Strangers on my wall

Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!

via Ermila Blog

Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.

I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.

If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.

I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.

Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading

Skinny dip

Here I am, with a glaring gap of prompts eyeing me. Here you are, probably unawares of the fact up to the point I gave myself away. Why do I mention this every time? A bit guilty perhaps. But that’s fine. Here’s mine in fifty words!

via Ermilia Blog, please click to see original post.

via Ermilia Blog, please click to see source.

 The sun was yawning. Spell broken. The crisp wetness clung to us. A shiver arrowed down my spine. Continue reading

Fresh Apples

Devina:

Boys will be boys :)

Originally posted on The Excellence Asylum:

Okay, so I know we don’t usually do creative writing – in the form of shot stories – around here but it’s good be eclectic. Today’s piece is probably the briefest one so far and designed in mind to make you smile, or so I hope :)

(via The Apple Bin Farm Market)

Little Johnathon Rhodes was a dying slow death in the painfully long line to the Ferris Wheel right beside his mum. There was a smelly old man behind them who looked like he crawled out of Mr. Humphrey’s dumpster. Not a comforting thought in these troubling times. He tugged at his mum’s skirt in panic. He was going to explode. Any. Minute. Now.

She turned around and peered down. Frustration etched in her wrinkles, tired white flags of a battle lost. “What is it?”

He could not speak. If he did the dam would break. Shifting uneasily…

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Out in the cold

It was so cold Lori could feel the bones in her little body go slowly numb. She hugged herself tightly but it did nothing to ward off the nibbling shards of winter wind. But it was still pretty. Yes. Remember the good things her daddy said when things feel bad. But it was more than bad this time and didn’t think there was anything good enough in the world that could heal the hurt inside her. But she let the delicate lattice of the snowflakes, her most favourite thing, distract her from a fact she had to face. Lori hung on to the moment as long as she could, letting the tears from the sky land gracefully on her upturned face and feather chilly kisses in mock comfort. Painfully, she lowered herself to the unyielding ground to the truth.

She was there for who knows how long, it was at dawn when the baker opened his door to find the milkman still standing on the steps, limp hands hung at his sides and together they looked on helplessly at the opposite side of the narrow street Continue reading

Picture it and Write: Behind the scenes

This is my piece for this week’s Picture it and write! entry. I wanted to write fiction on the following themes for a long time this prompt gave me an opening. It has a lot of teenage sentiments thrown in and a couple of names girls would throw around. In other words, it has a few swears in here. No F-bombs, be assured, and also one R rated scene. Be warned.

via Ermilia Blog, click to see mother post.

via Ermilia Blog, click to see mother post.

One more year. It was a chant at the back of my head that kept me moving along to the motions of the living for the past two years. High school takes a toll on everybody and it was killing me like slow poison. Labels, labels, labels. The hate was a stale perfume in the air but it gets intense when the rival cliques pass each other in the hall or the cafeteria. Jerk jocks, hulking around like they were God’s gift to us fawning women. I’d really like to think about the good parts of these people but they prove me wrong. Just one more year. Twelve months and twenty days, fourteen hours, twenty five minutes and 30 seconds, give or take a few, and counting. 

I have two best friends, both of whom were guys, and as time crawled on I learned it wasn’t something that was very common these days  unless you were a tomboy which I suppose I was but not in the strictest sense, or if you were gay. The other kids call me names I don’t care for, Don and Patch were just friends. We would all laugh about it at the end of the day, it’s something you learn to live with and it’s not that hard once you know yourself but I came a long way from the insecure girl I once was, the world was way scarier then.

I was in the locker room washing off from tennis practice. I stepped out of the shower and reached for my towel. I wasn’t alone as I thought I was. I hurried up and dried off, not wanting anyone to see my nakedness and make use of some snarky comment they no doubt practiced a hundred times in their little heads. I grabbed my things but my glasses were clouding up with the steam and by the time I got them reasonably clear I realized I was heading in the wrong direction.

The door was on the opposite side of the room, I was moving to the source of the soft sounds. I’m sure I would regret this later but I peeked around the last row of lockers. Well, I’ll be damned. I spied with my two foggy eyes Continue reading

Amber swirls

After staring at this photo for the most of the week, my mind (more like Favashi, in the background) chased inspiration since I was still thinking at the pace of honey on a hot day. So here’s my little piece for Ermilia’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts!

(via Ermilia Blog)

(via Ermilia Blog. Please click to visit the original post.)

I had been furious with myself for the past few months. I’d made a rash decision and cut my long, brown hair half its original length. I was to be blamed but good friends are what they are, super nice people, who break the truth to you as it is with no chocolate frosting on top even when it’s the last thing I wanted to hear. The few close ones I can really say I have do come through for me. Like now, Clyve’s fingers were working their magic on my head, ‘finishing touches’ I was informed five minutes ago were in progress, but that was right before he started all over again.

“Mmm … well this is the best I can do. It doesn’t look bad at all when you put it up like this,” he finally said. I heard a sharp snap and he spun me around in his chair and showed me the French braid on his phone. “But I’m still mad at you for not coming to me first,” he whined and sounded more than a little hurt.

