

He cut off another soldier’s sword hand, sealing the wound. He turned his attention towards to the other soldiers standing around him: three more, four if you count the maimed soldier. He screamed a battle cry his friends had thought him a while ago, his voice eerily strong.

The soldiers were ready and were able to deflect his swings with ease. However, the sword’s heat threw them backward. He was bigger than all three of them, so he swung again this time putting his full weight on the swing. It worked as the soldier made the mistake of blocking the swing rather than deflecting it. Both the swords were thrust into the soldier’s chest and locking them together. Pete tried to pry loose his sword but to no avail. He had two more to kill for now but he couldn’t do it.

One soldier was at arm’s reach so he did just that, he grabbed the soldier’s neck and squeezed while he kicked the other. With only one soldier to focus on he grabbed his knife and thrust it in the soldier’s eye socket.

With one soldier and one maimed soldier left, he grabbed his hammer.

He could see another group of soldiers in the distance, they had noticed him as well. No matter, he will get to them soon enough. He swung his hammer low and blew the maimed soldier’s knee out. He kept the momentum of the swing and turned around to aim the hammer on the soldier’s head.

It was just like beating a metal into shape. Only this time blood came out.

More soldiers, none of them had any long range weapon. They would die soon. That day, the village was Pete’s forge. All the soldiers were infantry it was a while before any archers made contact with Pete. By the time they did, at least 50 were smashed and the hammer was glistening with blood.

An arrow through Pete’s heart put him down.

Daily Prompt: Recognize (Fiction)


“Do you know who this man is?” Counselor Michaels asked the witness. It was a very important question as it will either make or break the case. However, the witness couldn’t have been more unreliable.

Joe Monley was a two time convicted felon, one for B&E and the other for manslaughter. He has been clean for ten years now but there is always a shred of doubt when putting people like Joe on the stand.

Plus, a couple of days ago newspapers have discovered that Joe had an alcohol addiction. Alcoholics Anonymous was supposed to be well, anonymous. This revelation had put Joe’s testimony into jeopardy and Michaels would have removed him from the stand if he had any other witness.

No one else in the bar had seen the kidnapping of the waitress. No one in an entire bar.

The counselor waited for Monley to answer, his hands behind his back holding a pencil. He was tensed and was flexing the pencil. If Joe did not answer anytime soon then he would snap the pencil.

“Yes I do” Joe answered. Michaels eased off the pencil and continued on the prepared set of questions. Michaels plan was initially focus on the kidnapping but in light of recent events, he had to make some changes.

He had to provoke his client that day and he would never forgive himself. After Joe had answered all of the prepared questions perfectly, it was time for Michaels to take the rug from underneath the defense. He was sure that the defense would questions Joe’s testimony considering his Alcoholic Anonymous membership.

“How long have you been going to AA meetings Mr Monley?”

Joe’s head snapped into attention, his eyes narrowing. This was a low blow and even the defense was not completely prepared for this.

“Three years. I have been sober for the last two years”

“Then what were you doing in the bar?” Michaels asked.

After the papers leaked details of Joe’s AA membership, Michaels had asked Joe the same question and Joe stormed off. Now he could not storm off the courtyard.

“I was meeting somebody. I am sponsoring somebody and he had relapsed. I was there to take him home and take care of him.”

Michaels could have continued, but he stopped. He had already crossed a line with these questions but if he asked who Joe was sponsoring then it would be more…dirty.

He thanked the witness and the Judge concluding his line of questions.

Joe had done what was expected of him: recognize the kidnapper.

Daily Prompt: Replacement (Science Fiction)


‘You are pregnant!’ the monitor displayed with tiny GIFs of babies crawling sprawled across the screen like confetti. The screen thought it was a celebration.

Tessa did not want to celebrate though. A baby meant work, lots of hard work and who does that these days. Amongst her sisters, only one had a baby and till this day she says that it were one of the most excruciating experiences of her life. The same sister also says that it was a memorable moment for her.

Why would anyone want to remember pain?! Everyone else, like normal people would rather skip the pain and enjoy the perks.

Tessa asked the screen ‘What do I do now?’

Moni, the AI which controlled her house responded gave her a few options. She decided that she would have to meet with a doctor once to discuss some options. She doesn’t want to be burdened by the pain.


 

‘I am pregnant’ she told her friends, Ali and Javier. They both looked at each other, trying to guess who the father is. It was common these days to have children with your friends as who would like to go outside and try to find a mate. It is a long and painful process.

Alcohol helps with the pain but it gives immense hangover. Technology has advanced and there are some great hangover remedies, but the stronger the remedies became people drank even more.

After about 30 seconds of staring at one another in silence, both of them raised their glasses and clicked them. They were not toasting to their ‘success’ but they wanted to get rid of the elephant in the room without actually talking about the elephant in the room.

Tessa did not want any part of this discussion so she stared around at the bar. The bar tried to emulate the feel of 1960s and it looked remarkably similar. There was some kind of RF signal in the air which made all the guests sway to the Jazz music being played the bar AI.

‘What do we do now?’ Javier asked.

She almost choked on her drink. She had only told them about the baby but she did not tell them that neither of them was the father. She told them now.

They sat silently again for a couple of seconds and both of them ordered lots of Tequila shots. Biologically, she shouldn’t drink. But she drank anyway cause Moni had already copied her embryo’s genetic makeup.

Tomorrow, her doctor would already know what her baby would look like.


 

‘You want SurroMother?’ the doctor asked again for confirmation.

Tessa looked at the artificially generated face of her yet-to-be born son. He would look good when he grows up.

He just won’t grow up in her womb. No pain.

‘Yes’ she confirmed.


 

The night after her appointment with her doctor Tessa did not feel like staying at home. She went out again, this time not calling her friends and drank the bar dry. She met another guy and went with him. She just hoped there would not be another baby this time.

No pain.


I couldn’t place replacement anywhere in the post.

Daily Prompt: Exquisite Art (Fiction)


‘What is stolen?’ the curator exclaimed.

Security guard swallowed, remembering that it was her job to keep The Pandora safe in the museum. After all, it was the only painting in the world which can be spread 360 degree.

Now, someone had stolen it.


 

‘Hey bro!’ the street beggar called out to the passing police officer. The officer never changed his step and ignored the beggar completely.

The ones who are supposed to protect everyone sometimes have a different notion of everyone.

‘Alright, I could have told you about the painting.’ the beggar mumbled.


 

‘How much did this painting cost?’ the officer asked.

‘How much?!’ the curator exclaims. He always hated those who had no clue about art. He hated those more who tried to put a price tag over something so unique as The Pandora.

‘It was priceless! There was never any other painting like this. You ask me the price? It took Vincent Bonjo 15 years to make that painting. He ran out of money, he lost his house and eventually completed the painting while staying on the streets. Where else can anyone find a painting like this?’

‘It still would have been evaluated. Any estimate would do sir, we would like to know how much monetary value was actually stolen.’

‘3 years ago it could have bought a small state in this country. Three years ago? After a while we stopped estimating the price because we would need bigger numbers.’

‘Okay priceless was better.’

‘That is what I said.’

‘Any offers to buy the painting recently?’

‘No offers recently. The painting had been stored away as the wing was under construction for a while and it was going to be unveiled tomorrow.’

‘When did the construction complete?’

‘How would I know? I am in charge of the paintings and not the refurbishment.’

‘In charge of the painting? Clearly you were not good at your job.’

‘I am not in charge of the security. She was not good at his job. I fired her!’

‘Fired her? So the security in charge is not here? We would like to talk to her.’

The curator at this point called over his security for further information about the on duty guard. The officer exchanged some pleasantries before jumping to the topic of the guard.

There was something nagging him though, how could someone steal a huge 360 degree painting?

‘How big was the painting?’

‘I already told you the painting was the biggest deal!’

‘No you told me that the painting was one of the kind but you did not tell me the size of the painting.’

‘Oh the painting is about 20 m long and 1 m wide.’

