The harvest

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

 

The harvest

 
Butch looked at the vast corn fields spread out in front of him and his heart lifted. As far as the eye could see it was a sea of lush gold. A slight breeze was fanning the ears of the corn stalks and they seemed to beckon him.

 
The Sun had decided to call it a day and was preparing to retire .The sky blushed wearing the warm red and mellow orange coat. Time to pack up, thought Butch.

 
Whistling under his breath, he swung onto his truck and drove to his farm. This year, it was going to be a good harvest and he was pleased. He shed his work clothes, put them into the laundry basket and entered the shower. He was a man of meticulously clean habits.

 
Butch lived alone with only an occasional visitor. He neither entertained, nor attended any local social parties. The small community was used to his strange ways and left him to his devices. He was an excellent farmer and had the best livestock .The many awards adorning his living room was proof enough of that and the locals respected his need for privacy.

 
Dinner over, Butch decided to go check his most prized stock in the barn. The stack of gold in there brought a smile to his lips. He needed to add a few more this season. Picking up the scythe, the gloves and a small bag, he made for the darkening corn fields. As he walked through the corn stalks, they whispered to him,”Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty!”

 
Butch nodded and bent down to drag something from between the stalks. A golden haired young girl , bound and gagged, looking terrified, pleaded silently to be let loose. Butch lifted her to a sitting position and touched her hair reverently. He inhaled the fragrance of her glorious golden curls. It still smelled of the shampoo he had used last night. He took out a brush from his pocket and started combing her hair. All the while, he kept humming .The girl, unable to take it anymore had fainted.

 
This displeased Butch and he shook her like a rag doll, yanking at her hair, snarling at her lack of response. Then, releasing her, he fumbled in his bag and brought out a bottle of water, a pair of scissors and a jeweled mirror.

 
Sprinkling some water on the girl’s face, Butch revived her and then thrust the mirror into her tied hands. Gesturing her to look into the mirror, he expertly sheared off all her hair. As she watched in horror, he took out the scythe and with one sharp sweep chopped off her head. As the head rolled and blood pooled at the roots of the plants, he set to work, clearing the field of all evidence of his “ritualistic orgy”.

 
He had a lot to do before the Sun came up. He was happy to have this bounty of tonight’s harvest to add to his stock in the barn.

 

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The above story was written for Write on Edge,writing prompt,2014,week 12. The challenge was to write a piece of fiction or poetry in 500 words or less(mine is 500 words,including the title)based on either the photo above (I decided to pick the photo)or use the quote ,”Still round the corner there may wait, A new road or a secret gate.” by J. R. R. Tolkien ,or use both.For more details or to participate please click  on this http://writeonedge.com/2014/03/writing-prompt-2014-week-12/

 

A life extraordinaire

A life extraordinaire

 

“This is your last chance, Myra,” thundered Magdalena.
No one in Neverland had ever seen Magdalena, the Fairy Queen lose her cool in last 600 years. But Myra brought out the worst in her. She had been training to be a wish fairy since the last 150 years but she was always messing up.

 

“Remember,” Magdalena continued,” you can grant three wishes to one human and this spell has to last for a year. Till that time you are to remain earthbound. In case you fail, you are going to be transformed into a butterfly fairy and that’s final.”

 

Myra nodded meekly and picking up her wand and the pouch of magic dust, took off in search of her quarry.

Harry sat at his ordinary dining table, eating an ordinary breakfast and looking forlorn. For the nth time in a week, he wished for an extraordinary life. Till recently he was quite satisfied, if not happy with his life. At 30, he held a good job at a small firm earning enough to live in comfort. He dated once in a while but did not have a steady girlfriend. Then, about ten days back, he happened to meet his friend George and the unrest started.

 
Now George had been a pudgy, pimply fellow with little brains and so to see him looking quite dashing with a sexy siren type of wife hanging on to his arm, while they walked towards their swanky Porsche was difficult to absorb. Then George invited him home and the sprawling, luxurious country house with golf course and swimming pools made Harry’s head swim. George was a businessman and hobnobbed with the jet set.

 
Since then, Harry had been moping, wishing for a hi-flying life. Sighing, he got up to get ready for work, totally unaware that Myra the intern, had landed at his window and decided to pick his brains at that moment. She smiled and said to herself,”Easy does it Myra! No goofing up-this is your last chance.” She concentrated, trying to remember the right spell and then flew inside Harry’s house. She pointed her wand at Harry and waved it, blowing some magic dust towards him.

