Dinosaurs Are Afraid Of Fireflies


Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall

If you could be a “fly on the wall” anywhere and at any time in history, where and when would you choose? Photographers, artists, poets: show us SNEAKY.


First things first, I had to Google what fly on the wall meant and I liked what I learned.
Definition:

if you say you would like to be a fly on the wall in a certain situation, you mean that you would like to be there secretly to see and hear what happens

It is not unnatural that our minds think sneaky at times. You want to know what people talk behind your back when you are absent, what sort of shallow, jealous rumors they believe and spread. You wish you heard them with your own ears rather than from a third-party who themselves must have added their fair share of unreal spice to the talk. Although being a fly on the wall at such times does meet the requirement of overhearing their conversations, if it was possible, I’d become someone or something that can kick their unethical asses. I’d like to be invovled. But here is an interesting thing, there is this movie called Eega in which the hero gets killed by the villain and he is reborn as a fly and he takes revenge on the villain and reunites with his lost love. Here is a quick scene where the fly sacrifices himself to save the heroine:

And if you insist that I choose a time and place in history, I guess I’d choose the time when humans did not exist, in which case existence of walls seems impossible, ergo the idiom ‘fly on the wall’ wouldn’t exist too.

Anyway, as a soul, I believe all beings have souls, I’d be more free as a fly than as a human being. I think I’d prefer to be a firefly, they are lovely and loved by both adults and children, although it doesn’t matter now that I chose a time period when the frigging humans did not exist.

So the time and place? During the dinosaur period, without doubt and anywhere dinosaurs roamed. But now that I think of, I feel dinosaurs might be afraid of fireflies. Images of dinosaurs jumping up and down scared as a firefly whizzes around its head are amusing. I am smiling.


Please drop off links of your posts if you are writing for today’s prompt, I’d like to come by and read them


Here are posts from other bloggers for this prompt:

  1. Grandma Has Landed | Icescreammama
  2. Daily Prompt: Fly On The Wall | suzie81’s Blog
  3. If Wishes Were Fishes | windandlaughter
  4. Pressed dog. Pressed bone. |
  5. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | flow of my soul
  6. A Photo Drive and a Protest | The Photo Faith Challenge
  7. Sneaky | Books, Music and Movies : my best friends
  8. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | Being a Huntress
  9. Sneaky Peeky | clarior e tenebris
  10. Words With Ryon
  11. Daily Prompt – Fly on the Wall | Kate Murray
  12. Dinosaurs Are Afraid Of Fireflies | Black and White Heart
  13. Memorable Tweets from history | DCMontreal
  14. Africa’s tears | The Rider
  15. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall « Mama Bear Musings
  16. Fly on the wall | Geek Ergo Sum
  17. Adolph Shrugged (historical short fiction) | The Jittery Goat
  18. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | Retired2Travel
  19. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall « The Blogging Path
  20. Watching From The Wings | Tony’s Texts
  21. The One with the Dynamic Duo | Jackie Cangro
  22. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | iChristian
  23. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | Under the Monkey Tree
  24. Sneak-ers [Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall] | unknowinglee
  25. The Ticking Clock: Reversed | Expressions
  26. Fly on multiple walls | Nanuschka’s Blog
  27. Fly on the Wall: The War of the Roses | In diesen Augenblick
  28. Daily Prompt: Supper | One Starving Activist
  29. Guest Blogger: Ruby! | Haiku By Ku
  30. Nazareth | Life is great
  31. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall – I saw three ships a’sailing | SERENDIPITY
  32. Dedicated to the unfinished work | pencil pilot
  33. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall – show us SNEAKY. | masadiso79’s Blog
  34. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  35. A fly in ’41 | tornin2’s Blog
  36. A Fly on the Wall: Eavesdropping on Matters of National Security… Or Not | The Whimsical Circumlocutor
  37. A Cascading Calvacade of Gasconade | Spirit Lights The Way
  38. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | Let There be Peace on Earth
  39. Daily Post: Sneaky | Slam on the Brakes, Pull Over, Take the Picture
  40. Blues Haven | Good2begone
  41. Fly on the Wall | The Nameless One
  42. When would you like to live? | MC’s Whispers
  43. Some fine art, great reads, great films and a little zoning out… | thoughtsofrkh
  44. Fly on the Wall: Sneaky Figs | Khana’s Web
  45. I think of how they met | Vampire Maman
  46. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | reyoflight
  47. Evolution | Markovich Arts
  48. Not The Sword But The Pen
  49. Fly on the Wall | The Voice from the Backseat
  50. I would observe William Blake | djgarcia94
  51. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | Purple 7 Paper
  52. The Ducky Sneak! | It’s a wonderful F’N life
  53. If only… | I Didn’t Just Wake Up This Morning with a Craving
  54. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | The Daily Post « The World According to Me…
  55. Daily Writing Challenge: Fly on the wall…or guitar | Diary of a quirky girl
  56. What if you could be a fly on the wall? | Okay, what if?
  57. Daily Post: Fly on the Wall | Brianne Writes
  58. Best Laid Plans | Wiley’s Wisdom
  59. Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall | Uncivilized Thinking
  60. Daily Prompt: Fly on Teenage Mama Spaghetti’s Wall | Mama Spaghetti
  61. What Really Happened? | The Lion’s Den
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April Haiku Month, Day 12: Koi Pond


