Sleep Baby,sleep

Friday Fictioneers

Aha,this time it really is Friday-at least for me.Over at FF,our  immensely talented host,the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posted the photo prompt some 3 days back,setting the bar high with her amazing story.As I write this,already 81 writers have spun their magic using the photo prompt,provided by one of my favourite writers on FF,the admirable Sandra Crook.Thank you Sandra .:-)

I am late for two reasons-one I was rushing to get too many things done and second,c’cos this prompt had me stumped.However,after untangling my scrambled neurons and soothing my jangled nerves,I came up with my 100 words which follows just after the photo.

In case you are interested in participating or reading what other fantastic story tellers from around the world have come up with in just 100 words,do click on this link and pop over there to check it out http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/

 

                                             Copyright -Sandra Crook

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Sleep Baby, sleep

 

Maude drove the tractor –trailer out of the farm at an easy pace.

Ricky’s trench coat and boots sat well on her.

She pulled the cap a little lower and adjusted her sunglasses.

Not that anyone was around at this time.

Soon the town was behind her.

Ricky sure had been surprised to see her.

He thought she was dead.

Maude touched the scars on her face.

All through their marriage, Ricky’s constant complaint was,”I am going to pieces woman, let me sleep.”

Maude turned her head.

Between bales of hay, lay Ricky, finally sleeping.

In pieces…

 

 

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Retrospect

Retrospect

 

Drop by drop I sipped

from the wine of love

Never noticed how

my lips turned blue

Bit by bit I partook

from passion’s loaf

Failed to see when

it grew cold and stale

Brick by brick

I built castles in the air

But forgot to take care

termites of mistrust laid them bare

Thread by thread I wove

this tapestry of life

But closed my eyes to the

moths of strife

Knew not when

my knight’s shining armour

Turned red with rust

While his white steed

turned to grey dust

Little by little it all dawns on me

as I turn and look back,

woe is me!

Seam by seam I unravel

the knots in my heart

Beam by beam I tear down

 our love story apart.

 

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The above poem was written for http://dversepoets.com/   OpenLinkNight ~ February 2014.

To read what others have written or to participate click on the link above.

Duped

Duped

 

 Ben felt irritable. He rubbed the back of his neck but his rigid muscles dismissed the placatory move. His stomach rumbled and knotted in protest.

He had no idea what he should do. The blue file on the desk beckoned him but for once he had no wish to be enticed by its enchanting contents.

He started pacing, raking his fingers through his hair. He had to find a solution. After all he, Ben Bradshaw was the CEO of this company.

A soft knock on the door startled him and he barked a sharp, ”Come in!”

Naomi, his personal assistant came in carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of fruit salad.”Ben, time to stop starving yourself,” she said clearing the coffee table. She added,”Mindy had called. She told me to remind you that it’s your turn to pick Stacy up from school. I will be back in 20 minutes to clear the table.”

 Ben smiled. Naomi had been a great find-reliable and trustworthy-her only weakness, a taste for handsome, high flying executives, like Ben. Not that Ben minded. Naomi was young, sexy and had no demands. She knew when to keep her mouth shut and was not clingy. And Mindy need never know.

 “Naomi, you go have lunch and yes, I will have the papers ready for the Board meeting by 4-will brief you on that too.”

Naomi smiled, winked at him and left, swinging her hips,encased in a beautifully tailored, slim red skirt, knowing well the effect it had on Ben.

Ah, but no point in dwelling over those forbidden pleasures now, Ben told himself, that’s for this weekend when Mindy flies off for her annual fashion show at Milan. For now, he needed to eat first and then get back to work.

 

Wolfing down the fruit salad Ben realized that he had been ravenous. Good no one could see him eating like a pig, he chuckled. Satiated, he started sipping the coffee and mulled over the contents of the file. He had hired a special agency to look into embezzlement from company accounts and they had come up with shocking facts.

Ben had all the facts, figures, dates and the names behind the racket. He was shocked that it had been going on for over a year and no one had had any inkling. But, tomorrow morning, in the board meeting all the masks would be off and a lot of heads would roll. He was waiting for the last two names on his hit list.