 
Harry immediately felt very light and happy. That evening, he met a beautiful girl named Sara and could not believe his luck when she seemed interested in him too. They got talking and discovered that they had same likes and dreams. Promising to meet next day, they parted. Harry hardly slept that night.

 
Next morning he was taken aback to receive an email from a very reputed company, asking him to come for an interview. He believed that Sara was his good luck charm and went joyfully to give that interview. His new found confidence and positive demeanour got him the high paid job easily.

 
Soon Sara and Harry were inseparable. It turned out that her father was a very well placed politician and with his help, Harry was soon scaling new heights in his career. Six months down the road, he proposed to Sara and she accepted. The wedding took place with a lot of pomp and show.

 
Myra watched all this with gleeful anticipation. She was looking forward to completing her internship successfully and flying back home in six months time. Funnily, she was beginning to enjoy her life among humans-they fascinated her. Thus distracted, she forgot to sprinkle fairy dust on Harry one morning and everything started unravelling.

 
On his way to his newly acquired business Harry met with a minor accident. Thought he was at fault, seeing his new Bugatti damaged, he lost his temper and berated the driver of the other car, not noticing that it was the police chief. He was jailed for committing a public nuisance.

 
Myra flew in to rectify matters but though her intent was to resolve the issue, in her panic, she mixed the spells and this caused so much complication that Harry was not only refused bail but was imprisoned for 3 months.

 
Meanwhile, Myra lost her wand and this worsened matters. Sara started seeing another man and soon she eloped with him.
Harry returned a changed man. He came back to an empty home and was not really shocked to learn that he had been dismissed from his job. Looking back he pined for his old life. Myra was recalled to serve as butterfly fairy.

 

Through the clarity of retrospect, the obvious conclusion surfaced: things don’t always turn out as planned.

 

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This is my response to Speakeasy’s weekly prompt #154, which is to(a) write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 750,including the title & the required quote) (b) with some kind of reference to the media prompt, a short film by Tanmay Shah, entitled Intent, and (c) use the last sentence of: “Through the clarity of retrospect, the obvious conclusion surfaced: things don’t always turn out as planned.”

speakeasy-new

Enchanted

Friday Fictioneers

This week,our fabulous hostess Rochelle Wisoff-Fields decided to give us a gift at FF by posting the photo prompt a day early 🙂 So we early birds caught the worm and are now sitting pretty on Tuesday,imagining it to be the weekend 😀  Those of you who are fellow addicts at FF  already know what I am talking about – for all others, here is the link to the site. http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/  Check it out,I promise you will not egret it 🙂

This week’s photo prompt has been provided by John Nixon .It has a lot of promise and I know that this week I will be reading more than 100 fantastic takes on this prompt.Sadly,my muse has gone on a vacation,so I had to spill out whatever occurred to me-could not miss the early bird prize now,could I? My 100 words follow the photo below 🙂

Copyright-John Nixon

                                              Copyright-John Nixon

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Enchanted

 

“There is nothing bewitching about this forest, “hissed Marge.

“Yeah, it’s ugly!”

“Shh…The elves may not like it Pat,” warned Nina.

“Elves?”Giggled Cory.

“Fairies too,” whispered Tory, her twin.

“Where are the magical beings?”Marge looked angrily at Nina.

Hidden eyes watched.

“Kids don’t believe in magic nowadays!” exclaimed the fairy Queen.

“Yet, they love video games!”  the elf remarked.

“Where do they think those fantasy ideas came from?” the Witch sneered.

“So, trick or treat?” the imp winked.

“Both!”

Roots crept up wrapping the kids.

They screamed in terror.

Then, open mouthed they watched the forest transform magically…

 

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Evening shadows

Trifecta :Week 105

For the final challenge Trifecta  has left the choice to us writers.We are to give them exactly 33 of our best words.They want the words to bleed -definitely a tough challenge for us but then when has Trifecta  given us a challenge that has been easy? 😀 Feels really unreal writing for Trifecta  this final time but hope that someday,somewhere we meet again.Will miss the fabulous challenges and the dedicated Trifectans. All the best to everyone and here come my 33 words for what they are worth.

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Evening shadows

On the cobblestones of life

forgotten laughter

ebullient-

gambols in concert

with tears,

silhouettes of past

play Chinese whispers

desires bubble

in

yesterday’s cauldron.