HOW MERMAIDS CAME TO BE


a weary angel . . .

tired wings turn into  fins

dance in a koi pond

~ ~ ~

dance in a koi pond . . .

the koi rejoice her new form

mermaids are no myth

~ ~ ~

angels and mermaids . . .

we heard a legend or two

who knew they were true

~ ~ ~

This post is submitted at Haiku Heights for Day 12 prompt – Koi Pond. This post is also a part of my NaPoWriMo 2013 journey, my first.

Arms Of Forgiveness – Haiku #20


you are in for a long set of haiku ( abberated ones ), have patience if you can manage. 🙂

.

.

O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, is written

mine exile,  hidden

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, a thriving man,

who hurt thee in past

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, a broken man,

who hurt thee, never

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, thine virtue 

hath me breathing hard, why blind,

what sin i doth thus?

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, thine virtue,

forgiveness, hadst me exiled,

someone else got closer.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, speak ‘least now,

i question not in arrogance,

what sin i doth thus?

~ ~ ~

if to -try to ebb

thine pains served by life- is to

sin, then i did sin.

~ ~ ~

if to -hide my name,

in humility- is to

sin, then i did sin.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, what hadst i

done, that hath me pushed into

this vile emptiness.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in angst, i,

ask thee to see, difference,

in love and true love.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, is written

mine exile,  hidden.

~ ~ ~

archaic (old English) words :

hath = has

hast = have

hadst = had

thy / thine = your

thou / thee = you

doth = do / does

~ ~ ~

i started writing it as a haiku,

but the inner feelings caught me in a grip and dictated me to write this, even if there were abberations from the rules of haiku

~ ~ ~

one thing i want to tell not in haiku :

forgiveness is a great virtue,

a very great one indeed,

but in excess of it,

shall, many a time,

sinners thrive,

while all along, good ones get the woeful plate of plight.

how strange.

how harsh.

how forgiving ( yes, sarcastic in deed ).

~ ~ ~

This post is an entry in Haiku Challenge for April 2012 at Haiku Heights. The prompt being “forgive”.

She Sells Shells – Haiku #24


.

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dreams big and hopes high,

she sells sea shells on seashore,

buy one, help her smile

~ ~ ~

a haiku inspired by the famous tongue twister “she sells sea shells on the sea shore”

can’t get it right once, not once 😀 :O

~ ~ ~

Suggestions and corrections are most welcome, I’m still learning Haiku. :)

This post is an entry in Haiku Challenge for April 2012 at Haiku Heights. The prompt being ‘seashore’.

Life And Wheels Moved On – Haiku #45


This post is submitted at Haiku Heights. The prompt is ‘mask’.

.

you see me not love (dear);
help comes; heals wounds; i wear mask
named humility.

~ ~ ~

far away you went;
still wondering who it was;
life and wheels moved on.

~ ~ ~

distance grew much now;
same humility hinders;
from seeking your love.

~ ~ ~

love is not to ask;
but to give away; like blood,
from mother to child.

~ ~ ~

hope filled eyes; i wait;
will your ever see through the mask;
forces act against.