‘That is not a large painting. It could have been easily stolen along with the construction equipment. I would like to know about the construction company.’


‘Hey bro!’ the beggar called out to the curator who was walking past. Even he did not look at the beggar, as if the space occupied by the beggar was non existent.

‘Shame! I could have told you about the painting.’ the beggar mumbles.


 

‘We don’t know anything about any painting.’ the suspect avows.

‘Then give us the name of every construction worker in the last couple of days.’ the officer counters.

‘Sure I already gave them. Your partner has them.’

‘He does?’

‘Yeah he does.’

‘Then why did you let me go all Hulk on you?’

‘I tried to tell you that your partner has them but you didn’t let me.’

‘But you should have told me sooner’

‘You did not let me!’

The officer looked around, clearly embarrassed about his mess up. He then slowly sulked away from the suspect as the suspect looked on. Just as the officer was about to leave the line of sight, he turned back at the suspect and says:

‘Don’t leave town.’


 

‘Hey fellows!’ the beggar greets some police officers. They ignore him too but he tries again. This time, one of the police officer answers.

‘What?’

‘You are here about the painting right?’

‘How the hell you know about that?’

‘I live right outside the museum.’

‘And you are high all the time.’

‘It is not my fault that petrol is so easily available’

‘What do you know about the painting?’

‘Just that the construction workers dropped something big on their way out.’

‘How big?’

‘About 20 X 1 m big’

‘You know where it is?’

‘I just have one condition.’


 

One week later after the case has been closed and the museum reopened. The guests were all patiently waiting for the opening of the new wing. They waited for the curtain to be opened so that they can be ushered into the wing and look at the The Pandora.

All except one person who was already standing inside the new wing, turning around to look at the 360 degree painting. The curator entered the wing and met the beggar.

‘It is beautiful isn’t it?’ the curator greets.

‘Yeah making it was very difficult’

‘I should thank you for that’ the curator paused and then added ‘You don’t look the same as you did back then’

‘Yeah, you know I ran out of colors at the end. I had to use some rotten tomatoes and other stuff I found in the garbage to finish this’

‘You wanted it to be called The Garbage

‘You wanted an exquisite name for an exquisite painting?’

Vincent Bonjo winked at the curator as their deal was now done. The painting was world famous, the curator had enough donations into this place and finally, the maker could see his masterpiece as a whole for the first time.


 

Thank you for reading! Keep commenting on the posts.

Daily Prompt: Infinite (Fiction)


‘Do you know that the hummingbird’s wings make the infinite sign while flapping? No? It is one of the lines from that movie where the guy aged in reverse. Wonderful movie, a little slow for my pace though.’

Adil nodded. He knew that movie ‘Curious Case of Benjamin Button’. He had seen it a couple of times with some of his friends. He looked up at the speaker, his uncle was walking him to some place he did not know where.

His uncle would probably buy him some chocolates which suited him just fine. His uncle was one of the best guys he knew, he secretly aspired to grow just like his uncle. He bought a blue checkered flannel shirt and black jeans which looked similar to the one his uncle was wearing.

His uncle loved flannel. He already knew that his uncle owned no T-shirt, all he had was flannel. Many of Adil’s friends said that flannel is worn by old men who had no sense of fashion, their opinion would be seriously challenged when they met his uncle.

Adil’s mother once told him a school story of his uncle. She said that even then his uncle knew how to flaunt a flannel shirt, way back then when everyone wore flannel shirts. She said all of her friends secretly adored his uncle.

The story was another reason why he wanted to rock those flannels too.

His uncle was still saying something but he was too busy fantasying about his future and the flannel shirts. He felt a hand on his hand and he looked up. His uncle had a frown on his face as he asked Adil what happened.

‘Nothing. Nothing I was just thinking, thinking about the hummingbird.’ he answered.

‘What hummingbird?’ his uncle asked bemused.

‘The one you told me about.’

‘I was not talking about any hummingbird.’

Now both of them were confused. Adil was wondering why was his uncle lying. He was also wondering about the chocolates.

‘It is okay.’ his uncle answered, shrugging off. Adil had a peculiarity of mentally wandering off. Nowadays, that peculiarity has been enhanced ever since the surgery. A huge trauma to the head can have effects, doctors had said. Adil was still conscious, talking and sometimes walking. Another difficulty for Adil was remembering relationships. Hence, Adil called his father sometimes his uncle.

It was a small mercy that his son still knew him. It is a big mercy that his son was still alive. He will learn to cope with his son’s almost limitless mental wanderings.

‘Uncle?’ Adil looked up at his father, breaking his father’s heart ‘Where are we going?’

‘Going?’ his father was confused again. But he would play his son’s game again ‘We can go where you want to. The only thing stopping you is your brain and once it is open, the possibilities are infinite!’


 

Thank you for reading. This was fun to write and feel free to tell me what you liked and what you didn’t!

 

Fiction: At the races


Chris sat at the stall, waiting for Selena to show up. The race was about to start and she was nowhere to be seen, it was her idea to spend the Sunday on a racetrack. They arrived at the scene together but then she said she needed to use the loo. Now, half hour later, the horses were all lined up and it has to be only a couple of minutes before the whistle is blown and the race starts.

The excitement of the race was enough for Chris to forget about Selena, even if he didn’t want to. Selena had warned him that races are addictive and from the moment they are lined up, the adrenaline high he felt was indescribable. Chris could no longer disagree with it, he was skeptical about it at first. All around him he could see people cheering on, screaming for the race to start. Some were already a little tipsy, after all the bar was open for significant time. Now, the bets have all been made and the bookies are all waiting for the results to be out. Many people will leave the race with money enough to party all night long in London and others will go home, get drunk and curse their misfortune.

For Chris, caution and self control was the key. Before the excitement had surged, he had already made modest bets on horse number 7. Because of this, he wasn’t worried about losing a lot of money, neither was he anticipating good profits. The bets were more of ‘When in Rome, do it like the Romans do’ kind of an act. However, now he had to control his impulses to just go and make a few bets.

Where is Selena? he thought. His heart was pumping and he could feel sweat budding on his forehead. He used his napkin to wipe the sweat but there was nothing more he could do for his heart. Except drink more ale.

As he took a sip, the whistle was blown and Selena was nowhere to be seen.


 

Selena threw her knife at the copper’s chest and it him right in the middle. She didn’t stop to check whether or not he was dead, she just rolled over to be away from the other coppers’ line of fire. This was a disaster, she thought as she exhaled a mouthful of air.

Chris would not have ever guessed why she wanted to come for the races. Now, her elaborate plan had been shattered to pieces and all she could think of is his safety. What has happened to her?

A shot was fired and it hit the wooden panel to the left of her head. She whipped her head around to see more coppers coming in the tent, one of them with an automatic weapon.

Damn! she cursed her stupidity. The henchmen now know who she is and also would find out who she came here with. There is no going back to anonymity after what has happened here and they will keep hunting her. Screw it, she thought as she tore away the bulky dress and freed her legs for more agility. Underneath the dress she had an arsenal of weapons: knives, shooting stars and one revolver. The revolver was for desperate measures only as it had only 6 shots and she didn’t bring in a lot of bullets.

She glanced back from the hole in the panel and counted. 10, 11… 12 coppers she could see out there. This was not going to be easy but she has done this kind of thing before too. If all goes well, then she should be able to escape with a couple of broken ribs and maybe one gunshot wound. If all goes well..

No time to waste now, she thought as she grabbed a couple of throwing knives, removed her heels and held them both in different hands. The knives were the main weapons, heels were for close combat.

She brought mayhem to the tent as she threw her knife at the pole holding the structure and the canvas barred her opponents vision.


 

The chorus of men, women screaming as soon as the whistle blew was deafening. Chris was jolted and he added his voice to the crowd, swept along with the flow.

He could see the horses running fast and faster, already covered up a quarter of the track within seconds. His number 7 was not in the lead but he could hear someone screaming ‘Yes’ for the lead horse, number 9.

