The homecoming

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

                            Image courtesy of Unsplash.

 

 

The homecoming

 

Sitting on the porch with a cup of his favourite chamomile tea, Henry welcomed the Sun. Mornings gave him hope. His eyes scanned the road but nothing moved except the trees at the far end –her sentinels, Mabel had said. Henry smiled and went inside. It was time to go to work.

His day at the farm passed in a flurry of activity as it was harvest season-the busiest of all times and he was happy to note that this year the yield had been almost double the last. At this rate he would soon be able to buy that piece of land he had been eyeing for the last 3 years. He wondered if Mabel would have approved and sighed .He still missed her.

Driving home, he stopped at the local Deli to pick up some groceries. Living alone had its disadvantages but he never forgot to stock up .He did not intend to compromise his health and it showed. His face was smooth and his body rugged and muscular, belying the forty years that he had crossed. His boyish charm and easy manner made him look a decade younger.

After supper, Henry picked up the book he had been reading. It was by a new author, someone named M.Aniston and he was enjoying it. An hour later he was thinking of calling it a night when a sentence caught his eye and he jerked into total wakefulness. The hero, John, was beseeching the heroine, Shyla to reconsider her decision to leave town and him, but she was adamant. She wanted to chase her dreams. So John says,” You could’ve made a safer bet, but what you break is what you get.”

Henry couldn’t believe his eyes! How could that be? Those were the very words that he had said to Mabel when she had left him to pursue her career in the big city ten years back. She did not want to be a farm girl she had said. But wait, M could be her initial and wasn’t Aniston an anagram for Santino? Well, before he jumped to any conclusion, he wanted to check the ending of the novel. And there it was, on the last page. He read aloud,”Shyla ran sobbing into John’s arms, saying,” You wake up in the bed you make. I think you made a big mistake by allowing me to leave. John Cabot, You own me. There’s nothing you can do. You own me.”

Henry was almost beside himself with excitement and joy. He logged on to the net and googled the details of the Publishing Company. It was a two hour journey to the city. He also googled M.Aniston and was not surprised to see an old snap of his Mabel .He could hardly wait for morning to arrive.

He would never spend any more restless nights with only the blanket of his memories for company. It was time for the sentinels to welcome their mistress home, forever.

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This was written for  Writing Prompt: Week 10 at Write on Edge.The challenge was(1) to write 500 words or less of fiction of any genre based either on the photo prompt given above or(2) use the quote,

You could’ve made a safer bet, but what you break is what you get.
You wake up in the bed you make. I think you made a big mistake.

You own me. There’s nothing you can do. You own me.

~Mark Berninger of The National, Lucky You

(3)or use both .

I decided to use both  the quote and the photo prompt and the word count including the title is 498.If you are interested in joining  or reading the entries,please click on this url http://writeonedge.com/

 

 
 
 

A touch of colour

Friday Fictioneers

It is Wednesday everywhere,except for FF lovers who enjoy their Friday fare starting on Wednesday.Confused?Don’t be.Hop over to our  beautifully talented host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields page  (http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/) and check out for yourself how over 100 talented writers from all over the world ,flock  to this contest and spin amazing tales of 100 words or so woven around the given photo prompt.Read,enjoy and join the fun:-)

 

This week’s photo prompt( below), has been provided by Danny Bowman and really made me scratch my head.Finally I came up with my 100 words,which follows just after the photo.Hope you all find it enjoyable 😉

 

Copyright - Danny Bowman

                                        Copyright – Danny Bowman

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A touch of colour

 

Stan gazed at the landscape on display.

His critical eye was not pleased.

It lacks boldness, he decided.

A dab of red would make it perfect, he mused.

An art lover, he always carried brushes, but where to get some red paint from?

He scanned the art gallery but it being late, no one was around.

Then Stan saw him.

He beamed.

The guard was immersed in a racy thriller, an empty mug at his feet.