~ ~ ~
( The below is the text from which i framed the haiku. I couldn’t put in everything in Haiku. So, read on if you like to. It’s long though, don’t say i din’t warn you. )

while he dared, i cared.

expressing all is never always right,
it only takes boldness.

to hold back expressions take a lot more,
of love, faith and hope;
in truth, it takes a herculean boldness, more than what it takes to express,
but none sees it, just because there was an absence of my expression,

so, if boldness weighs more than love, care, faith and hope,
then yes, i was a loser right from the first moment,
the moment when i chose to hold back,
knowing too well what it takes and what it gives me.

one day hardly goes by,
with this question not torturing my mind,
“don’t you see this yet?”,
yet and again, i hold back from asking this loud.

why, ask me “why?”,
i might just yet stay mum, for the answer i have for you will stump you.
so, instead i choose to see you hurt because of my silence, than because of my answer,
i choose to see you hurt less while i still have the option.

but as no question should go unanswered,
i would give you these words,

“let your heart be honest with your eyes and with itself”

now go,
the journey is yours to travel,
the answers are your to unravel.

the journey would still end at where i am,
the answers still leave a part of the question untouched,
“why did you stay silent when you had so much love?”,

that, my love, shall be answered after you complete the journey,
the reason for making you search for the answer yourself is to prepare you,
for the eventual leash of my held back love.

a little apprehension lingers deep down though,
time is a thin thread, that i am playing by,
i fear i might not radiate and transfer enough reason into you so that you don’t give up on the journey that i put you to,
i fear, time might crop doubts in your head,
and if you submit to them, you would be convinced that i was a fool,
and you would distance yourself from me.

but doesn’t truth always win, as told by the meandering bards,
that’s one gamble i took.

now we go to where this started,
what it took to take this gamble, that might leave me with nothing if it went wrong.

my love,

expressing all is never always right,
it only takes boldness.

to hold back expressions take a lot more,
of love, faith and hope;
in truth, it takes a herculean boldness, more than what it takes to express.

Oh wait,
didn’t i tell you that i would go along with you through the journey, masked in a cloak of invisibility?
oh sure i din’t, because the quest for truth is one you should not skip,
though i knew it would impress you if i told i was coming along,
and it would raise my stature up a notch at your heart,
but i choose to hide my presence and lose a chance to have you love me.
but this journey is not about me, this is about you,
and that along with my enormous care is reason enough for me to wear the cloak of invisibility, in humility,
and walk along.

Oh darn!
while he dared, i cared.

that’s all i need you to see.
that’s all i need you to learn.

~ ~ ~

I Miss You More Than My Eyes Show…


i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though,
because it is for a good reason that they act so,
nevertheless, good is being done with me watching from a distance, staying low.

i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though,
i am one secret admirer you have now,
i will stay so forever, if the acceptance doesn’t grow.

i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though,
seeds of love i sow,
how and when they get the rain and sunlight is left to nature, to whom i bow.

i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though,
will watch over you like a pure entity, like a rainbow,
for you shall admire me at least as so.

i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though,
i don’t measure distance in feet or words or hugs, but in how much i comprehend what your eyes show,
jacket on or not, new or ragged, there will always be winter’s snow.

i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though,
respect is what my eyes show,
for you can still share it all, the pain, telling me what transpired in life – what?when? and how?

i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though,
i miss you more than you are allowed to know,
sometimes tears flow,
sometimes smiles bubble and blow,
and so all the time, my eyes glow.

i miss you more than my eyes show,
my eyes never lie though.

Let Secrets Be (Fairy Tale – #1)


Pinned Image

~ ~ ~

 I have missed on capturing you for a very long time. But I will get you today. Because, I now know your secret.

Each day, for the past week, Marie has been trying to photograph a brown hare which she saw one evening in The Forest of Alvon while roaming the woods in search of a White Stag. Marie was, until yesterday, clueless as to why the hare was so successful at avoiding her camera. She is not an early-riser and that was her routine every vacation, and as a hobby photographer, she never was inclined to getting up at day break to capture spectacular sun rises. But yesterday, her grandmother had put up a schedule of activities which she hated to do, like having to learn and cook a dish for breakfast. Putting up her photographic quest as an excuse, she got up early and set out for the woods. The horizon still hid a part of the sun. She crouched behind the trunk of the fallen tree, unsure whether the hare would show up at daybreak. A few moments later, a scurry in a tall grass patch to her right caught her attention, she knew that it was the hare. She readied the camera. The hare stood in the clearing, sniffing dew drops. The sunlit patch moved up unto her, as Marie watched, and when the sun rays gently shimmered on the hare, he dazzled for a moment, and then vanished. Marie gasped, but slowly her alarm turned into admiration and awe.