Chris had an growing urge to just hit the guy whose horse was in the lead. He turned around to see who it was and saw and elderly man with binoculars to his eyes. The elderly man had not noticed Chris yet but Chris noticed the man’s companion.

Clearly 30 years younger than him, the companion was someone Chris had seen a while ago. He remembered going to a party along with Selena and the girl was either the hostess of the party or another guest. He had never seen the elderly man before.

The girl was an anomaly in the crowd. While everyone else was screaming their lungs out over the horses, the girl sat mute and composed. She noticed his attention and he quickly looked away.

Looking at the girl made him realize that Selena was not here yet and she was still missing out on the race. It was her idea damn it!


 

4 dead and 8 more to go. As soon as the canvas had fallen down, Selena moved with the grace that would have made snakes piss. Within seconds she had slashed three coppers’ throats and had stabbed the fourth. However, the time spent on killing the four was enough for the other’s to come within sight of her. One of them opened fire and he felt a stab of pain in her left calf.

From experience, she knew what a gunshot wound felt like. This pain that she felt was nothing close to that pain meaning that the shooter had missed. Well, she will not miss. She turned in a circle and aimed, used her momentum and drove her knife at the copper’s head. She was moving before he dropped to the ground.

Two more in front of her and she had no knives in her hand anymore. She had heels nonetheless and it was time that men knew how much heels hurt. With her right hand she hit the copper’s gun away and her left hand uppercut the other with the heel. There was a spray of blood on her face but she didn’t stop. She brought in her left towards the head of the copper and the right towards the stomach. He dodged her left but her right lodged in his stomach. She left her heel in his stomach and moved on, leaving him to his slow agonizing death.

No more knives but she still had the gun and there were only 6 left. There were also some other guns lying around and now she picked them up. Halfway through with this, she was struggling to believe that there hardly any damage to her when the automatic opened fire.

Something like a truck hit her shoulder and she fell to the ground by the force. She lost the gun from her hand but it was still within reach. She could see she was surrounded and the automatic gunman was still active.

Well, it was a long shot anyway.


 

The race finished and Chris had never been this high. He had not won his bet but he still had an amazing experience. The elderly man was more excited as he had just won the bet.

The girl had finally moved and now was standing just above him. She whispered, ‘We always win’ just as she stabbed him in the back.


Inspiration: Peaky Blinders Season 2 Episode 6

Fiction: Waiting for a Train


‘He will be here, his letter said so.’ Maduram said. Sindhu, the station master observed Maduram sceptically. Madhuram was old, looked frail, he should not be out on a cold night without any warm clothes. His threadbare kurti and lungi could scarcely provide warmth, his shawl looked older than Madhuram. Regardless Maduram was here waiting for an rich American traveler. Sindhu was afraid that this was a case of delirium, old people do have a tendency to go a little nuts.

Sindhu knew Madhuram, they have spoken before and he was also aware of why everyone in the village were so found of Madhuram. Sindhu, a born cynic and skeptic trusted Madhuram! Sindhu had been the station master for 15 long and hot years. He had seen travelers coming to the village to visit the iconic Kali Mandir, he had witnessed teary goodbyes from mothers to their sons as they left for Mumbai, the city of dreams. In 15 years multitude things changed, a few didn’t. The tea stall outside the station still made disgusting tea, it had more water than milk. The wages Sindhu received still hadn’t changed much, while the town grew his salary crawled. Lastly, Madhuram was always outside the station greeting customers as if a mother greets her sons. No wonder people who returned always asked for Madhuram.

Madhuram was older than 70, he looked 80 years old. His teeth have started to fall off and whenever he smiled now, Sindhu was terrified a little. But as Madhuram spoke, the apprehension vanished and a familiar sense of comfort replaced it. Over the years, Madhuram never stopped driving around his rickshaw. There were better rickshaws available in the market but Madhuram never sold his old vehicle. Sindhu never asked why, he still had his first bicycle.

It hurt Sindhu, for he was looking at someone who was as close as a friend, start slowly loose his mind. Sindhu knew nothing about Madhuram’s family and he couldn’t leave Madhuram alone on the station like this. So he just sat there and listened to Madhuram talk about his English friend. Other rickshaw drivers conned travelers but Sindhu opened his heart to them. Maduram had the heart & wealth of a saint. He would never con, he would never bicker with anyone. He has been like that, as far as Sindhu can tell, he would die with a heart that doesn’t belong in this world. The least Sindhu could do was to listen as one of the best people he knew prattle.

 


 

25 years ago, Maduram saw a firangi (foreigner) depart the train. Every rickshaw driver knew that this meant dollars. Luckily for him that day, he was the only rickshaw driver. Pankaj had gone off for lunch and so Maduram approached the firangi. Madhuram knew that the firangi was lost, frustrated and a little angry just by looking at him. Madhuram did something that he hardly ever did: he smiled and greeted the firangi. The tension evaporated from firangi’s stature and he said “Maandir?”

Firangi trying to speak hindi was hilarious incident for Madhuram.  He drove the firangi, who said his name was Peter, to the temple of Kali. One the way they both spoke, Madhuram slowly reminiscing his time in Mumbai. He had learned some English when he was in Mumbai, when he was young and stupid. So they spoke in broken languages of one another and somehow the two wrongs made right and a bond was born, stronger than anything Madhuram had ever known before. The entire day Madhuram drove Peter around, first to the temple, then to the river where all the village wives washed clothes and then to the old film set where Amitabh Bachan had shot his first movie. All of the places had no tourists, they were all places where Madhuram had spent his youth in; where he had decided that it was time he became something like Amitabh himself.

As night fell, Madhuram invited Peter to their home. Peter accepted and as they reached home, Peter was shocked and Madhuram abashed. The ‘home’ of Madhuram’s family was nothing more than a small shed where he lived with his wife and son. But Madhuram didn’t relent and treated Peter more like a brother than a guest. Peter was an Englishman visiting India as he wanted to experience what his ancestors did. Peter wanted to know what made his grandfather love this country so much. Peter also said that his experience so far had contradicted everything his grandfather had told him.

Madhuram however, was excited and apprehensive at the same time. He had met some firangi when he was a young man, living in Mumbai with wide eyed dreams of making it to the big screen just like Amitabh Bachan or Dharmender. He never could become great, and he was too straight for the crooked lifestyle. Everyone in the village kept asking him about the life in Mumbai and he narrated the story. However his story made more naive youngsters leave the village chasing the same dreams.

Peter enjoyed the tour around the places in the village. He was comfortable in the tiny abode of Madhuram’s. Madhuram’s wife Sita blushed whenever Madhuram complimented her food. His son, Dhanu kept looking at Peter as if he was alien, got a scolding from Madhuram as soon as he noticed. It was astonishing for Peter to see how such a family of three can live in a small house, but nevertheless the hospitality offered was better than the best hotel. The food was another paradise perfectly crafted in a small ceramic plate, which was different from the metal plates the family ate in. Sita didn’t speak at all, she couldn’t speak English. Dhanu knew English than Madhuram and Madhuram was proud.

‘I learnt English Bombay, I learn English Dhanu’ Madhuram proudly stated.

Peter laughed at the statement, a simple statement that had was medley of pride, joy and sorrow rolled in one. He was taken back by the emotions packed. The family was in itself complete regardless of the materialistic lacking. They kept asking Peter to stay in their house even before the dinner was done. Peter never said yes but they insisted and Dhanu ran outside to fetch a better mattress. Madhuram had not yet even taken fare from Peter.

 


 

Postal addresses were exchanged before Peter departed. Sita and Dhanu stayed back home while Madhuram drove Peter to the station. Madhuram refused Peter’s money.

‘Money from bhai?’ Madhuram asked refusing Peters’ insistence.