The intercom on his desk buzzed.”There is a special delivery for you Sir.” It was Robin, the lobby manager. “Should I send the package in?”He asked.”Do that Robin and please see to it that I am not disturbed for the next ten minutes. Naomi is out for lunch.”

 

As he read the last report, Ben frowned. The more he read the more his eyes widened. How could it be? His lips pursed into a thin line as he read the last words.

Where was Naomi? He needed to talk to her.

Ben stood up and the room swam. He clutched at the table, trying to steady himself. Queasiness clutched at his innards. His stomach heaved and he stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. Everything that he had eaten came up in stringy gobs. He lay there drained, seeing black spots, unable to move. He clutched at his heart, sweat soaking his shirt. He was being sucked into a black hole of excruciating pain.

 

The door opened. It was Naomi.

She was smiling.

Mindy stood behind her.

She looked grim.

Ben tried to speak but no sound came.

“Hush!”said Naomi,” I know you found out the last name was mine.”

“Why don’t we tell him all before he breathes his last, Naomi?”

“Poor dear! He has no idea that he has been had  by both of us working hand in glove,” clucked Naomi.

“I think the poison is working. Today’s dose has triggered the heart attack we were waiting for.”

“Yes, let us rehearse the last act once more, before the ambulance arrives.”

 

At school, six year old Stacy waited for her Dad to come pick her up. One by one all her friends left and the hall emptied. Stacy sat on the steps outside the school, forlorn, clutching the card she had made that day. Her small mouth quivered and a sob escaped her as she waited for someone to tell her what to do next.

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The above story is my entry for the speakeasy at yeah write #150,this week.The challenge was to (a) write a work of fiction in 750 words or less (mine is 749,including the title) (b) use the following as the last sentence:  “She waited for someone to tell her what to do next.”  (c) make some sort of reference to the video short The Black Hole (click on the high-lighted title to watch).For more details click on this url http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/150-open/

Mr Fox and Ms Crane

 

 http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRI6aJ_0nLBMxRApEqeipUQCh7rAFlopIuBxbgoUljtVrxdf7WYiw                                                                 http://www.gutenberg.org/files/11339/11339-h/images/052-2.jpg    

 

Mr Fox and Ms Crane

 

Sara the crane, stood watching, anxious 

as Ryan her son, was teased in the schoolyard

she wrung her wings, tension brewing

Just then Brer fox, her husband, came and stood next to her

pulling her close, he said,”Honey, no worries

he is our son; no way will he be beaten.”

Sara looked at him and smiled for

Sure enough Ryan did not weaken,

but walked away

leaving the bullies defeated.

Brer said, “Yes, he has taken after you,

 Knows how to give as good as he gets.”

 

Strolling back, they saw Diane, the lissome vixen

followed by a horde of admirers

And Mommy Sara winked and said,

”She sure is her Papa’s daughter,

there’s no escaping her allure.”

 

Walking home, he reminisced

“Remember our first date?”

“Yes!”She laughed, “You invited me to dinner

And served goulash on a dish

And I went home mad with hunger

drooling on the pillow

dreaming of skewered fish!”

 

He chuckled and responded

“Not one to be left behind,

you decided to pay me back in the same coin

Invited me to lunch on a hot afternoon

And, served my favourite sherbet in a pitcher

almost killing me of thirst, that eventful day

per chance you wanted to send me home

lying on a stretcher?”

 

“But then” she grinned, “McDonald’s came to town

Brer’s eyes shone and he added,

”And when Starbucks opened shop,

it was the jewel in the crown.”

“Our dates were non- stop

and we fell in love!”Sara sighed.

 

“Am glad we were both smart

Not to let our shortcomings keep us apart

Found a way to reach each other’s heart

And that’s how our life got a head start”,

Brer concluded, beaming with pride.