While still lost in thoughts about the magical events of yesterday, a quick rustling sound brought her back to the present. She quickly got to a squatting posture. The golden patch slowly moved up. And the hare vanished again, Marie never clicked.

Let secrets be! 

~ ~ ~

299 words

Faery Taleish Pinterest Contest

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other entries :


The Spider Jeopardy – #flashfiction


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“How do you expect me to react idiot? How would you, if I did the same to you? With a bigger and more vicious looking spider!”, Tess barked at her younger sister after she woke up screaming to a hairy tickle caused by a palm-sized desert spider. She jumped back from her bed in panic and fell over the floor, hurting her head.

Only after this freaky moment did she notice her sister standing at the bedpost and more frustratingly, laughing at her.

“I wouldn’t freak out like you”, said Jane, still unable to control her laughter.

“Well, you are such a disgusting little prick”, Tess hissed and walked out of her room. This fun-intended prank by her sister has not only frightened her but also led to an even more awkward fall resulting in a smack on her head which left her dizzy which felt more like something-more-than-just-a-smack as her pain did not go away even after an hour. She has been walking in the veranda all that time, nauseated by visions of evil spiders and pangs of pain in her head. It was 6 in the morning and Tess knew this day was going to be long, as is the feeling left by any pain that goes off inside us, early in the day, and continues for too long.

After deciding that resting would help more than walk in loops like a bird which flew in circles, thanks to an unexpected bowl of gin that she drank from. This thought made her laugh out loud, but the pain it caused cut her short. She cursed under her breath and walked to the door. She closed the veranda door behind her and turned on the light in the hallway. To her goosebumpy surprise, a spider was lying on the floor ahead, though its hair color looked different. This got her temper to peaks that it seemed the red on her cheeks would spread to her blonde hair. She stomped the two feet that separate her from the spider and picked it up with her whole palm and stormed into her sister’s room, this time, she was so damn sure she would slap her.

Turning on the light in her sister’s bedroom, Tess pulled the blanket away and shook her sister who fell asleep when she was struggling with the post-‘pranks gone wrong’-bruises. Her sister sat up unwillingly, eyes still closed.

Tess said, “How many of these are still there in the home?”

“What are you talking Tess”, Jane said, yawning. She was now awake completely, thanks to her sister’s loud voice.

“That isn’t my spider, Tess”, she said, rubbing her eyes.

“What do you mean by it is not………”, Tess broke off as the spider in her palm moved.

“ I THOUGHT WOMEN ARE AFRAID OF SPIDERS. BUT YOU SEEM TO BE BRAVE “, the spider spoke, in a deep and weird voice.

The sisters looked at each other, then screamed like hell broke loose.

“ HAHAHA ”

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497 words // falls under flash fiction

Tweet me at @sankarajayanth.

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Why Did I Name My Blog ‘Black and White Heart’ ?


.
.
named my blog black and white heart,
many wondered what it meant.


how can a blood-red heart be black and white,
how, ask me how.

when there is love for even subtle, generally-ignored things like a crumpled autumn leave,
when there is sympathy and empathy towards the weaker beings,
when there is a zest to know why one has to be strong while another has to be weak,
when there is the kindle flame deep inside, burning only to seek truth, when there are questions burning to be fired at the injustices of the world,
when there is this void of unknowable knowledge, as to why there has to be so much suffering in the world,
when there is this herculean rage inside, to bring down the traitors of humanity,
when there is a special respect for women,
when there is again a murderous rage inside, for how most men treat women,
where there is angst to show people how aberrant us human lives have turned,
when there is this restlessness and immensely overwhelming pain looking at how we humans sabotage our own well being,

what else do I see but the colors – white and black,
which form all world for me,
every speck of sand,
every breeze of air,
and ever drop of the sea.

swinging between extremes,
my heart is but black and white,
void and veracious.