Peter never knew what bhai meant, but the word stayed with him. A month after Peter left, Dhanu came home gleefully. Turns out there was a letter in Madhuram’s name at the post office near the school. Madhuram couldn’t read the letter but Dhanu could. Somehow, Peter had tracked a person in London who could write in Hindi as well and there was a two paged letter, one in English and other in Hindi. Peter mentioned his family, his grandfather and his girlfriend. Madhuram didn’t know what girlfriend meant but Dhanu grinned embarrassingly.

The letter was signed off with ‘Bhai, Peter’.

Over the months that followed Dhanu kept coming home with similar letters and he kept sending more letters out of the country. Madhuram spent a days’ wages on the letters and eventually he didn’t need Dhanu to read the letters. 3 years passed this way but suddenly the letters stopped. Madhuram got worried as he knew that on 20th of every month a letter would arrive. It was 30th and still no letter. He went to the post office daily to check but still no letter. He sent more letters asking what had happened but no reply. Years passed and Dhanu went to the city for study. Sita got pregnant but she couldn’t survive childbirth and the girl was stillborn. While Dhanu tried to make his studies and a grieving father priorities, Madhuram sent him back to the city to complete his studies. Madhuram grew distant, and he sent another letter to a bhai across the globe. No reply.

He never invited anyone to his home anymore, he had no home other than a shed. He treated everyone the same way he treated Peter and showed them all the temples, the rivers and the film locations. Some were happy, most were annoyed. Most just thought he was cheating them for more fare. His son was gone, making money and name for himself, Madhuram was proud of him, but he hardly got time to visit his village anymore. Madhuram wrote another letter.

One day Dhanu came home unexpectedly and he had a letter with him.

 


 

Sindhu couldn’t believe it. Friends, one English and the other an ordinary rickshaw driver. They didn’t share a language, they didn’t share any cultural background but they shared bond stronger than any he had ever known. Sindhu’s father had mentioned Madhuram, he had said Madhuram is one of the very souls which could imbue loyalty from a thief. Sindhu however was never aware of the hardships Madhuram had suffered. It is one thing to hear about someone’s loss. It is even more devastating to listen to the person narrate his loss.

The train horned distantly and Sindhu looked away from Madhuram, conscious that tears might fall. He knew he would be at the station when the two friends reunited. He hoped he would be strong enough to witness it. Moreover he hoped that Peter actually shows up.

When the train finally stopped, Madhuram bolted upright, his moderately strong vision scanning the crowd in light of a few bulbs. Sindhu scanned the crowd as well, how hard can it be to spot one white among so many colors. He spotted an old white man soon enough and directed Madhuram towards him.

Peter looked worse than Madhuram, there was some problem with him. Sindhu almost flinched when he saw Peter, he resembled a leper. But Madhuram, he was overjoyed. Tears rushing from his eyes as waterfalls and ran to embrace his friend. It was out worldly to witness this, an ordinary old man hugging a diseased white man.

Sindhu, for the first time in years cried seeing them. The onlookers were damned, he knew he was changed forever. Madhuram tried to speak but his throat was rocked with sobs, his old body shivering. Peter, he never knew he could ever know peace like this ever again, especially when he knew he had only weeks to live.

 


 

The story was inspired by Pico Iyer’s personal essay I had read in ‘Burn This Book’. Short story plucked all the heartstrings.

Poem: Trying too Hard (NZ National Poetry Day 2016)


Inspired by a recent Meetup I just went to & today’s Daily Prompt challenge: Obvious. I decided to try poetry for the day.


 

Trying too hard you say,
Mockery spurns away.
Why is this such a bad thing?
Everyone wants to fit in.

It is easy for many to find their places,
others struggle to find spaces.
Trying too hard you say,
with disgust and others hearsay.

Stop with your pretentiousness,
Embrace the awkwardness.
Be kind in with your words,
they are sharper than swords.

Many grew in times,
when one had to earn their wines.
Nothing was a mouseclick distant,
Nothing was a publicity stunt.

Trying too hard you say,
Mockery spurns away.
Fitting in is what makes us,
can’t you what’s Obvious?


 

Other entries in Daily Post Challenge:

Fiction: Characters in Bookworld?


Credits: Buzzfeed Books, FB

 

(I saw this on Facebook and I had to write on this!)

John could see the train coming in the tunnel, the beacon becoming brighter. Newmarket train Station in Auckland was extremely crowded. Considering the station had every line passing through it, it meant it was as important as Britomart Transport Centre. However, John had this stinking feeling that he had been here before even though he had never.

He had seen the train on different stations before too, he could guess he had seen the train driver before. The station masters in their yellow high visibility jacket were standing at the yellow line of the platform to ensure that no one crosses it as the train was almost at the station, a few seconds away. The girl next to him was playing Candy Crush on her iPhone, and his feeling intensified. He had seen that girl before, he just couldn’t recall when. He frowned, trying to remember when had he seen a scene which was so similar, the train light shining down the tunnel, the girl and the people. The loudspeakers boomed saying “Train for Swanson is arriving on platform 1, please stand behind the yellow line”

The wind blew across the station and someone lose their purple scarf. That purple scarf, he thought as it kept flowing and slammed into his face. He knew now, all of this had happened before. He had been here on the station before, seen the Candy Crush playing girl before right here and that scarf had hit him in his face before. Everything had happened before, only it really hadn’t. How? Why?

The train whoozed past him, slowing down and stopped, the door right in front of him. People pressed the green button to open the doors. He just stood there, the purple scarf had tied itself to his neck now and there was someone in his periphery. Another girl, no not a girl this time but an old woman. He realised that the scarf belonged to the woman and he apologised. Untying the scarf he handed it to her and smiled, the old woman smiled back. This was new. He could recollect some of the things which had happened last time. But last time? It was his first time here on the station wasn’t it?

He was no longer sure. He was sure that the previously he entered the train. After that what happened he was not sure. He had an interview to get to but he was too lost in his thoughts. The Candy Crush girl stood near the now opened door, the old woman was making her way to the reserved seats. He knew he had got in the train the last time.

This time, he didn’t want to. So he didn’t and slowly the train doors closed with a beeping sound signalling closing doors. He had just wasted his ticket but he didn’t care. He had a strange feeling that this was bigger than any other job waiting for him.

He knew that his story was written differently. Now it has started fresh.

Fiction: What is Success?


(The following piece is inspired by a conversation I had with a couple of friends)

The restaurant is pretty busy. There is long queue of people who are waiting to dine in here but those who are having their dinners here do not want to vacate their tables even after they are done. The tiny restaurant is hardly 5 years old but is already more popular than most others along the Mount Eden Road stretch in Auckland. In one of the tables sat two families with children of the similar ages. The fathers are talking about the latest business deal they had closed while the mothers are chatting about the latest gossips. The kids are however busy with something else.

“Oo I caught a Charmandar!” Rick exclaimed.

“Wow” exclaims Jeremiah agog. Their fathers shake their heads at the early addiction signs of the game and resume their conversation. While Pokemon is a game based on a TV show from the time when the fathers were young, now they do not have the time to relive the young memories, the nostalgia. They are busy chasing one benchmark after another. Just like the owner of the restaurant who is trying every trick in the book to be a perfect gourmet.

“So you have a Charmandar, what do we do now?” asks Jeremiah more interested in the game than the conversation his parents are having. His mother looks towards him, thinking about how materialistic her son is becoming. She remembers her own childhood when she would be happy if she had just a Barbie or a teddy. But Jeremiah wants more so her husband works more hours. What is happening to her perfect life she wonders.

“I don’t know. But  I think I am going to battle the gym leader, beat him.” Rick explains. “If I am successful, then I will be in control of the gym for my team.”

Jeremiah picks up a word from the conversation his father is having, something about the youth not knowing what success is. Jeremiah shouts suddenly.

“Dad I know what success is!”

(image credits: Mind Protein)

Fiction: Burying my companions secrets


I am killing some zombies on my PlayZ console. The console and the game are really ancient at this point and I have mastered the game by now. But it is still crazy. I want to buy some new game, maybe military FPS this time but my mom wouldn’t give me any money. What’s the point of earning so much money if no one enjoys it?!