Stan slashed the guard’s throat.

Holding the brush, he looked appreciatively at the red hot lava spilling from the volcano.

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No foul play

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 the speakeasy at yeah write #151

No foul play

“Life had once been defined by linears and absolutes.”

Gerry stopped writing and shut his diary with force. Anger and sorrow struggled with each other to gain foothold. Sorrow won. He missed her. If only…

He went and stood by the window. Night had decided to wear her star spangled coat and was busy romancing the full moon. He closed the window. Such beauty pained him.

His mind went back to the time when all was orderly, or so it seemed. His Dad was a soldier and was home only on short holidays. He was a good father and a dutiful husband but nothing more. His mother on the other hand, was an artist with a passionate temperament, which she kept well hidden under routine. He was an ordinary boy living an ordinary life.

Then one day, when he was fourteen, it all changed. His Dad came back from Afghanistan sans his right leg. Wallowing in self –pity, his Dad took to the bottle. His mom tried her best to take care of the family by taking up odd jobs but it was not enough. She had been a beautiful woman, but her face stated to lose its glow with the constant worry. Soon, his father started becoming abusive. Initially it was only verbal but then it escalated into physical blows.

Life dragged on, with no respite for the family. The only silver lining on the black cloud called “crisis” was Gerry’s excellent grades at school.

One night, when Gerry was sixteen, he found his mom in the basement painting the walls furiously. He was astonished to see the vibrant colours and bold strokes that she used. He watched silently, as she added a cobalt blue and then contrasted it with a flaming orange. Later he convinced her to let the artist in her take charge.

She surprised everyone by excelling in her chosen field and very soon, many art galleries were showing interest in her work. She had her first independent show, when Gerry turned eighteen. Soon after, he left for college on a full scholarship. Life seemed to have steadied itself.

At college, he made friends and enjoyed studying. He received letters from his Mom which told him about her shows and he was happy that she was tasting success. He was unable to visit home for the next two years as there were some extra courses he had opted for which needed him to stay back during the breaks. So, when he went home, he was a little puzzled to see his mom looking radiant but a little flustered, as if she had a secret.

Two days before he was due to return, he learnt of his mom’s secret. She told him that she had met Bud, another artist-a sculptor- six months back and they had fallen in love. However, as his mom was not free there was no future for them. Gerry was happy for his mom and expressed his wish to meet Bud. A meeting was arranged and he was pleased with his mom’s choice. However, his Dad posed a problem. He was not ready to let his wife go and said”no” to divorce. His drinking and violent behaviour took a turn for the worst. Bidding her a fond farewell, Gerry promised his mom to be back during Christmas to find a solution.

But that was not to be. Six weeks to Christmas, he received news about his Mom’s death and had to rush home. Police officers said that they had found his mother lying with her neck broken at the end of the stairs leading to the basement. Possibly she had slipped .They ruled out any foul play as his Dad was found dead drunk, on the sofa in the hallway. Gerry had his reasons to believe otherwise.

A few days after the funeral, Gerry plied his Dad with drink after drink. He kept egging him on and implying that he was glad his mom was no more. Still, his blood froze when he heard his Dad confess.

“Ah, I hated that bitch! Pushing her that day felt damned good. No one leaves me!!”His Dad growled in a slurred voice.

A week later, Gerry slipped back into the house, unnoticed, and pushed his drunken Dad down the stairs. He was satisfied to hear the squelching sound his Dad’s head made when it struck the corner of the marble slab at the bottom.

Police ruled out any foul play, again.

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This was written for the Speakeasy weekly writing prompt, the speakeasy at yeah write #151 ,which is to write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 748 words,including the title) (a) using “Life had once been defined by linears and absolutes.” as the first sentence,and (b) include some sort of reference to the photograph posted above, taken by Czintos Ödön.If you are interested in reading all the entries or joining the challenge please click on this url- http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/151-open/

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