The Duchess Pigeon and The Mysterious Parchment – Unnamed Series #1


telling secrets

~ ~ ~

She woke up to the cooing of a bird. Rubbing her still-sleepy-eyes, she sat up and looked at the window on her bedside. The morning light was washing through the glass and the polka dotted curtain, causing the room to be filled with distorted shadowy polka dots. She could see a bird’s silhouette through that white fabric. Slipping her feet into a pair of fluffy pink slippers as she got down, she reluctantly walked to the window and slid aside the curtains, in haste, partly due to the sleep’s hangover, rupturing the morning’s silence which was sweetened only moments ago by the deep pitched cooing of the bird outside her window. The bird fluttered its wings in alarm, but did not fly away. The little girl drew her hand back, slightly apprehensive that she frightened the pigeon and that it may fly away when she opened the window. She carefully wrapped her fingers around the gold-coated window knob and turned it slowly. She pulled the wooden framed window aside and looked at the bird. It was a white duchess pigeon. A tiny rolled-up parchment that was tied to one of the pigeon’s leg caught her attention. It made her anxious and excited. But taking it from the pigeon might prove to be a difficult task, she thought, since she had already made the bird panicky.

to be continued… ( for now, this is the first piece of an unnamed series of tales. Hopefully. )

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P.S: Tweet me at @sankarajayanth. Twitter is an awesome place for writers and bloggers to interact and share their experiences and works.

Pictures, those with a fairy essence in them, motivate me a lot into writing tales and poems. Having recently stumbled upon the picture bookmarking site, Pinterest, I came across a wide pool of stunning photographs which all have the said essence in them. I chose this picture to write a short tale, and as I was writing, I realized that this picture has in it the potential to become the starting scene in a possibly long series of historical/fantasy/ficiton/tragedy tales. I hope to continue using these #Faery pictures and write decent stories.

A special thanks to Anna Meade, host of the #FaeryTaleish Pinterest Board and of course, I thank all the people who contributed to the #FaeryTaleish collection.

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FINDING NEVERLAND


putting his pen aside;
the writer walked to the family who were struggling to fly a kite to its pride;
the widow and her four sons tried until they were tired;

they welcomed the writer’s help;
he gave the kite’s lead to the youngest kid and asked him to run when he heard the yelp;
the kite soared into the sky, helped by the air’s palp;

all rejoiced the moment, he noticed, except one kid;
he was Peter, thoughts and worries he was unable to rid;
the writer knew what he had to do, and did;

he created Peter Pan;
Peter Pan never aged, he flew like a kite and he talked to fairies;
he lived in a fairy world called NEVERLAND.

the writer’s creation brought tears to the whole family;
and forever the writer lived on, as a legend,
whose imaginations started with a kite, which lead to FINDING NEVERLAND.

~ ~ ~

I was inspired by this movie, FINDING NEVERLAND, which is the real life story of J.M. Barrie, who created the famous character Peter Pan. This movie tells about what incidents led to Barrie creating NEVERLAND, a fairy world, which even today is seen as a benchmark by authors for writing and creating fantasy worlds.
This post, reflecting the first of many such incidents which led to the creation of Peter Pan, was very challenging to attempt, but was a great experience. I recommend everyone to watch that movie, a masterpiece for my eyes.

~ ~ ~

Tweet me at @sankarajayanth.

Submitted at One Single Impression.

Tides Of Fate


words of love i sent with the wind,
asked it to fly through a lushly meadow,
taking with it, along with my love,
the fragrance of daisies and roses.

i said, “go slow”,
for the wind would carry more scent,
for the scent would please her and give her weary heart a little peace,
for i thought she would see that i knew what she liked and needed. healing.

carry it did, the pleasant fragrance of eden,
when it did reach her,
the fragrance gave her wings,
and she flew away,
my words of love, forever buried hidden.

wind, o’ wind,
you have done nothing wrong,
don’t be distraught,
for it was she, or maybe it was me,
maybe it was me.

But now go,
be her silent guardian, forever now,
give those fragrances to her, always. heal her,
for it was always my priority,
self-pity will be second on list,
go now,
fly light and swift,
i will move to my abode of silence once more,
until the tides of fate change their course and return me my love.

Wings Need Rest, Soul Needs A Shoulder – Haiku #47


Hello there, all fellow writers and poets. Errr, do poets fall into the collective word “writers”? I surely lost a few things during this harsh void that i forced into my writing/blogging life.

~ ~ ~

tired of flight;

winged shoulders need rest;

lend yours, love.

~ ~ ~

I have written something after a very very very very long time. A moment something like, “I am back! ” . Or maybe, i should wait before i say that. So now, a bit of a forced “rewind” of what’s happened to me.