To make it worse my damn WiFi is down. Some construction work at the end of the street and now no one has any network. It’s like living in the freaking apocalypse only without any zombies to kill. I get a call from Adam.

“Hey buddy what are you doing?” He asks loudly on the phone in his cocky English accent. I hate it when he calls me and talks like that. He knows it.

“What do you want?” I snap at him, angry about the interruption and accent.

“Haha” he jibes on the phone, perfectly aware that I hate his accent. No wonder we are best friends.

“Alright I’ll speak. If you are not free then it’s cool but if you are free then can you come over and help me bury a body?”

Damn! He did it again. I want to shout on the phone, throw my phone away in anger. But it won’t matter to him. I know him too well.

“Okay cool I’ll be there in 10.”

I never could say no to my friends. And zombies are getting kind of boring anyway.


 

We are outside Adam’s house, in the backyard with only moonlight to help guide us. It is drizzling and in five minutes my clothes are damp from sweat and rain. If our moms found out that we are outside instead of studying then she would kill us. She will never find out though.

When I arrived at his place we exchanged pleasantries and quickly got to work. I haven’t removed the cloth covering the body yet but I can see blood spreading around what I assume is the head.

Headshot then. Damn impressive on my friend’s part. But I will not tell him that, instead I need to beat some sense into his head. We buried a body last week, ten feet from where we are standing. The grave is closer to the tree and he joked about how the tree will get more minerals now. Asshole. I am trying to frame an argument to persuade him to be more cautious in his hobby but so far I have got nothing. So I just dig, both our shovels hitting the ground and prying the soil loose. Crunch, crunch. The sound of the shovels in sync. After another ten minutes we are done.

I stand up straight, my left hand holding the shovel while my right wipes the water from my forehead. I look over at Adam, he was looking at the body and I could see a smile on his face Then he looks over at me and I can see his eyes glittering. If anyone would look at him no one will be able to guess that he killed two people in two weeks. He was small, slightly round and stood with his legs pressed together. His milk white skin was beading with water but he didn’t mind. I have to try something.

“Headshot?” I ask.

“Hell yeah!” He can’t keep his excitement out of his voice. “Oh you should have seen me buddy, I was so good. I hid behind a …”

“You idiot! What if someone had seen you? What about witnesses?” My anger is going to pour out like a fountain now.

“No witnesses, and I learned how to find a good spot. You must know it by now too.” He stops and waits, but I don’t know what he is talking about.

“The new PlayZ! This time we kill zombies and humans. They can’t keep putting us against zombies all the time can they? In the series, there is zombies outside the city which is barricaded. We have to go outside in the day to kill zombies and in the night eliminate the opponents. However if we mess up and get caught game over!”

He says expecting a praise. I don’t give him one. I guess he is right. But that doesn’t change anything, and I just need to get it out of my mouth.

“Allison Martin, George Washington, Philip Mathews. Do you remember those names? They were all over the news recently, for the exact same thing. They killed and they were caught! The characters in the games and real life are different. People and cops think buddy. You can’t keep killing people in the same manner as you kill them in the game! They will catch you!”

I turn towards the body, ready to throw it in the grave. I hear him move a little, the sound of leaves rustling underneath his feet alert me. But not nearly as early enough.

“Not if there are no witnesses.”

I hear the click of the gun…….

 


 

NOTE: All characters are fictitious and any character name mentioned is purely coincidental. In response to Daily Prompt’s ‘Companion‘ and Clever Fiction’s ‘Choose your scenario: If your buddy asks your help to bury a body

Other responses:

 

Literary Lion: Pool


Fiction: Literary Lion: Pool. My response to Laura’s prompt: this time she challenged us to write a story in 100 words or less on her prompt pool.


pool-literary lion-mayur

 

 

First Feet, thighs and then chest. Finally, I was in the pool walking towards that sparkling beauty. The sunlight shimmered off the water surface. I prodded my way towards her; ignoring the increasing pool depth. When I slipped she, in all her breathless beauty, laughed. I fought my way against the water to breach surface and inhaled sweet air infused with her aroma.

She was no longer beautiful or desirable. She was the devil in red. But that didn’t stop my feet from moving towards her. I was spellbound. When I slipped again, I grabbed her leg too.


Thank You Laura. Check out other people’s responses:

https://mandibelle16.wordpress.com/2016/01/29/literary-lion-the-cheater/

pool

Class Field Trip

Literary Lion: Pool

https://tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com/2016/01/29/literary-lion-pool-100/

 

Literary Lion 6 word challenge: Star


Laura’s Literary Lion prompts are back and this time she gave the hardest challenge of them all: A 6 word story challenge. Her prompt is Star. Here is my take on the word.

They are brightest

As they Fall.

There you go Laura. Let’s see what other Literary Lion Contestants have written:

https://villpowerstory.wordpress.com/2016/01/19/literary-lion-six-word-story/

I Wish I May, I Wish I Might…(Literary Lion: Star)

https://newshoundnovelist.wordpress.com/2016/01/15/rising-star-literary-lion-week-one/

Black Hole? : Literary Lion

https://livehomeandaway.wordpress.com/2016/01/15/star/

https://vnktchari.wordpress.com/2016/01/15/literary-lion-six-word-story-starman/

https://cherrytato.wordpress.com/2016/01/15/starlight/

https://any1mark66.wordpress.com/2016/01/15/six-word-story-star/

https://mandibelle16.wordpress.com/2016/01/15/literary-lion-star-six-word-story/

six 

Literary Lion: Star

http://shawnwingsit.com/a-story-in-six-words-per-ms-literary-lion/

 

 

 

Jallikattu: Other Side of the Festival


I see the beast in you.

 

You tell that this is a festival, a celebration but it is actually a sport. I see the gleam in your eyes, I see that heavy breathing. I can see the excitement in your eyes; I know that look.

 

It is the look of an Animal. An animal like me; like my wife or any of my kin. But we are animals. You evolved past animalism.

 

Yet here we are, you present with your crowd. Braced and armed with sticks, clothes and ropes. You do this because you want to tame me; you who surprisingly a month ago was crying and advocating Beef Ban. You saved my wife and here you send me to fight for my life.

 

I can feel the lashes on my back, courtesy of my handler. I can feel the nails with which you are poking me with now, you are trying to make me feel afraid. Afraid and angry and desperate. Because only then You will be able to have fun in this.

 

I am wild animal. You push me towards the edge, towards death and I will attack. I will ram into you, charge at you with my horns aimed at your chest and try to win my way into freedom. You encircle me, threaten my life and you will get a desperation.

 

But alas, I know I cannot win this one. Because if one of you dies by my feet stomping or being penetrated by my horns; I will die. If I am lucky then I will be mercifully executed. If not then the death which awaits me….I have heard my brothers die like that.

 

I do not get you. You cry against cruelties. You protest against blind religious practices. Then you commit the same cruelties, you follow the same blind faith.

 

It is my nature to protect myself when threatened. I do not dress up in clothes and act intellectual only to be hurtful and mindless of the Dumb. We live in solitude. We do not kill each other for fun, we do not play sports and try to tame LIVES just for sport. We mind our business.

 

You do that. You live two lives; and for your tastes we are tortured, maimed and killed. And once we were prayed; once we stood next to Gods.

 


 

PETA India has long campaigned against the use of bulls in performances. In 2014, the Supreme Court passed a judgement in favour of PETA India and the Animal Welfare Board of India confirming a ban on jallikattu, bullfights and bull races. Despite this, the government is now permitting cruel events like jallikattu and bull races again. (7th Jan 2016)

Video footage from Jallikattu events shows that terrified bulls are deliberately disoriented, chased, kicked, punched, jumped on, dragged to the ground and stabbed, and people even twist and bite their tails to agitate them. Numerous people, including spectators, have died or been seriously injured at jallikattu events by bulls who were intentionally frightened as part of the “game”. During races, bulls are often hit with nail-studded sticks and pushed beyond the point of exhaustion. In bullfights, a round ends when one of the bulls either is killed or manages to flee.