 

 

MORAL- Sometimes tit for tat may lead to this and that (and more) 😉

 

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The above poem was written for http://dversepoets.com/.Today’s challenge,Let’s be fabulists today is being hosted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg).The rules he has set for this challenge are-

 

• take an existing fable and create a poem out of it, maybe moving the anthropomorphism back to real humans.
• or, tell your own fable in the form of your preference. I think a world of foxes, lions and scorpions still exists, and can be used to create a poem.
• or simply rewrite you fable of choice in poetic words, many of the fables were actually poems to start with so you are in great company with the original fabulist.
• And if you use a fable and not just the characters, please include a reference to that fable. I would love to learn how your world of fables look like.

For more details,or to read what other participants have posted or to participate,please visit the site http://dversepoets.com/

 

 

No dues

No Dues

 

Thunder rolled on like loud drum beats and rain pelted the car’s roof in a rhythmic staccato. Lightning continued to slash at the black velvet of the sky.

Pam cursed her luck. What a day it had been! Her alarm hadn’t gone off and she had been late this morning. In her hurry to reach office on time, she had no breakfast. On the way she had realized her car was low on gas and had to take a detour to tank up. On reaching, she was frazzled to learn that the executives meet was rescheduled. Worse was to come. Her usually reliable assistant had goofed up and forgotten to get some important documents. Somehow, the day had then slipped into a neutral mode making her heave a sigh of relief.

Exhausted and hungry, she had thought of leaving with the others instead of staying late as usual but her hard -nosed Boss, Martin had called her for another briefing. The discussion had been lengthy and complicated and Martin had to catch a flight to Germany. He was leaving for a conference. So he suggested that Pam drive him to the airport so that they could finish the discussion on the way. Pam had no choice. Still, she had hoped for a peaceful ride back home and a relaxed night. But, it was not to be. As she left the airport, the weather had revolted.

Now, a storm was raging and she could hardly see the road. As she neared the turnpike leading to her neighbourhood, she accelerated a bit, keen to reach home. She entered the by-lane and her eyes widened with shock and fear. A figure was lurching onto the road .She screamed and stepped on the brakes, swerving the car to avoid crashing into the figure on the road. The slick road did not give much purchase and it slithered and skittered, finally shuddering to a stop but not before it had rammed sideways into the figure.

Pam sat hunched over the wheel, trembling. She was terrified to look up. Had she killed someone? Oh God! Please let it not be true, she prayed. No! Not again! She had never touched a drink again! Be brave, she told herself. This was not your fault-not this time! After a few minutes, she gathered her courage and looked around. She could see the figure lying crumpled in a heap on the left side of the road-immobile. Not a soul was to be seen.

Licking her dry lips nervously, Pam slowly unbuckled her seat belt..She opened the car door and fell down in a heap- her legs seemed to have turned to jelly. She crawled to the figure and saw it was face down. Gently, she turned it to face upwards and realized it was a man. There was no blood and when she checked his heartbeat and pulse, all seemed to be in order. Relieved, she went back to the car and taking the bottle of water, walked over to the prone man.

A few sprinkles of water and the man came to. After sipping a bit of the water, he felt capable of walking up to the car. Miraculously, he was unhurt. In the pouring rain, they sat in the car and he told her his name was Chris. He was new to the area and had lost his bearings in the storm. He seemed genuinely apologetic for the alarm and trouble he had caused Pam.  He wanted to know if Pam could be kind enough to drop him at some motel nearby.

Pam was in a dilemma. She knew there were no motels nearby and in this weather no way could she allow Chris to go his way. In a way, she felt responsible for Chris’s accident therefore, for his well being. Wondering if she should tell him to leave or accompany her to her house, she kept Chris engaged in small talk, all the while watching him and weighing her options. He seemed to be a little older than her-maybe thirty, was well built, had brown hair, gentle eyes and she liked his smile. On the whole trustworthy, she decided. So, she asked him if he had any objections to coming with her up to her house, for that night. A little hesitant at first, which appealed to Pam, Chris agreed.

Turning the car, they headed home. Pam was surprised at how at ease she was with Chris. Once home, she found Chris to be charming company and they had a nice hot meal. Later Chris helped her by washing the dishes. That night, for the first time in years Pam felt a stirring and heard her heart beat.

The weather played up and continued to be nasty over the weekend, preventing them from leaving the house for the next two days. This was instrumental in bringing them closer faster than months of dating could have.

