Going green

mage courtesy of Unsplash.

 

The ladies tea club was holding its fortnightly meeting today. The meeting was of course just a ruse for the ladies of the four blocks to meet and gossip in the community recreational hall. Every member was expected to volunteer at least once a year. The chosen member paid for all the refreshments and was expected to give a small token of appreciation.

 
Marla was not happy. This fortnight, her neighbour Sanchi had been chosen. Marla had never really liked Sanchi who had moved into the next apartment recently. She had observed some strange people entering but never leaving Sanchi’s house. Yes, she had kept a constant watch through her peephole-one can’t trust foreigners. Sanchi had Gypsy blood, she was sure. I mean who else had that olive skin, kohl lined eyes and long black hair!

 
But Marla simply could not afford to miss all the gossip. So off she went.

 
Sanchi stood at the door, thanking everyone and handing over a small plant .As she handed it, she whispered something to each member which made them smile. Marla did not like the looks of that plant but stood waiting. Maria, her friend was in front of her. Sanchi whispered something and handed over the plant to Maria and Marla was astonished to see Maria hugging Sanchi. Maria never hugged anyone and Marla had been her friend for the last 5 years!

 
Her turn came and Marla was sorely tempted to refuse it but good manners made her grin and bear it. Sanchi handed her the creepy looking plant and whispered, “Plant it in every window ledge and your happiness will multiply. The world will cease to matter and you will be reunited with Luke.”

 
Marla was shocked. No one knew about Luke-her husband, who had disappeared some 6 years back. How did this woman know about her secret? She was definitely not going to plant anything anywhere. She threw the plant in a dustbin in the hall.

 
A week later she was surprised to see greenery sprouting from every apartment and laughter and music emanating from all corners. But strangely she could see no one anywhere. So she decided to call on Maria who lived on the tenth floor.

 
As she reached the landing, a strange smell made her recoil. She was horrified to see green tendrils of some strange plant blocking Maria’s door. When she tried to go near, it hissed and snarled, Frightened she backed off.
Back home, she dialed every number in her phone book but was greeted with only silence. That night, she heard strange slithering noises in the corridor.

 
Morning saw her packing her bags-she had to leave! But when she came out of her apartment she was petrified to see thick green, bulbous curtains, blocking all exits.

 
Marla realized it was too late to escape! The world would definitely cease to matter now for she was going to die and be reunited with Luke, whom she had murdered 6 years ago.

 

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The above story was written for Write on Edge,writing prompt:2014,Week 21.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 ,Go oft to the house of thy friend, for weeds choke the unused path.” by Ralph Waldo Emerson,or use both.For more details or to participate please click  on this url http://writeonedge.com/2014/05/writing-prompt-2014-week-21/

 

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The harvest

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/

 

No reprieve

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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/

 

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/

Gone with the mist

Write on Edge

                                                                             Image courtesy of Unsplash.

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Gone with the mist

 

Meghan woke up sweating. Her heart was racing. This was the fourth time this week that she had the same nightmare.

 Beside her, Jimmy, her husband stirred, opened his eyes and smiled.”Already up? What’s the time?”

Meghan propped herself on her elbow and peered at the table clock. “It is just 5 a.m.You go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get some exercise. Can’t let myself become fat!” She smiled at him mischievously.

Not one to let such an opportunity pass him by, Jimmy retorted,”Come back to bed and let me be the judge of that.”

She laughed, swatting him playfully and before he could react, she slipped past his grasping hand, and entered the bathroom.

 Fifteen minutes later she was running at an easy pace, enjoying the fresh morning air and nature’s beauty. She loved the forest and she was glad that Jimmy did too. They had been very lucky to find such a lovely property in the countryside. She was a freelancer and had turned her hobby of photography into her profession. Proximity to the forest gave her ample scope to engage in her hobby and earn both money and fame professionally. Her dream was to work for National Geographic someday. Jimmy was a marine biologist. His work took him away for months but then again, on the flip side, he could be home at a stretch of 30-35 days, like now. Meghan sighed. Life was good.

Halfway across her route, she suddenly became aware of the quietness and was surprised. At this time, the forest just teemed with life! She slowed down and looked around. Her eyes widened. A mist was rolling in. She was filled with a sense of foreboding. She decided to turn back and go home.

As she ran, the mist thickened and she found it hard to see the path. She had hardly gone a few metres, when she felt something grab her ankle, and she fell.