 

We were enraged when we read about Yulin Festival in China. It still happened. But this is India, our home. We need to stop this; we should. Animals are living beings. You can help. Click here.

PS: I tried to write a piece which would induce an emotional reaction; I may have failed miserably. I do not mean to hurt religious sentiments but I am strongly against hurting of animals

UPDATE: Supreme Court stayed the festival and Jallikattu will not be played this year

image credits: pfapune

Literary Lion: They Never Did Fall


A 400 word response to Laura’s prompt.

Literary Lion: Fall

Harry waited at the party for his wife, she was running late today. She always runs late these days. He doesn’t mind, in fact he is rather proud of the fact that she is so hard-working.

Georgia is someone he has always admired and more he got to know her the more he fell for her. No, he stopped himself from using that word. He didn’t FALL for her, he instead got elevated. Yes elevated was the proper word here, nothing other than that.

A Girl who deserved better than what she was getting at the time he met her, the fact that she wasn’t scared of chasing what she wanted. She never complained about being in a misogynistic society and neither did she blamed it on her sex for being down the corporate ladder. She knew what she wanted and she chased it.

In his life he never expected a girl to ever settle down, girlfriends came and broke him and left. She had a worse streak with her boyfriends. A year into their relationship she confided the trauma one of her ex boyfriend had inflicted on her. Enraged, Harry was ready to beat the man to a pulp, Georgia with a shy smile on her face said “You can’t, that man is already in prison for what he did.”

It was that point he knew he has to marry her, he has found his partner, he knew Georgia also had the same plans. He loved her and all the baggage that came along with her. She loved him and his baggage. They settled their disputes easily, they never got bored with each and both of them were ready to go head over heels for other. 

She was better professionally, he was better personally. He is not ashamed of making dinner for her, for pouring her a glass of wine to relax her. She spurned his imagination to an extent that he is already published an acclaimed trilogy. She is his muse, he is her support.

Ingenious couples ask them what’s their secret? they say figure it out. They lead by example rather than by words. They revel in their friends achievements and support failures. They do their best to keep up with others, they actually keep up with each other’s lives.

If anyone asks when did they figure out they had fallen for each other, they would laugh.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by her arrival, she had come directly from work. Hair a little disorderly, face a little tired but Georgia did her best to smile. That was what he loved, what she knew he loved, the natural attempts.

They hadn’t fallen, their lives had gotten better.

Let’s see what others have written:

  1. https://thecoolbookworm.wordpress.com/2015/09/17/fall-literary-lion/
  2. https://bencnicholson.wordpress.com/2015/09/17/the-fall-a-response-to-laura-feaseys-literary-lion/
  3. https://thecoolbookworm.wordpress.com/2015/09/17/fall-literary-lion/
  4. https://mandibelle16.wordpress.com/2015/09/17/literary-lion-the-fall-of-uriel/
  5. https://tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com/2015/09/18/fall/
  6. http://ismithwords.com/2015/09/17/literary-lion-tumble/#comment-3361
  7. https://livehomeandaway.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/pride-and-falls/
  8. https://deliriousantidotes.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/fracture/
  9. https://seriesofadjustments.wordpress.com/2015/09/19/the-descent/
  10. https://deliriousantidotes.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/fracture/
  11. https://livehomeandaway.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/pride-and-falls/
  12. http://viewsfromtheridge.com/2015/09/25/fall/
  13. https://thisismyironlung.wordpress.com/2015/09/25/her-fall/
  14. http://dralimanonlife.com/2015/09/26/literary-lion-after-the-fall/
  15. http://grahamisjustmyname.com/2015/09/28/the-fall-literary-lion/
  16. http://finallyawriter.com/2015/09/27/falling-literary-lion-prompt/

Flowers In Your Memory


Literary Lion: Flower

Dear Jyoti,

Here is the gajra I promised. Its Thursday and you always loved wearing it in your hair every Thursday.

I vowed to keep gajra in front of your photograph, today I keep this letter too.

You see, I have been diagnosed with cancer. We must have a strong love because I too have stomach cancer, terminal and doctors gave me three months to live. The doctor was ready with tissues and sympathetic look, awaiting the tears. But you should have seen his face when I cracked up, I was so relieved I started laughing!

Samir and Girija doesn’t understand my happiness. They want me to undergo chemotherapy and all the other procedures. I don’t want to do that, I saw what those procedures did to you. I saw my beautiful wife become this thin fragile carcass and I know you hated it. I know you wanted an end three years ago but you fought because I was fighting with you.

For that I am sorry, I should have paid heed to you. I blame myself for your horribly painful death. I was selfish. I still am selfish, I want an end too because there’s no joy in this world without you.

Parvati promised me she will take care of Samir, she understands why I am happy. Girija has a new boyfriend did I tell you? Really nice guy. He will keep her company, he will take care of her.

Our varis Shruti is beautiful. One year old and so fragile. She looks just like Samir, she has all of his childhood habits. She spits milk when fed, she keeps using my head as a tabla and occasionally while asleep she giggles. Remember Samir used to do that? We were so scared that we took him to three doctors.

Samir doesn’t find it funny but Parvati does. She made a video of it and its there on something called YouTube. Really popular too.

I digress. Today I kissed Shruti goodbye, made tea for all the members and now they think I am going for my walk. Do you think they will forgive me? I hope they do.

And you my love, I am coming. Because without you I don’t have any heart in life.

Love,
Hari

 

Let’s see what others have written:

https://any1mark66.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/literary-lion-flowers-for-you/

http://rfrmst.com/2015/08/19/calmness-of-beauty/

https://unusualstrangeness.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/wilted/

https://sonyca.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/daisies-literary-lion/

https://thisismyironlung.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/lion-flower/

https://heartscrawler.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/memories-of-a-flowered-crown/

https://mandibelle16.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/literary-lion-the-orchid/

3-in-one: Take these flowers away. And the balloon, too!

https://tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/amarysso/

https://livehomeandaway.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/flower-stories/

Literary Lion – Stained Red

In Convenience

https://write1st.wordpress.com/2015/08/25/flower/

Literary Ryan – Red Unearthing

Literary Lion : Heather

https://cleveroldowl.wordpress.com/2015/08/30/flowering/

https://vnktchari.wordpress.com/2015/08/27/literary-lion-word-prompt-flower-a-wonderful-rose-plant/

https://deliriousantidotes.wordpress.com/2015/08/27/flower/

Fan Fiction: Lou Bloom

Fan Fiction: Lou Bloom


Literary Lion: Flower

(I just saw Nightcrawler starring Jake Gyllenhall. I was captivated by his superb performance and when I saw Laura’s post Bloom I had to make an attempt at fan fiction. I’m afraid I couldn’t do it justice)

‘911. What is your emergency?’

‘Hello my name is Lou Bloom from Video Production Network. I heard gunshots in the apartment next door and I went to check. My neighbour is dead.’

‘Sir, can you tell me your address?’

Lou did.

‘Do not touch anything, sir. Patrolmen are on their way.’

He knew that, he could see the police codes on his laptop. Their ETA 120 seconds.

His neighbour, sweet little Miss Penny, was writhing on the floor, her clothes bloodied. He wasn’t worried about her, she would be dead before the police arrives. He was busy filming.

He had video footage of last minute, from when the killer left Miss Penny’s apartment. He had to edit the film, remove killer’s exit.

He continued filming, he had just bought a new camera, the best in the market, and he was using it.

The furniture in the house was undisturbed. Remove the soon-to-be dead body from the scene and no one could guess the room is a crime scene.

He filmed the bedroom, the hall the kitchen astonished that there was no sign of struggle. Miss Penny made a sound and he saw her vomiting blood. Almost dead, he would film the entire hall with her in the frame when she dies.