Soon, Chris moved in with Pam. He took interest in everything and he was especially interested in Pam’s family. Strangely though, Chris never spoke of his family. Having grown up in a happy and supportive family, Pam could not understand this. However, she was thrilled when Chris proposed .He also promised to talk about his family, once they met her parents. Pam agreed and they flew to her parent’s home.

Next day, the police found Pam and her parents murdered in their beds. A note said, “It takes two to make an accident. Re-paid with interest.”

Police investigations revealed that there was more to the story than met the eye .Years ago, when Pam was 19, she had run over a man, killing him instantly. At that point she was at the wheel and was drunk. Her boyfriend Matt was also with her. There was a furore but Pam’s Dad had pulled some strings and Matt had taken the rap. Both Matt’s family and the victim’s family had sworn vengeance.

Now search was on for the suspects..

 

 

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This 999-word story(including the title) was written for a contest held by Write On Edge This is a voted contest for a chance at publication.  Details are below… if you want to join in, there’s still time – click the badge above to view their site 

• 1000 word limit, all genres of creative writing are welcome.
• linky is open until Friday, February 21, at 11:55pm Pacific
• Use the F. Scott Fitzgerald quote “It takes two to make an accident.” as an opening/closing line or draw inspiration from it, your choice.
• Community voting opens 2/22 and closes 2/28 at 11:55pm Pacific.
• Community and editorial choice winners will be announced on Write on Edge andBannerwing Books on Monday, March 3, 2014.
• All entries must be original work, only published on your personal blog/website, and by entering you give Write on Edge and Bannerwing Books permission to reprint your entry in Precipice, Volume III‘s print and digital formats, as well as permission to edit for grammatical, spelling, and typographical errors.

What’s in the belfry?

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

Our brilliant and lovely hostess Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, at FF, has  challenged us to spin a 100 word tale  based on this photo prompt,provided by David Stewart,this week.Want to read what around 100 writers from around the world are writing in response to this challenge?Or,would you like to participate?Click  on this link http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/02/19/21-february-2014/

 

                                                   Copyright – David Stewart

 So before it gets too late,I decided to post my 100 words(excluding the title)

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What’s in the belfry?

 

 Weird rumours had been floating in the neighbourhood.

Mr. Coots swore he had seen ghosts.

Stella insisted her cat was possessed and even little Tamara piped in about some strange smell.

When Mr.Stanley found a few drops of blood on the church floor this morning, Mrs. Gregory went crazy, ranting about vampire Bats roosting in the belfry!!

So Paul, the caretaker had to climb up to check,

A dark shape shifted in the belfry as Paul stretched his hand…

The bell started clanging.

People ran in and stopped, horrified to see Paul’s bloodless body hanging from the swinging bell.

                                         

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Unwrapping the memories

Unwrapping the memories

 

Languid days tied with a satin ribbon

I open the window to my soul

dust the cobwebs off

unlocking fragile memories,

forgotten fragrances

Of you…

Wrapped in scented tissue

pink as the first blush of love

here lies my memory

of the day when I saw you first

Wrapped in multi-coloured scarf

are the rainbow dreams I dared to dream

When I pursued you relentlessly

Knowing I had no chance

to be the crème de la creme

Here is the green kerchief soaked in

Tears of jealousy

containing  my envy

when I saw you with other girls

all sows, I thought, around my pearl

This white envelope

dotted with drops of red

my bleeding heart’s tears

when i did not see you for years

And  wrapped in cellophane

here is the scrapbook

where I squirreled away

nuggets of information,

About you.

Bubble wrapped carefully,

these are my  galloping heartbeats

when I saw you next

Tied with a silver ribbon

what are these?

of course, treasured memory

Of our friendship

Passion I wrapped in this satin box

the hugs and kisses

you had showered non-stop

Oh,and this golden packet

most priceless of all

I wrapped all your love

lest  I forgo it all

This crimson bottle holds

my red hot rage,when

 of your lies, I took umbrage

At the bottom of this all

 lies  a big black pack

in it are stacked the bleached bones of

Our love

This latest pack

wrapped in all white

marks  our mutual exoneration

Am keeping the diamond wrapped vase

enclosing our love,

on display

‘cos my heart is sure

faith will never lead us astray.