“Ouch!”She cried out involuntarily. She sat up gingerly. The ground seemed squelchy and smelled like rotting dead creatures. Meghan tried to get up but her ankle gave way. She sat there and cursed herself for not bringing her cell phone. How many times had Jimmy cautioned her!

Suddenly, she heard a horrible keening and her blood ran cold. This was the same sound she had been hearing in her nightmare. She could hear something shuffling and dragging itself through the trees-something that she did not want to see. Her heart in her mouth, Meghan started searching for some weapon, knowing very well that whatever was coming, could not be stopped.

Her mind went back to the rumours she had heard in the market- the locals mentioning something about some strange mist which  took over the area every alternate Summer, and changed everything and  that every time, a young woman went missing!

The unbearable stench was making her gag. The keening hurt her ears. Meghan was terrified but she had nowhere to run.

It had arrived.

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The above story (500 words)was written for Write on Edge .For more details,rules etc about this site,please click on this url-http://writeonedge.com/2014/01/writing-prompt-2014-week-4/

Writing Prompt: 2014, Week 4

The reluctant warrior

Write at the Merge

Writing Prompt: Week 2

The Low-Down:

• 500 word limit
• linky is open until Thursday, January 16, at 11:55pm Pacific
• Use the quote as an opening/closing line, draw inspiration from it, or choose the photo instead.
• Use the photo, or stick with the quote.
• Use both if you are so inclined!
• Please read at least the link on either side of yours (last linker? read the first one)
• Please comment where you read. If you are comfortable giving constructive criticism, feel free. If not, tell the writer something about the experience of reading their piece. This community’s goals are to support, nurture, and challenge our writers.

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“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.”
~ L. P. Hartley: The Go-Between (1953)

                                           Image courtesy of Unsplash.

This is my first time writing for “Write at the merge”.I chose the photo above for my story.Hope the story is enjoyable.(500 words including the title).

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The reluctant warrior

 

“Be careful Jovian. This is your last chance.”

That had been his Commander cautioning him as he left their pod.

Jovian stepped up to the edge of the forest.

Nothing moved.

It was eerily quiet.

Yet, he could feel eyes watching him.

When he looked down he could see nothing except a serpentine grey rope like thing stretching endlessly between the clump of blackened trees and dead bushes.

Jovian’s job was to travel through time and conquer new territories and colonize them. This was his 5^th such assignment and if he failed again, he would be vaporized.

He hated being a time warrior. His dream was to be a trooper of love but he had materialized in the warrior unit and thus had no say. His Commander was good and had tried to shield his birth defect from enquiring eyes but now it was do or vaporize…

Morosely, he stepped forward and immediately found his feet ensnared in the grey vine and before he could react, he was hanging by his feet.

Jovian opened his eyes and met the most beautiful violet blue eyes. His green eyes saw a girl with ivory skin and a pair of blue gossamer wings, crinkling up her nose at him. In spite of his captivity, Jovian had to laugh.

She was just a girl and he was a warrior-even if not a successful one! Did she think she could hold him up here?

With a twist of his arms, he freed himself and stood next to the girl.

The girl seemed unperturbed. She gestured for him to follow her and took to the air.

Intrigued, Jovian followed her into the forest.

After about an hour’s walk, they reached a waterfall.

The girl alighted beside him and led him into the cool, refreshing water. Jovian stepped in with trepidation and was taken aback by what he saw beyond.

A whole Universe of amazing beings-some magical, others beautiful, many  looked beastly, some  seemed ugly, a lot were tiny while others were giants but all co-existed peacefully and looked happy. No one wanted to hurt anyone, no one seemed irritated or angry.

“My name is Aara”, the girl said in a voice dipped with honey.

Aara and Jovian became inseparable and as days became weeks and weeks turned into months, Jovian easily adapted to the new life. He forgot about his mission, his roots and began living for love.

When Jovian proposed to Aara she just smiled and told him, “Wait. It is not time yet.”

Tonight Jovian woke up to find himself curled up in a ball, shivering all over.

 ”Aara!”, he called out.

He felt her flutter down beside him softly.

He stretched and felt something unfurl behind him.

He was mesmerized to see that he had grown a pair of silvery red wings.

“Welcome home, my love,” smiled Aara and time stood still.

Jovian finally understood why his heart had yearned to be a trooper of love. Love was his destiny.

 

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