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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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 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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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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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/

 

 
 
 

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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Sleep Baby,sleep

Friday Fictioneers

Aha,this time it really is Friday-at least for me.Over at FF,our  immensely talented host,the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posted the photo prompt some 3 days back,setting the bar high with her amazing story.As I write this,already 81 writers have spun their magic using the photo prompt,provided by one of my favourite writers on FF,the admirable Sandra Crook.Thank you Sandra .:-)

I am late for two reasons-one I was rushing to get too many things done and second,c’cos this prompt had me stumped.However,after untangling my scrambled neurons and soothing my jangled nerves,I came up with my 100 words which follows just after the photo.

In case you are interested in participating or reading what other fantastic story tellers from around the world have come up with in just 100 words,do click on this link and pop over there to check it out http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/

 

Copyright -Sandra Crook

                                             Copyright -Sandra Crook

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Sleep Baby, sleep

 

Maude drove the tractor –trailer out of the farm at an easy pace.

Ricky’s trench coat and boots sat well on her.

She pulled the cap a little lower and adjusted her sunglasses.

Not that anyone was around at this time.

Soon the town was behind her.

Ricky sure had been surprised to see her.

He thought she was dead.

Maude touched the scars on her face.

All through their marriage, Ricky’s constant complaint was,”I am going to pieces woman, let me sleep.”

Maude turned her head.

Between bales of hay, lay Ricky, finally sleeping.

In pieces…

 

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Duped

Duped

 

 Ben felt irritable. He rubbed the back of his neck but his rigid muscles dismissed the placatory move. His stomach rumbled and knotted in protest.

He had no idea what he should do. The blue file on the desk beckoned him but for once he had no wish to be enticed by its enchanting contents.

He started pacing, raking his fingers through his hair. He had to find a solution. After all he, Ben Bradshaw was the CEO of this company.

A soft knock on the door startled him and he barked a sharp, ”Come in!”

Naomi, his personal assistant came in carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of fruit salad.”Ben, time to stop starving yourself,” she said clearing the coffee table. She added,”Mindy had called. She told me to remind you that it’s your turn to pick Stacy up from school. I will be back in 20 minutes to clear the table.”

 Ben smiled. Naomi had been a great find-reliable and trustworthy-her only weakness, a taste for handsome, high flying executives, like Ben. Not that Ben minded. Naomi was young, sexy and had no demands. She knew when to keep her mouth shut and was not clingy. And Mindy need never know.

 “Naomi, you go have lunch and yes, I will have the papers ready for the Board meeting by 4-will brief you on that too.”

Naomi smiled, winked at him and left, swinging her hips,encased in a beautifully tailored, slim red skirt, knowing well the effect it had on Ben.

Ah, but no point in dwelling over those forbidden pleasures now, Ben told himself, that’s for this weekend when Mindy flies off for her annual fashion show at Milan. For now, he needed to eat first and then get back to work.

 

Wolfing down the fruit salad Ben realized that he had been ravenous. Good no one could see him eating like a pig, he chuckled. Satiated, he started sipping the coffee and mulled over the contents of the file. He had hired a special agency to look into embezzlement from company accounts and they had come up with shocking facts.

Ben had all the facts, figures, dates and the names behind the racket. He was shocked that it had been going on for over a year and no one had had any inkling. But, tomorrow morning, in the board meeting all the masks would be off and a lot of heads would roll. He was waiting for the last two names on his hit list.

The intercom on his desk buzzed.”There is a special delivery for you Sir.” It was Robin, the lobby manager. “Should I send the package in?”He asked.”Do that Robin and please see to it that I am not disturbed for the next ten minutes. Naomi is out for lunch.”

 

As he read the last report, Ben frowned. The more he read the more his eyes widened. How could it be? His lips pursed into a thin line as he read the last words.

Where was Naomi? He needed to talk to her.

Ben stood up and the room swam. He clutched at the table, trying to steady himself. Queasiness clutched at his innards. His stomach heaved and he stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. Everything that he had eaten came up in stringy gobs. He lay there drained, seeing black spots, unable to move. He clutched at his heart, sweat soaking his shirt. He was being sucked into a black hole of excruciating pain.

 

The door opened. It was Naomi.

She was smiling.

Mindy stood behind her.

She looked grim.

Ben tried to speak but no sound came.

“Hush!”said Naomi,” I know you found out the last name was mine.”

“Why don’t we tell him all before he breathes his last, Naomi?”

“Poor dear! He has no idea that he has been had  by both of us working hand in glove,” clucked Naomi.

“I think the poison is working. Today’s dose has triggered the heart attack we were waiting for.”

“Yes, let us rehearse the last act once more, before the ambulance arrives.”

 

At school, six year old Stacy waited for her Dad to come pick her up. One by one all her friends left and the hall emptied. Stacy sat on the steps outside the school, forlorn, clutching the card she had made that day. Her small mouth quivered and a sob escaped her as she waited for someone to tell her what to do next.

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The above story is my entry for the speakeasy at yeah write #150,this week.The challenge was to (a) write a work of fiction in 750 words or less (mine is 749,including the title) (b) use the following as the last sentence:  “She waited for someone to tell her what to do next.”  (c) make some sort of reference to the video short The Black Hole (click on the high-lighted title to watch).For more details click on this url http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/150-open/

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The Crusader

Speakeasy #149

MurielStreeter

 

The Crusader

“Don’t blame the sinner, “whispered the cloaked figure, bending over the terrified, supine girl, a dagger poised over her heart.