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The above poem was written for dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight ~ Week 133.

Scent of yesterday

Scent of yesterday

 

The exquisite dress showcased in the display window took Trisha’s breath away. Her pupils dilated, her heart hammered in her chest and she felt faint.

“Get a grip girl, this is London and not Paris,” she admonished herself.

Still, she could not stop herself from looking up to check the name of the shop.”En amour”! Her head reeled. No, it was just not possible!

Trisha was suddenly afraid. Should she enter the shop? Was it worth the risk? What if it turned out to be true? And what if it did not? Did she truly want to know?

With trepidation, she entered the shop. Immediately, her senses were assailed by the fragrance of mimosas-her favourite. A young shop assistant came up to her, “May I help you Madam?”

“Ugh, was wondering if you could tell me the price of that dress in the window?”

“Oh, Madam our apologies but that dress is not for sale.” With that she pointed to a small card which Trisha had missed and it said, “Not for sale.”

“I see. Could you please tell me the name of the designer?”

“Monsieur Felix Pierre. He is also the proprietor.”

Trembling like a leaf within, Trisha asked ,”Would it be possible to meet him?”

“If you can wait a little, you can, He usually arrives at lunch time.”

“I shall return after an hour then.”

Sipping on her cappuccino, her mind travelled backwards and she found herself back in Paris. At nineteen, she was a successful model working for top design houses. She met Felix-then a struggling designer, at a fashion party. She had found him charming and great company. Soon, they were spending all their free time together. Both discovered they loved the same kind of music, books and art. They both loved to cook and both were passionate about their careers. Trisha also realized that Felix was extremely talented and introduced him to many top notch designers.

Within no time, Felix started making headlines with his stunning designs and at the same time, their love for each other blossomed. He told her that his dream was to open a shop someday for a select clientele. Then, he won a national award for one of his designs. They were ecstatic.

Trisha remembered how Felix had taken her on a picnic and proposed with a bunch of mimosas and a solitaire. Their wedding was to be held in the Loire valley and the reception would be in” La Grande Cascade.”

Tears pricked her eyes and a bitter taste filled her mouth as she remembered how she had been left standing at the altar and the endless days of waiting, hurting, the unanswered questions….

No, she told herself vehemently, she did not want to know the answers now. Ten years had gone by and she had made peace with her past. No point picking at old wounds .As she exited the mall, she mused, yes; sometimes time is the longest distance between two places.

 

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This was written for ,Write on Edge,Writing Prompt: 2014, Week 7.We were required to use the quote,”“Time is the longest distance between two places.”~Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie as an opening/closing line, draw inspiration from a single word within it, or choose the given photo prompt instead.Word limit 500.I chose the quote and word count,including the title is 499. If you would like to read what others have submitted for this challenge or would love to participate,please click on the link http://writeonedge.com/2014/02/writing-prompt-2014-week-7/

The Crusader

Speakeasy #149

 

The Crusader

“Don’t blame the sinner, “whispered the cloaked figure, bending over the terrified, supine girl, a dagger poised over her heart.

“CUT!” shouted the Director.”Robert, for Pete’s sake put some menace into that whisper. You sound like you have a bunch of tadpoles jammed up your throat!”

The unit sniggered. This kind of scenario was common when Robert was shooting.

Robert shuffled his feet, looking like an errant school boy, embarrassment writ large on his angelic features. His face was his biggest asset and helped him get some bit roles. This time it had been a meatier role as he was playing the Villain.

“Take 22! Let’s roll-Robert, no mistakes this time”, the Director growled at him.

Robert sighed and took his position.

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It was drizzling and the streets wore a deserted look.

The inky darkness of the night pressed on from all sides, making visibility poor. The atmosphere burgeoned like a pregnant woman, on the verge of giving birth to some evil spawn.

Through the gloom, the lights looked almost feral.

The dark figure stood in front of the cottage in the second lane. There was something about the stance which made even the street dogs stay away. The hood was drawn over the head  and there was no trace of anything below-as if darkness had swallowed it whole, leaving behind an empty shell.