Unsaid words

coagulate, asphyxiate

on bitter gall of regret.

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Judas kiss

Trifecta: Week 114

Am sad to learn that Trifecta has decided to close shop and though it has been sometime(around 6/7 weeks) that I last entered a challenge here,I will still miss Trifecta.I had never written fiction before I found Trifecta,just a month after I started my blog at WP in Dec 2012 .I was excited and decided to jump on the bandwagon and what a ride it was! I wrote twice every week,for almost a year and though I never placed but I was thrilled as I realized I can write too.It was a lovely learning experience and it gave me the confidence to write for other sites.My biggest  plus was of course making some awesome friends and interacting with amazing fellow writers.I will forever remember Trifecta and the community fondly.I would have felt sadder,had I not joined Trifecta in this last month,with the hope that maybe they will return with a new format and new challenges/ideas for us.I wish them all the best-Lisa,Laura and Draug-the amazing hosts and talented editors on board,thank you so much for everything.Without any more rambling let me post the rules and my piece,before it closes.I have never submitted so late(and written so fast either),lol!

Word prompt for this week is-

SATISFY  (transitive verb)
1a : to carry out the terms of (as a contract) : discharge
  b : to meet a financial obligation to
2: to make reparation to (an injured party) : indemnify
3a : to make happy : please  

 b : to gratify to the full : appease
4a : convince
  b : to put an end to (doubt or uncertainty) : dispel
5a : to conform to (as specifications) : be adequate to (an end in view)

Remember: 
 
• Your response must be exactly 33 words. 
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. 
• The word itself needs to be included in your response. 
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 
• Only one entry per writer. 
• If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz. 
• Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 

– See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.wugDmdVg.dpuf

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Judas kiss

 

Saccharine sweetness

enthralls,

yet

quicksilver emotions

fail to

satisfy

cravings

of my soul

Blade of indifference

lacerates.

Venom in my angst

 I wince,

watching you

retreat,

immune to

my heart’s cicatrix-

still raw.

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The collectors

avond-evening-the-red-tree

The collectors

Looks can be deceiving. Her mother, Simone, never failed to drill it in to Donna and her sister Felicity’s psyche when she told them how she had met Dan, her husband and their Dad at an art gallery and had taken him to be the janitor. He was so unassuming that very few had an idea about his brilliance and that he was already a millionaire at 25. His business acumen became legendary in the later years and by the time their beautiful and sophisticated mother married him at 30, he was almost a billionaire.

Yes, Donna nodded her head in assent to her mother’s mantra as she added the final touches to the painting. Years of training, dedication and a steady hand, made her work picture perfect. The blue background and the storm swept tree looked majestic, yet bowed down with deep sorrow. She smiled .An apt cover for the Van Gogh which had been at the receiving end of her expert manipulations this time. She stood up, stretching her lithe and supple limbs.

Time for a break and she also needed to make that call.

“Hello Darling!”

“Hi, there! Missed you.”

“Me too. Finished my painting.”

“Wonderful. Will come down tonight to have a look then and we can have dinner somewhere?”

“That would be lovely. See you at 8 then?”

“Okay, see you.”

Richard, her fiance, was a Professor of Art history and she had met him at a party. His extensive knowledge on the subject had fascinated her and he was smitten by the strong woman hidden behind that fragile lissomeness. Her father’s art collection made their meetings more interesting and they started dating. After two years, they got engaged and now plans were on for a Christmas wedding.

“This is brilliant work, my love,” Richard beamed; his warm brown eyes looked almost dark in excitement.

“Thank you Richie. I will hang it in Dad’s room .I think it will cheer his spirit,” Donna smiled mischievously.

“So, what’s the next plan?”

“Next week, the Rockweller’s are throwing a party. Their collection will be on view. I have already seen it twice and I have my heart set on their Monet.”

“I believe they also have that Picasso we have heard so much about?”

“Yes, you heard right but remember “restraint” is the key to success.”

“You are the Boss, Ma petite,” said Richard, drawing Donna into his warm embrace.

She snuggled into his arms and responded,”We are a team-a formidable one.”

The Rockweller’s Art Deco party was a huge success and they basked in the pride which every art collector worth his salt lives for. They had no idea that every night from then on, their mansion would be under surveillance. Two hooded figures, dressed in black, followed their every move. One such night, when the Rockwellers had gone out and the servants had retired to their quarters, the two figures entered the mansion. The burglar alarms and the CCTV cameras had already been compromised-these two were no amateurs and neither was this their first-or last-such heist.