But somewhere in his mind there was an excitement. He was looking for a flower, flower that was blooming, a message left for him and him alone.

He still couldn’t find it, time was running out and he was loosing control becoming anxious.

Miss Penny continued making more noises. He snapped and screamed at her ‘Shut up!’

He saw then. She was not vomiting blood. He couldn’t keep this trophy can he? Not like the last two murders.

Quickly he made up his mind no editing the tape this time. This woman he will try to save. He kept the camera on the coffee table, making sure he was in the frame. He saw the gunshot wound, midsection.

‘Apply pressure’ he knew so he grabbed the cloth he could find and used it to stop the bleeding.

His tape would help the police to nab the killer. He wanted that flower! But it was a crucial evidence, removing it from the scene would bring the full force of the police on him.

Already he has made a couple of detectives suspicious, he was always at the crime scene before any policeman. He needed them to ease off and Miss Penny would do the job.

All the killer had to do was let him have the flower, now he would be captured.

  image credits: Twitter

Let’s see what others have written:

https://any1mark66.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/literary-lion-flowers-for-you/

http://rfrmst.com/2015/08/19/calmness-of-beauty/

https://unusualstrangeness.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/wilted/

https://sonyca.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/daisies-literary-lion/

https://thisismyironlung.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/lion-flower/

https://heartscrawler.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/memories-of-a-flowered-crown/

https://mandibelle16.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/literary-lion-the-orchid/

3-in-one: Take these flowers away. And the balloon, too!

https://tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/amarysso/

https://livehomeandaway.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/flower-stories/

Literary Lion – Stained Red

In Convenience

https://write1st.wordpress.com/2015/08/25/flower/

Literary Ryan – Red Unearthing

Literary Lion : Heather

Dance of Death

Dance Of Death


Literary Lion. Dance

She lay dying.

Her clothes were bloodied although most of the blood was from her enemies. She had killed many of them tonight. But not enough and now only the most potent and deadly chased her down the alley. She knew she wouldn’t outlive the hour, she had no energy resources to tap to. She fought with them to avenge her brother. No regrets now.

Gasping breath, gurgling blood and spit she tried walking into the alley when she heard footsteps in front of her. Two men stood there, both had their weapons drawn. She noted that one on the right looked relaxed, the tip of his sword slightly lowered. He was the leader!

The leader understood he has been made. He bowed down at the waist in respect. The sign of respect was so genuine that she almost forgot that this is not a death match. Some scuffling sounds at her back made her aware that more men stood behind her. She was surrounded, the trap was sprung and there’s no way out.

She looked down at her weapons, her knuckles were bruised and there were some throwing stars in her belt. Her short swords were perfect for close combat but her feet were a mass of cuts. She was slower on her feet now. She knew she was stabbed somewhere in her back but she wasn’t sure where. Now there is no time to worry about that.

Deep breaths. Eyes closed and focused on directing any energy to her limbs. Making mental defenses for the pain she is experiencing and the ones which will be forthcoming. She must have taken a whole minute before she was ready, she was surprised that none of the five killers had attacked.

Hands steady now, legs almost nimble enough for the dance, she sprung into action. She was completely surrounded, her only option was to make room. Her strongest enemy was their leader so she attacked him. Any rational thought had long since escaped her, survival was all she looked for.

Swinging, parrying, shouting she shot forward, the leader quickly moving a step back and then two. She had her space. Blindly, instinctively she counter attacked, she felt one or two slashes across her back. Her mental defenses were crumbling but she couldn’t stop now. Slash. Parry. Thrust. Move.

Her world was down to those four actions. Suddenly her left handed thrust punched into a chest and she felt blood on her hand. No time to dislodge the weapon she moved to throw a star from her belt. Another man down.

They moved away again, another man was injured, holding his right thigh. She had no clue when she had cut him but the damage was done. He would die bleeding out because an artery has been severed. Two men remained. Their leader was furious.

They engaged again, this time she attacked the other guy and got lucky. Her right handed cut him across his face and he was down. And she felt a sword driven in her gut.

Not this way, she thought. Not this way.

A last throwing star. His right eyeball. More blood on her hands. And it was over. She fell down, vomiting blood.

She lay dying. Her dance was over.

Let’s see what others have written:

purgatory for paperback novels
https://newshoundnovelist.wordpress.com/2015/08/11/dancing-around-the-issue-literary-lion-challenge-week-1/
https://balconyviewz.wordpress.com/2015/08/09/friends-in-love-fiction/
https://thumbingthrough.wordpress.com/2015/08/10/where-to-put-my-feet/
https://rileyreedauthor.wordpress.com/2015/08/09/literary-lion-dance-in-his-arms/
Literary Lion : Pas de Deux
Literary Lion – Lord of the Dance
The Pre-Audition
https://thistlehammertransmutational.wordpress.com/2015/08/07/fortune-cookie-friday-6-august-2015/
https://nortinamariela.wordpress.com/2015/08/07/and-this-is-why-i-do-not-go-to-clubs/
https://tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com/2015/08/07/patina/
https://thisismyironlung.wordpress.com/2015/08/06/dance/
https://livehomeandaway.wordpress.com/2015/08/06/for-the-king/
https://sonyca.wordpress.com/2015/08/06/danse-macabre/
https://unusualstrangeness.wordpress.com/2015/08/06/flawless-performance/
A Dance Memory

Time


Liberty Lion: Time

‘Circles? ’ I asked.

Grandpa lay gasping for breath. He is a stubborn old man; he wouldn’t admit he is too frail for a hike. We left our house about two hours ago to reach the summit of the hill. He would always verbosely describe his childhood achievements and all of the stories would have him and the hill in common. So today I challenged him to climb the hill again. Grandma was furious at me to voice even such a dare, but grandpa did it. And whenever he was winded, he would tell the best tales. He began.

‘You would want me to spin a story about my childhood or some other person’s life changing story? ’

I nodded. Old but still sharp my grandpa, I thought proudly.

‘Truth is this Gunther: all the tales are similar.’ he looked around the hill again, at the tree who’s shade we sat on and the valley where our house and farms lay, at the lake where we would go swim and fish.

‘My grandfather also brought me to hikes. He loved them. Then we stayed in a different place but when I bought this house I had one requirement: a nearby hill’. He nodded and took a deep breath as if he tried to soak in the nature. I wasn’t following his harangue but I was rapt. My grandpa told tales that brought the entire village to a standstill, there’s something about his words that bonds you to them, to him.

‘Just like my grandpa I am doing the same with you. And if there’s anything I can tell about life is that it is a circle. ’

‘Circle of Life? ’ I asked. He seemed pleased with my answer and smiled. He raised his hand and ruffles my hair. I hated whenever someone else did it but I liked it when he did that. ‘So life repeats itself? ’ I asked again dubious of my own comprehension. He thought about it for a while ‘Most of the times.’ he knew I didn’t understand completely so he let loose a sigh and started again.

‘Read history son, it is recurring. Some tyrant rises, some heroes die, so on and so forth. Take people son, they always make the same mistake again. Life is cruel because it does the same trick on you all the time and you fall for it. ’ Now I understood his point. I was only 9 year old then but the implications of the same wouldn’t dawn on me until I was 25 and broke. But I had one more question for him. ‘And time grandpa? ’ He smiled again, I remember a hint of sadness was there ‘Of course time is a round too. Why do you think clocks are circular?’