“CUT!” shouted the Director.”Robert, for Pete’s sake put some menace into that whisper. You sound like you have a bunch of tadpoles jammed up your throat!”

The unit sniggered. This kind of scenario was common when Robert was shooting.

Robert shuffled his feet, looking like an errant school boy, embarrassment writ large on his angelic features. His face was his biggest asset and helped him get some bit roles. This time it had been a meatier role as he was playing the Villain.

“Take 22! Let’s roll-Robert, no mistakes this time”, the Director growled at him.

Robert sighed and took his position.

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It was drizzling and the streets wore a deserted look.

The inky darkness of the night pressed on from all sides, making visibility poor. The atmosphere burgeoned like a pregnant woman, on the verge of giving birth to some evil spawn.

Through the gloom, the lights looked almost feral.

The dark figure stood in front of the cottage in the second lane. There was something about the stance which made even the street dogs stay away. The hood was drawn over the head  and there was no trace of anything below-as if darkness had swallowed it whole, leaving behind an empty shell.

A woman‘s silhouette could be seen through the lacy curtains on the window. She was reading.

After a while, the figure moved and disappeared into the house through the shadows.

The figure entered the room and silently went and stood behind the woman. Sensing a movement, she turned and opened her mouth to scream but before she could, the figure held her swan like neck and snapped it and her head lolled.

Picking up the body, the figure moved out of the house and dumping it beside the neighbour’s garage,walked away.

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 He is 10. He has been naughty and so has been sent to his room. But there is a party at the house and he loves parties and good food. So he decides to slink into the dining hall before the guests arrive. As he enters the passage leading to the dining room, he hears strange noises from his parent’s bedroom and peeks in. He is surprised first and then angry to see his Uncle and Mom kissing each other. Then his heart jumps to his throat as he hears them plotting his Dad’s murder. That night he hides and watches helplessly as his handsome Dad sips the poisoned wine, standing under his favourite painting, “The Chess Queens”.

When the Police arrive, well placed clues lead them into believing that the butler has a hand in this murder and so he is jailed.

His mother acts the bereaved wife perfectly, looking oh so fragile and heart -broken. To him, she looks eerily like the lady in the black gown and veil in his father’s favourite painting.

Ironic, for soon she will look like the ghostly white one standing opposite the lady in black.

Six years later, he kills his Uncle in the same manner and manages to pin the murder on his mother. She rots in jail for a murder she did not commit, mourning for her lost love, yet unable to express her grief openly. He enjoys seeing her lose her rosy hue and gradually become ashen and frayed, falling to pieces like a moth eaten blanket.

Vengeance is his.

Growing up, he realizes that there are more Moms and Uncles in this world than he cares for and they all need to be taught a lesson.

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Sometimes it is his angelic face and at others his bumbling manner which makes the needle of suspicion always point elsewhere-lucky Robert!

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This is written for speakeasy writing challenge #149.For this week’s challenge we were required to use  the following sentence as the FIRST line: “Don’t blame the sinner.”Secondly, we had to let the artwork above ,”“The Chess Queens,” by Muriel Streeter, influence our writing and last but not the least ,submissions had to be fiction or poetry and be under 750 words.(mine is 633,including the title).If you are interested in reading more submissions or joining the challenge,click on this link- http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/149-open/

Walking away

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

                                                                     Image courtesy of Unsplash.

 

 

Walking away

Sophia looked at the retreating back of her lover and thought, how rigid his stance was-just like him.

Long after he had disappeared into the sandy horizon, she continued sitting there, looking at the Sunset over the dunes and reflected on love and life.

Their love life had been like these undulating dunes-ever changing and harsh on the travellers-him and her.

Her love for him was all encompassing, like the sea, carrying away all that was negative between them like flotsam. At times tidal waves of passion pulled at her heart and at others silent storms raged within. Just like the sea, her moods could change with deceptive ease but it was always he who caused those changes.

His love was beautiful but cold like the moon. No, she decided, it was more like the desert. She travelled through his heart, scorched and dying of thirst. Her life felt bleached of all colours and the oasis of love that she was looking for turned out to be only a mirage.

And finally, today after years of yearning and longing, it had all come to naught. He had walked away, unable to bear the burden of her love. What had he said? Oh, that he was not meant to be a family man- that love was not for him. The world beckoned and he had to leave.

She smiled ruefully, wiping at the tears that threatened to spill over. Well, she thought, time to tame the beast called love that had chained her heart for so many years- time she set herself free too.

She toyed with the sand, holding it in her fist and letting it fall free. She realized that while some grains fell off smoothly, a few still remained stuck to her fingers .She mused that painful memories were just like a fistful of sand –while one could let go of some easily, others would require more effort and time.

With that she smiled, stood up and started walking towards a new beginning…

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This was written for  Write on Edge using either the photo prompt above or the quote,”If you must speak ill of another, do not speak it, write it in the sand near the water’s edge.”~Napoleon Hill. I decided to go with the photo.Word count  337,including the title.For more details on the challenge,please click on this link-http://writeonedge.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Prompt: 2014, Week 6