A woman‘s silhouette could be seen through the lacy curtains on the window. She was reading.

After a while, the figure moved and disappeared into the house through the shadows.

The figure entered the room and silently went and stood behind the woman. Sensing a movement, she turned and opened her mouth to scream but before she could, the figure held her swan like neck and snapped it and her head lolled.

Picking up the body, the figure moved out of the house and dumping it beside the neighbour’s garage,walked away.

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 He is 10. He has been naughty and so has been sent to his room. But there is a party at the house and he loves parties and good food. So he decides to slink into the dining hall before the guests arrive. As he enters the passage leading to the dining room, he hears strange noises from his parent’s bedroom and peeks in. He is surprised first and then angry to see his Uncle and Mom kissing each other. Then his heart jumps to his throat as he hears them plotting his Dad’s murder. That night he hides and watches helplessly as his handsome Dad sips the poisoned wine, standing under his favourite painting, “The Chess Queens”.

When the Police arrive, well placed clues lead them into believing that the butler has a hand in this murder and so he is jailed.

His mother acts the bereaved wife perfectly, looking oh so fragile and heart -broken. To him, she looks eerily like the lady in the black gown and veil in his father’s favourite painting.

Ironic, for soon she will look like the ghostly white one standing opposite the lady in black.

Six years later, he kills his Uncle in the same manner and manages to pin the murder on his mother. She rots in jail for a murder she did not commit, mourning for her lost love, yet unable to express her grief openly. He enjoys seeing her lose her rosy hue and gradually become ashen and frayed, falling to pieces like a moth eaten blanket.

Vengeance is his.

Growing up, he realizes that there are more Moms and Uncles in this world than he cares for and they all need to be taught a lesson.

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Sometimes it is his angelic face and at others his bumbling manner which makes the needle of suspicion always point elsewhere-lucky Robert!

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This is written for speakeasy writing challenge #149.For this week’s challenge we were required to use  the following sentence as the FIRST line: “Don’t blame the sinner.”Secondly, we had to let the artwork above ,”“The Chess Queens,” by Muriel Streeter, influence our writing and last but not the least ,submissions had to be fiction or poetry and be under 750 words.(mine is 633,including the title).If you are interested in reading more submissions or joining the challenge,click on this link- http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/149-open/

Walking away

                                                                     Image courtesy of Unsplash.

 

 

Walking away

Sophia looked at the retreating back of her lover and thought, how rigid his stance was-just like him.

Long after he had disappeared into the sandy horizon, she continued sitting there, looking at the Sunset over the dunes and reflected on love and life.

Their love life had been like these undulating dunes-ever changing and harsh on the travellers-him and her.

Her love for him was all encompassing, like the sea, carrying away all that was negative between them like flotsam. At times tidal waves of passion pulled at her heart and at others silent storms raged within. Just like the sea, her moods could change with deceptive ease but it was always he who caused those changes.

His love was beautiful but cold like the moon. No, she decided, it was more like the desert. She travelled through his heart, scorched and dying of thirst. Her life felt bleached of all colours and the oasis of love that she was looking for turned out to be only a mirage.

And finally, today after years of yearning and longing, it had all come to naught. He had walked away, unable to bear the burden of her love. What had he said? Oh, that he was not meant to be a family man- that love was not for him. The world beckoned and he had to leave.

She smiled ruefully, wiping at the tears that threatened to spill over. Well, she thought, time to tame the beast called love that had chained her heart for so many years- time she set herself free too.

She toyed with the sand, holding it in her fist and letting it fall free. She realized that while some grains fell off smoothly, a few still remained stuck to her fingers .She mused that painful memories were just like a fistful of sand –while one could let go of some easily, others would require more effort and time.

With that she smiled, stood up and started walking towards a new beginning…

 

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This was written for  Write on Edge using either the photo prompt above or the quote,”If you must speak ill of another, do not speak it, write it in the sand near the water’s edge.”~Napoleon Hill. I decided to go with the photo.Word count  337,including the title.For more details on the challenge,please click on this link-http://writeonedge.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Prompt: 2014, Week 6