By Mayur Remember

 

Check Out Other’s Responses:

https://bencnicholson.wordpress.com/2015/07/22/literary-lion-time/

https://mandibelle16.wordpress.com/2015/07/23/literary-lion-this-thing-called-time/

https://deliriousantidotes.wordpress.com/2015/07/23/hourglass/

Time to Leave

Hopeful 

Alice Accepts Her Fate

https://thisismyironlung.wordpress.com/2015/07/24/tainted/

https://livingonchi.wordpress.com/2015/07/24/literary-lion-time/

https://rileyreedauthor.wordpress.com/2015/07/25/literary-lion-time-time-will-heal/

Literary Lion – A Homonym Too Far

http://mwlangridge-awritersjourney.com/2015/07/26/the-clock-on-her-wall/

https://livehomeandaway.wordpress.com/2015/07/26/seeds-of-time/

Time

https://vnktchari.wordpress.com/2015/07/28/literary-lion-time-my-reflections-on-time/

In Time…Who’s going to remember?

https://sonyca.wordpress.com/2015/07/28/time/

King, fiction

Literary Lion: King


(Liberty Lion: King. Weekly Prompt by Laura Feasey.)

 

‘Who is this King of Browning street? ’ Hector exploded into the nearest constable.

Hector had recently been very angry. A lot of times. His anger issues stemmed from his childhood, from his mother abandoning him but somewhere in life he got it under control. For his job required him to be cold and distant and logical, angry cops make mistakes. Angry cops lose cases because of their recklessness. Angry cops make enemies.

So he got into the program, worked his issues and became a role model. Till this case.

What started out as a normal homicide in an alley had turned into a serial killing. If that news was bad enough,  the victims were all serial molesters. Hecklers and troublemakers for woman. And someone was killing them.

The second onwards all the victims had a card on their hands: A King. Of any category, they always had King cards. So the media named the killer The King of Browning Street.

The constable was embarrassed by the public humiliation delivered to him. This was the tenth crime scene and the King card was now nailed to the victim’s head. And with the media and the political pressure mounting,  Hector had began to crack. The crime scene was the same: A single gsw to the chest,  post mortem positioning of the body so that the hands covered their genitals and their jaws opened. No evidence and no witnesses.

Anyways no one would probably come forward,  everyone wanted the troublemakers out of their streets. And the thugs were too egotistical to let cops handle this for them.

Hector had an interview this afternoon, but because of the new homicide he rescheduled it. He tried to remember who the reporter was but he kept forgetting her name.

A constable let a female in the yellow tape and immediately he regretted it. Hector went raging at him to not let pedestrians in and how he would have the constable suspended for this when the female showed her press ID.

‘Hello Mr Hector. Since you were too busy I thought I’ll get my interview on the road. I can assure you I will be of no hindrance and I won’t utter a word till you are done with investigating the scene.’ She had lovely eyes. And a face that reminded him of his high school girlfriend. What was her name? Karen yes Karen.

His anger suddenly vanished he nodded but asked her that no photographs or recordings be done else he would land him in trouble.

After a while he asked her name though he never heard her last name,  else he would have shown a different reaction then.

‘Karen. Karen King. ’

#30 Breath Fire (part 10)


Continued, check part 9

Fiction:

When Forster was born, realm was prospering. The combined efforts of humans and draconian strength had made economy boom.

Trade routes were established with Maximus existing captured regions. The burned lands were largely fertile and used for agriculture.

Reaves turned out to be a great King. The hostilities between humans and dragons still exist but is subdued.

His father Garge and mother Tamara were famous and examples of perfect Harmony between humans and dragons.

Dragons grew to be stronger than before. Reaves grew proud to have brought the dragons back to their esteemed glory.

And as this glory spread, people from all over the world looked to have an army of dragons at their disposal.

Thanks For Reading
Itsmayurremember

#29 Breath Fire (Part 9)


Continued, check part 8

Fiction:

Every other dragon saw that. The King momentary burst of anger had betrayed him. Reaves called Garge back.

‘You got him to declare his position to us. Now you need to make him expose himself to his men.’ Deacon provided.

Wise man had not asked about just disclosed terms of this bout. Reaves looked at Garge and nodded. They knew their future and their race depended on Garge. Just like his father, Reaves knew the best person to have Icebreaker was Garge. Now is the time to use it best.

Garge unscathed his sword. In front of him, King did the same. The humans were making a circle and one man read out rules of this engagement.

‘Rules? Do we need them? Its simple: I just have to kill you.’ Garge poked. ‘And I believe I still don’t know your name’

‘My name is Maximus. And you think this is my first championship? I have killed bigger and better men with less efforts than taking a piss. You will also be easy.’

This time loudly Garge said ‘You could kill other humans. But I’m a dragon. I could kill bigger and stronger men with ease because I’m faster and stronger.’

Maximus realised the strategy now. Garge wanted to expose him. After he did that the army would loose its mantle and it would easy to watch the cards topple.

Both warriors looked at each other for two seconds. This is it. Their swords in their hands and their supporters at their backs. Garge smiled. Maximus growled. And they attacked.

One of them was the best of their land, other had years of experience. And both were inhumanly fast.

In two seconds, almost thirty clashes were heard. Their swords were no longer visible, their arms showing bulging tendons and muscles. And they not walked but floated on the sand. Both of them used their toes to move quickly and effortlessly. One misstep and their heads would be rolling and a war would end.

Reaves knew Garge was fast. Just how fast he knows now. And Maximus, if it wasn’t for him trying to kill everyone he would be marvelous indeed. At least thirty years older than Garge he still was on the offense, even making Garge sweat.

This would be close!

They both retracted after three minutes. Their hands were chaffed and breaths louder than wind. Both looked in ecstasy. Wesley shouted encouragement. This was like a dream come true for him. A clash of swords on which the entire future resided on.

‘You are way better than I anticipated.’Maximus admitted.

‘You are not bad for an old man.’ Garge retorted ‘It is a shame that your daughter can see you know. She said you are so slow that you couldn’t even catch as she escaped when she walked past you!’

Maximus growled louder this time. His human strength had depleted and now he was tapping on draconian strength. But Garge had practiced all his life, his endurance was still not crossed.

Garge thrust the sword in the sand and started to remove his armor. And when all he wore was his trousers he picked up his sword again. Armor would slow him down. And this would be long fight.

Maximus didn’t do the same. All he saw was an opening. Garge was bare chested and exposed in front. Just a few cuts would slow him down.

And Garge would let him have a few cuts.

When they both moved again, Garge was way faster. He got inside Maximus’s guard and delivered some big cuts and retreated quickly. The armor protected him but a long gash was bleeding from the left.

Maximus looked angry now, angry enough to start tearing him limb from limb. Just a bit more and then he would have to turn. Garge had to make sure he doesn’t turn before Maximus.

They engaged again. This time they locked swords and Maximus’ breath full blasted on Garge face. He was smiling ‘You intend to make me turn so my army goes against me. That won’t happen cause you don’t know what I can do.’ And with a new fire he added ‘And my hatred for my kin!’

As sudden as a snake bit, Garge sword lodged inside his opponent’s neck. Maximus looked happy.

The dead body dropped to the ground. Wind seemed to be howling.

And then the enemy retreated. And from the armies horns blared. Horns for march and war.

‘He made sure that if he doesn’t win the armies still attack. And with half of their strengths they could still kill all of us.’ Wesley said. He looked ready for a turn.

Deacon meanwhile was telling a messenger to turn and bring reinforcements. Reaves and Garge met eyes, they knew the army was already reeling and almost broken. If they witness the same massacre of the sea then they will break. And war would be over.

The army was coming on horse backs, cavalry quickly closing the gap. But dragons were faster and in a minute the entire legion arrived of 100 turned dragons. All ready for war.

And they melted the earth. None of the dragons took flight. They just opened fire. Horse, men, metal all burned and then their bones melted. Such concentrated firestorm soon boiled the water and land turned brown. Dragons in tens made sure that no land was solid enough to walk.

And for miles heat scorched all metal to the skins of armies. Blisters were born on army’s skins, their sweats evaporated the second they came out.

Enemy fled, screaming in agony to remove their armor and metal. Scorpions were useless as their arrows were catching flames and burning to ashes.

That heat would keep the land impassable for at least a day. And with broken army the chance of them attacking again wasn’t possible.

The war was over.

Thanks For Reading
Itsmayurremember