The survivors

Lion

 

The survivors
Without a word, she dropped to the ground. She had no energy left. Her half naked body shivered and her mind telescoped within itself. She was oblivious to the hushed murmurs that rose from the group of women surrounding her or of the midwife cleaning and covering her up. Her eyes were fixed on the small, immobile bundle. Her fourth child had arrived into this world without any noise, as if protesting against the atrocities of the past. A still born…

 
She was not sure if she should be relieved or sad. She, Radha, the third wife of the village Chaudhary had failed to give him a male heir yet again. Her three daughters had been killed as soon as they had uttered their first cry. Radha had been told of the fate a new born girl would meet in the Chaudhary household by Lalita and Amodini, the first two wives of Chaudhary. They had undergone the same pain and had finally been thrown out of the house.

 
The first time it happened, Radha had cried for months but this time, she was numb. She wondered if this little one already knew that she was going to be killed-was unwanted and so had decided to end it all before it began. The Chaudhary was too egotistical to even harbour the idea that a woman was in no way responsible for a child’s gender. Not that anyone in this village knew or understood such things.

 
She knew that her time to be evicted had arrived when she saw her husband eyeing the Priest’s nubile daughter, Pallavi. His hungry gaze reminded her of a cat she had once seen, climbing a tree slowly, stalking its prey-a young bird. She thought that it ironic that the Chaudhary did not want any daughters, forgetting that it is finally a woman who gives birth to a man!

 

 

When she heard that a marriage proposal had been sent to Pallavi’s house, she shuddered at the fate that awaited the poor girl. She wished she could do something to save the young girl from her husband’s clutches but her husband was a powerful man. No one could help her and anyway all the men in the village had the same attitude. The date for her husband’s marriage was fixed .It was going to take place in three months time. She prayed for a miracle.

 
Unfortunately, nothing happened and the marriage took place on the scheduled day. Chaudhary decided not to throw Radha out simply because she was still young and beautiful. It also gave his ego a big boost to have two young wives at his beck and call, to satisfy his every need.

 
Two weeks after the marriage, the Chaudhary had to go to another village for campaigning. Panchayat elections were close and he wanted to win again. Meanwhile, Radha and Pallavi became good friends. Then, one day Pallavi confessed that she was in love with a young man. However, he belonged to a lower caste and though he was very intelligent and was going to college, they could never be together.

 
Radha got an idea .She knew there was a chance that the Chaudhary could be beaten, God willing. She remembered reading in “Mahabharata”, the epic. Kunti and Madri, the two wives of King Pandu had conceived children by invoking different Gods as their husband had been incapable of having coitus.Though, this was not really the case, and a little twisting of the original tale may work wonders here. It could also mean salvation for her and Pallavi.

 
She decided to talk to Pallavi about her plan.Pallavi was scared at first but then she caught on to it and became excited. For the two weeks Chaudhary was absent, Radha helped Pallavi meet her lover and they cohabited. Her lover was leaving for the city after the two weeks and Radha and Pallavi decided he need not know anything about their plan.

 
A month later Chaudhary was given the good news that Pallavi was expecting.

 
Both Radha and Pallavi prayed and eight months later, their prayers were answered.Pallavi gave birth to two bonny babies-both males. Everyone rejoiced and the Chaudhary threw a huge party. The two wives looked at each other and smiled, knowing that they would take this secret to their graves.

 

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This is my response to Speakeasy’s weekly writing prompt #155. The challenge this week is to(a) write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 718 words,including the title) (b) using “Without a word, she dropped to the ground.” as the first sentence, and (c) make some sort of reference to the photo prompt (which is posted above).

Speakeasy is open to everyone and if you are interested in participating or reading what other contestants have submitted for this contest,please click on this link http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/155-open/

speakeasy-new

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/

 

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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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/

 

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/

 

 
 
 

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.

                                           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 5th 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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Forever…always

Trifextra: Week Ninety-Seven

It is Friday and thus time for Trifextra:-)

This weekend we are being asked to add thirty of our own words to the following three words for a total of thirty-three. 

myopic
dazzle  
basin
 
 
Here are my 33 🙂
 
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Forever…always

 

Your honeyed lies dazzle me. Am too myopic to see the veil of deception. The sword of reality cuts deep. I bleed tears. You leave. The acid of betrayal spills, turning the basin red.

 
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The dead-end

Trifextra: Week Ninety-Six

Trifecta decided to give us all a break.How you ask?This weekend the prompt is a  33-word free write.

 

 

Ah,never knew how tough it would be-sigh!Here are my 33.

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The dead-end

Shadows chased her as she hurried through the street.

She ran into a cul de sac and turned on her pursuers- with a smile.

They froze in terror.

Her eyes glowed and her fangs shone.

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Payback time

Trifecta: Week 105

This week’s prompt is-

PLUCK: (transitive verb)  3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly

http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.tD0w3aTp.dpuf

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Payback Time

 

When I come to, the room is still dark. My head feels sore and there is a metallic taste in my mouth-blood, I think. At least the room is clean and has a bed. I can even see a small basin! I feel like a King.

This is the sixth time they have moved me to a new hiding place in the last ten months.

I have been slapped, beaten, bruised and left to bleed but not enough to kill me. I have been starved, left naked in freezing temperature, been force fed with inedible things, cajoled and threatened but they have not succeeded in getting the information they so badly need-as yet.

I am used to all this. At 40, I am the best in my business- being a double agent.

The last time I had been captured, I had been tortured for almost 2 years but had not broken. I even managed to escape, though it took me a full 8 months to get back to normalcy.

This time I have upped the stakes. I have become a triple agent!

Two years ago, my wife and child flew to a new country .My wife is now a dark eyed, dark haired beauty with no traces of her green eyes or her remarkable red hair. She used to be well rounded but now is svelte. My infant son is now a very different looking 3 year old and with no photos or, memorabilia from past life, no way one can recognize them. Their new, safe life is my reward.

Soon I will be joining them-after a plastic surgery, of course.

Before I had passed out last night, one of the torturers had said, “Tomorrow, if you do not reveal the secret plans of your government, I will personally pluck all your fingernails one day at a time.”

Thus, my immediate concern is to make it through the next week.

Then I will fly the coop.

Loyalty pays rich dividends.

Mine is due.

 

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{A triple agent pretends to be a double agent for one side, while he or she is truly a double agent for the other side. Famous triple agents include Eddie ChapmanKim Philby and Alexander Litvinenko.A lesser used definition of triple agent is an agent who works for three intelligence services, but is usually truly loyal to only one of them}

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