Perfect smiles

He polished them himself till they shone like pearls in their velvet beds.

Not even his assistant was allowed to touch them.

He loved when people smiled.

The next door shop assistant had been flashing her perfect smile at him for weeks.

So last weekend he happened to meet her and had taken her home.

This Monday, he sat at his table polishing his new acquisition and hummed.

His collection of perfect smiles was growing.

He smiled at the 24 sets of pearly white teeth displayed in the glass cabinet.

No one ever suspected.

Being an Orthodontist rocked.

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This is my first submission for Velvet Verbosity #379.The challenge is to write a 100 word fiction/poetry  using the word prompt. The prompt at Velvet Verbosity this week is “Collection.” For more details on rules of participation or to read what other writers have submitted for this challenge,hop over to visit http://www.velvetverbosity.com/100-words/

The promise

Friday Fictioneers

Yay!Finally it is Wednesday!So what is so great about it you say?Ah,but unless you are a FF junkie like me and have missed a week  for any reason-mine being  ill-health-you would not understand 🙂 You see our wonderful hostess with the mostest,lovely and super talented writer Rochelle has created a magical world for flash fiction writers at FF.Every week,over hundred writers from around the globe,hop,skip and jump to weave 100 word tales based on a photo prompt.If you are a story teller too  or love to read stories,do check  this cool site by clicking on this URL  http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/ .I promise you will be hooked forever:-)

This week, the photo is by DLovering and my 101 words,including the title follow the photo.

 

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copyright – DLovering

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The promise

 

Last minute decorations were being added.

 

Excitement permeated the wedding venue.

 

 The Bride felt nothing except anxiety.

 

 She loved another.

 

The bridegroom arrived amid loud fanfare.

 

Everyone rushed to welcome them.

 

The Bride clutched the phial of poison tightly. He had promised…

 

Suddenly the gaiety was disrupted by a band of masked men on horses.

 

They fired.

 

Bandits!!

 

People screamed.

 

The gang leader scooped the bride up on his horse.

 

As they rode across the border, the bride hugged the Bandit.

 

 “I was so afraid.”

 

“You needn’t have. I never break a promise,” replied her lover, hugging her back.

 

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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.”

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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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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/

The sleuth

Friday Fictioneers

Yay!Its Friday!No?What do you mean it is Wednesday?At FF,it is Friday and if you don’t believe it,you sure need to visit our amazing hostess Rochelle Wisoff Fields at her blog http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/.Every week,she inspires over 100 talented writers  from all over the globe to write a 100 word story based on a photo prompt.

This week the photo prompt has been provided by none other than,the Prima Donna ,Rochelle ,herself.Well,as you all can see,this is a tough photo and I had a hard time  orchestrating my lines.Thus,if it sounds off -key,kindly bear with my unskilled play.I promise to practice and do better next time(and do remember promises are meant to be broken,har!har!).My 100 word story follows just after the photo prompt below:-)

Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

                                 Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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The sleuth

‘I don’t like our neighbour. Looks like Jack the Ripper. ”

“Beatrice!”

Beatrice loved crime serials and fancied herself to be Sherlock Holmes.

“Arthur, can you hear odd sounds from upstairs?”

“No.”

“Something heavy is being dragged.”

“The bed?”

Later…

“Arthur, there is blood in the drain.”

“I don’t see any.”

“You blind? Am sure he has killed her.”

“ARTHUR! Come quick-he is escaping.”

“Go to bed.”

“But he had a sack…Am going to call the police.”

“Yes Madam, we found traces of human blood .An APB has been issued. Thank you for your call.”

Beatrice beamed.

 

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Do not disturb

Friday Fictioneers

Friday has come and gone (in my part of the world at least) and I have not yet made my entry on FF,where every week our fantastic host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields  reels in over 100 writers from all over the globe to spin their magic with the photo prompt provided,in around 100 words.For more details,please click on this –  http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/

This week I was afraid I may miss entering as my brother and his family are visiting.With tons of fun,cooking ,cleaning and outings,hardly any time left to  catch the escaped muse,which seizing it’s chance has gone on a vacation.But as all FF writers will admit,we loathe to miss getting our weekly fix ,so here is my 100 word tale(sorry if it is insipid) following this week’s photo prompt,provided by none other than the very talented and versatile Adam Ickes-thank you Adam:-)I also hope that my friends and readers will understand if I am late this week in catching up with the reading and responding.

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copyright – Adam Ickes

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Do not disturb

 

This is beautiful!

Knew you would like it buttercup.

What a view!

Wait till night falls-it is spectacular.

Why is it so deserted?

The locals say the bridge is cursed.

How?

People disappear.

Great! Now kiss me and let us disappear too.

Good idea, come closer.