I haven’t been upto writing lately. And haven’t been reading anything either. I’ve been staying away from blogs, don’t know why. Holding back and Holding up things all the time.Seems like i am frozen and chained and forced to live in this trance. And when i question who was responsible, i stare at myself. My own empty eyes and face. I write well, given the very small word pool i take bath in. And i like reading, reading – fairy tales, philosophical anthologies and haiku. But all seem to not help me now, all of a sudden. A struggle it’s been, to fight with myself. One part goes reluctant on writing. One part goes reluctant on reading. And the world is shut out, as if someone pulled the blinds of the window. Or was it me? I am repeating the same emotion again. But in different words(rewind gone bad). What is happening? Is anybody there? Hello? And suddenly, a mirror pops up infront of me. Me staring at me and the me in the mirror says, “Aren’t you there?” (Sounds creepy, but i have grown a bit creepy).

~ ~ ~

Gladly submitted, after a painful long time, at Haiku Heights for the prompt word ‘ support ‘.

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Damn That Toy Spaceship ( Short Fiction )


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Submitted at Tuesday Tales
Secret Prompt : Hindsight
Picture prompt : (below)
Word Limit : 300 or less
My Word Count : 300

Rearview Mirror
.

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“I cannot bear the sight of that ugly toy spaceship hanging there in our car”, shouts Adeline at her 7 year-old brother James after he tied his new toy to the mirror.

“Then what do you want there, sister? a soft stuffed kitty with a cute snarl? How old are you!”, retorted James in good humor.

“Dad, stop the car. I don’t want to go with him and that ugly spaceship of his”, says Adeline, deciding she cannot bear James or his toy spaceship anymore.

“Stop being silly, Adeline. He is just a kid, let him have his way.”, her father said coolly, never taking eyes of the road.

“Moreover, do you really want a soft stuffed kitty with a cute snarl hanging up there?”,  pricked her father, unable to control his laughter, “It’s like i look for an approaching vehicle and i find this kitty sneaking up from behind”, continuing his fit of laughter.

The three were thus engaged in a lively but awkward fight about what toy should be hanging from the rear view mirror.

“Guys! I think we have a problem here”, says Georgia looking back out of the car, concerned.

“What is it, Jo? What problem is greater than having to deal with our silly kids?”, said Roger, his sense of humor still hanging around.

“Better be serious, Roger. We have a real alien spaceship landing behind us and   you say a soft kitty sneaking in the back is the worst thing?”, Georgia shouts in alarm.

“Oh Jesus! I felt something the very moment i saw that toy. A freaking Deja Vu experience or some ET spiritual foresight. Now we are being stalked in the hindsight. Damn you, James!”, shouts Adeline, not knowing what is happening.

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A Struggling Painter


Submitted at Sunday Scribblings for the prompt “In the beginning” .

Story of a struggling painter.

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canvas clean,
ideas struggle and stutter in the beginning,
painter’s heart beats slow, yet tiring,
color-dipped brush dries and dies,
the holding hand becomes wet with tire and disappointment,
meanwhile, time paints its ever-spinning wheel, to perfection,

painter pumps his heartbeat into the dying bristles of his brush,
they stay alive, only to come close to death again,
unless the painter solves the puzzle of idea-less-ness soon,
painter looks around for inspiration,
the sky makes it even tougher for him,
by changing colors like a chameleon,

canvas still clean,
he is yet to begin his painting,
he looses all hope, convinced that he is out of ideas,
packing his color bottles and brushes,
he looks around for one more time,
we wonder what kind of inspiration is he seeking,
that the nature is unable to produce.

a sudden roar, ear shattering screech,
a little drop of water falls on his still empty canvas,
what inspiration he found in it we know not,
he unpacks everything in a jiffy, he knew he had very less time,
opens the lids of red, green, blue bottles,
splashes the colors onto the canvas,
and he smiles,
then roars in exultation,
we wonder what evil got into him in these few minutes,
that he spoils his canvas and then shouts in merriment.

and then a torrent of gusty rain poured down.

he moves away from the canvas,
shouting in joy, spreading his hands wide and taking the rain right through his soul,
his joy was enormous,
he went and looked at his canvas now,
controlling his joy, he grinned,
returning home without a painting would have been a big disappointment for him,
and for many,
happy that he managed to pull it off,
he packs everything and goes home.

he sends the painting, along with a little note, to kids at the orphanage he grew at,
the note read,

”  A Painting for you all,
From Mother,
with love.    “

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p.s: just like a follow-up for the above story, this picture was one of my posts a yesterday. In a way, it was my inspiration to write this story.

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