Next morning, as soon as the newshounds got a whiff, the heist made headlines. But no amount of detection could reveal even the slightest hint as to who the Art thieves could be or how many were there. The agencies involved including the Interpol and FBI knew that the stolen work would probably resurface some 3 to 5 years later in some part of Europe but by then it would be impossible to prove that it was stolen because of the different laws in the two continents.

 Six months down the road, enjoying a quiet dinner, Richard and Donna were chalking out plans for their Honeymoon.

“Mom thinks we should go to Italy.”

“Ha! Ha! Now how did she read my mind?”

“While we are away, our last two year’s fruits of labour will be auctioned off.”

“Your Mom has her uses, eh?”

“Definitely! Thankfully, she never cottoned onto what Dad’s real profession was.”

“I really respect your Dad. That man sure knew how to build a reliable and foolproof network.”

“True. Wish you two had had more time together. He would have been proud to see you as his official son-in-law.”

“I do hope our kids will inherit your sense of adventure and his discerning eye for real art, money and…”

“Yes, yes along with your brains, charm and my mom’s practicality”, giggled Donna, looking at Richard coquettishly.

 Richard burst out laughing.

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This was written for Speakeasy’s weekly writing challenge.The challenge was to(a) write  a piece of fiction or poetry in 750 words or less(mine is 748 words,including the title),(b) the FIRST line of our submission must be: “Looks can be deceiving.” and (c)make some sort of reference to the media prompt- a painting called Avond (Evening): The Red Tree by Dutch artist, Piet Mondrian.If you are interested in participating,please click on the link here http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/153-open/

No reprieve

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

No  reprieve

He looked at the small pile of stones and pebbles covering the little grave near the water. The wooden stake bore no epitaph but he knew his sweet Lily lay there. Their love was one of a kind and these insensitive fools had, interfered stopping their love from reaching its desirable culmination. But, he was going to outwit them-his Lily would be proud of him.

He hid behind the boulders and saw them leave after burying her.

 He raged and fumed. Did they think they could separate her from him? Since when had death been a deterrent? Rather, death had always been his partner in crime.

He had to wait till night fell. He needed the cloak of invisibility for his shenanigans. Not that waiting bothered him. He lit a cigarette and pulling his overcoat around him, lay back on a boulder.

The wind was rising with the incoming tide. The ocean was busy gathering her wayward waves, intent on teaching them a lesson in self-control but the restless waves playfully escaped her clutches, dashing against the rocks with gleeful abandon.

His stomach growled and his mind hungered. He was ravenous in more ways than one but satiation was not easy. He had to be careful. He dug his hands into the deep pockets of his overcoat and his fingers touched it. He shivered with pleasure.

A few hours passed .He crept towards a hollow in the rocks and took out the crowbar he had hidden there earlier. He moved towards the grave stealthily and set to work. The more he dug, the more his hunger grew. He was used to hard labour-the decade in prison had taught him that. It took him an hour to uncover the mound and soon he picked up 9 year old Lily’s body and placed it on the ground. Oh, how beautiful she looked.

His hands closed over the cold sharp steel nestling in his pocket and he fingered it lovingly. Gazing upon Lily’s face, he murmured, “How pale your lips look, my love-let me add some colour.” With that, he slashed at her wrists. Drops of blood oozed out and he licked at them and then bit down hard on Lily’s lips.

 He loved the ashen face, the unmoving body and the pale limbs. He remembered the softness of young flesh, the pleasure it gave him to plunge into such unresponsive young bodies and he felt his arousal raise its head. Images of slashed and mutilated bodies arose in his mind and he lost control.

He tore at the dead child’s clothes and then ravaged the dead body viciously, all the while stabbing the body and whispering terms of endearment interspersed with dirty talk.

The moon grew pale watching this and the ocean receded as far as possible, unable to bear witness to such depravity. Only the petrified stones, smeared with the blood and gore of the innocent, bore a silent testimony to the inhuman acts of a so called human....

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The above story was written for Write on Edge,writing prompt,2014,week 11. The challenge was to write a piece of fiction or poetry in 500 words or less(mine is 500 words,including the title)based on either the photo above (I decided to pick the photo)or use the quote by Robert Frost ,”I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover’s quarrel with the world,” or use both.For more details or to participate please click  on this http://writeonedge.com/2014/03/writing-prompt-2014-week-11/