Umm…

Ouch!

What happened?

Something bit my leg.

Let me see…

Jon, I am scared.

Something is not right.

What’s that slithering noise?

Let’s not wait. Run!

Unseen, the inky black creatures emerged from under the bridge and sinking their sharp teeth into the fleeing ankles, dragged them into the water.

 

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Let sleeping legends lie

the speakeasy at yeah write #152 

 

http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=19652242

Let sleeping legends lie

 

“I think we should turn back.”

“Amy, stop whining!”

“But Martin, I am tired!”

“Amy is right, and besides I think we are lost.”

“Ha! Trust you to whine and Diana, we are not lost.”

Spreading the map on a nearby rock and pointing to an X marked in red Martin said, “We are right here.”

 “Just tell me, how many hours more till we reach that darned cave?”

“Four? Okay, at the most five.”

The girls groaned.

Thick foliage made it kind of dark even in the daytime and the forest floor carpeted with pine needles and dried leaves made walking  difficult.

After an hour Amy said,”Can we take a break? My legs are killing me.”

“Ah, look what these jungle insects have done to mine!”

“Told you to wear chinos, but you were intent on fashion. Now suffer!”

“You brat! It will serve you right if there is no treasure.”

“So what, even if there is none? National Geographic or Flickr will be happy with the great photographs Martin is capturing.”

“Amy, what about your camcorder? Are you recording everything?

“Yes I am but I still think we should return now-I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Stop it Amy. Never knew you to be superstitious.”

“But, that guide..?”

“Ha! Ha! That Petra-what an entertainer! He and his cock and bull stories!”

“But what if they are true?”

“What if they are true…” mimicked Peter. “Are you daft or what Diana! A folklore that is 400 years old? Gimme a break!”

“It would be so easy to give up now but think of how much fun we will have even if it is true.”

“Fun?”

 “Yes, we will be famous .Imagine our faces on all the news channel. Young explorers reveal age old secret…”

“Shut up you two!”Diana glared

“Have you noticed suddenly how quiet it is?”Amy shivered.

“That’s because my portable radio’s batteries just conked off. But I have a set of spares, let me change them.”

A few minutes later, the forest air resonated with retro numbers and the mood lifted.

“Okay, rest for half an hour, then we stop only when we reach the cave.”

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In the cave, she stirred in sleep disturbed by forgotten images. Her grey blue scales glistened with moisture and her forked tail lay inert-for the time being. A little to her left stood two huge eggs, one green and the other blue. Two more eggs –one red, and another grey blue stood immobile. There was no sound except a faint rustling of her wide ink tipped wings. Suddenly the green egg started to vibrate and slowly cracked open. A while later the blue egg followed suit. She opened her gold flecked red eyes and instinctively moved towards the noise. Soon, a low keening filled the cave and four new lives crawled towards their mother. She gathered them close and waited. Her sharp ears had caught a long forgotten sound and she knew the images were coming to life-again. She remembered that it was in a battle with such beings that her mate had lost his life. It was time they learnt their lesson.

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“Here we are!”

“Finally! Phew!”

“Okay, let’s go in.”

“Ugh, what a horrid stench!”

“Its pitch dark in here.”

“Where are the torches? Shine the light in here.”

“Hello what’s this?”

“What? Where?”

“Over here.”

“Oh my, so cute! What is it?”

“Look at its tiny wings-it has a snout and a tail too!”

“Hello, there are three more-in different colours too!”

“Mini dragons, ha-ha!”

“Don’t laugh stupid and turn off your radio-can’t hear anything.”

“Amy, where is your camcorder? Record it pronto!”

“Martin, get all the angles! Imagine the sensation when this footage is released!”

“Better than Jurassic park, man! We are going to be bloody rich and famous!”

“No Diana! Don’t touch-they may bite.”

“Guys, have you thought that these little things may have a mom?

“OMG! What if she …It’s getting hot in here or what?”

“What is that swishing noise?

“I knew it! The legend is true!”

“Run for your lives! It is the mother Dragon!”

 

But it was too late. Only the portable radio lay there,the Bee Gees belting out ”Staying alive”,with gusto.

 

She may have been hibernating for half a century but her memory and senses were sharp. Agility and cunning made her formidable and soon she and her kids were having their first meal. 

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This was written for speakeasy #152 at yeahwrite. The challenge was (a)to write a piece of fiction or poetry,750 words or less(mine is 740 including the title)(b)to use the sentence ,”“It would be so easy.”,anywhere in the piece and (c)to make some kind of reference to the media prompt, which this week is a video for ‘Staying Alive’ by the Bee Gees.In case,this challenge interests you or you would like to read what others have written,click on this link http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/152-open/

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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

well

 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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