“I’m sorry, okay? Like I said, it was a stupid thing to do and I will regret it for the rest of my life but I know you would be a darling to fix me up,” I fluttered my lashes over a sincere smile, “I really like what you’ve done with it.”

“Aw well, it’s nothing,” he gestured with his graceful hands, mollified, “I’m closing up for lunch in a few, what say we grab something at Subway’s?” Clyve asked as he loosened the Velcro on the polka dot cape around my neck. I nodded and picked up my tiny cup of tea on the counter.

My eyes wondered over to the man who just came in. Blackest hair I’ve ever seen on a blue eyed guy, suffice to say he was easy on the eyes. I chewed on my bottom lip as a feeling of déjà vu sneaked itself up in my mind. Continue reading

Just another Saturday

DSCN3844She couldn’t get a wink of sleep. Every time Ree closed her eyes a story began playing behind her lids, usually the same one for a while. It had to do with a woman who’s afraid of being in love falling for some Italian guy. What is it with them Italian men? Huh. Finally after having enough of not having any sleep at all she got up and tip toed out, into the hall and tothe bathroom, ggrabbing a box of chai on the desk.

The clock read 4:25 AM and she got out her phone, selected the playlist and clicked on the stopwatch. She danced. She danced on the rug and cold white tiles, to Ricky Martin, to Elvis, to Brian Adams, to Sting and Neil Diamond. Ree could safely say that she had danced like no one was looking, because well, no body was. She felt her muscles loosen and her body get hotter. She felt alive and wide awake when some people were fortunate enough to sleep at all.

In between she threw in squats, lunges and twists (Cup of Life …), clapping, finger snapping and swaying to Cherry Cherry and lost it with Livin’ La Vida Loca. In the early hours this seemed ridiculous but at the same time, why not? She could say one day years later ‘this one time when I couldn’t shut my eyes I danced in the bathroom at heaven’s knows what time, and damn did it feel good’, have a good laugh over it then and remember. She had danced for twelve minutes.

photoAfter a bath she slipped into a comfy clashing set of PJs and tiptoed back in front and slid the glass window open. The cool, crisp morning breeze welcomed her with a caress, and to the sight below. The market was a bimonthly event here. The vendors set up their wooden stalls the night before with length of zinc sheets nailed on to the tops, blue tarps were thrown up here and there under which people walked about under the dusky blue sky. This early you’d get good vegetables and fruits and later in the day the prices depreciate with the condition of the produce.

The air was filled with the unintelligible babble of sellers and their customers, bargains were struck, curses were flung and all that noise that filled these places. The sounds mingled with the scents of herbs, the fresh thyme with jalapenos and a medley of others of what can be bought but so far the air was still sweet and hardly tainted, unlike later during midday with the sweat added to the mix.

As the sky got brighter the colourful layout beneath stood out more, it was beautiful with nice plump pumpkins stacked over there by the plant lady, the pretty purples of the eggplants, and the rainbow of fruits sprinkled about, plus the various hues of pinks, blues, yellows and greens worn by the constantly moving crowd. She saw a Rasta carry a bunch of brooms over his shoulder and by the looks of it they were fresh and green as well, midribs newly stripped off from the coconut branches.  It would have been better still if some of those people actually didn’t despise her. That was something Ree accepted when she was younger, not everyone will like you and pleasing anyone was mostly stupid and pointless so just deal with it and have less to do with them. Life was fine enough so far.

Birdies

Above the many heads, birds were calling out to one another, fluttering around, some went as low to perch on a donkey cart only to flit away seconds later into the nest it made in an old lamp post shade a few feet away. There were the trees whose leaves played together and made a sound that sounded like the ocean, overlapping and peaceful. It was an orchestra, man and nature coming together in a sort of harmony. The clouds above were a splendid touch to this painting, the darker purple ones chasing westwards in hope of clinging to the last traces of dawn against streaks of pinks and oranges, slowly bleached to the uniform of the day. Inevitable, but they still try anyway. She liked that.

And she stood there taking it all in with Mozart softly flowing in her ears melting her into her surroundings. It was another dayTea time 2 with new possibilities, another encouragement of our Mother that even she doesn’t give up, not so easily so why should we? Discouragement in his many forms could only hold you in a suspension but the time doesn’t stop. Move along. Ree had a class in a next few hours, being half ready she lingered there for a while longer. But then there was a lovely bag of tea waiting to be brewed, so with not a final glance outside she smiled to the world and said softly, “Here I come”.

P.S: All the pictures were taken by myself.

Shilo

This is my bit after a few weeks of missing out on Picture It and Write!

via ermiliablog

No body wanted to play with me. They say they don’t have time for silly things, mommy and daddy were always doing big people things. They fight sometimes but only when they think I’m asleep, I think they don’t want me to know. I asked mommy if I can have a little brother or sister to play with but she looks at me funny, her face crumples but she smiles and says, “Honey girl, I don’t know about that. We’re happy that we have you, I know that you feel lonely but you have me and dad’s love all for yourself.” But that’s not true because they don’t have time for me anymore, but I like to believe that they do.

But I’d like to have a brother, I know he’ll like me a lot even if the other kids at school don’t. I will teach him how to make a stone skip in the pond at the park and I’ll show him how to play hopscotch and he’ll be my best friend. Miss Belle said the other children are my friends but they don’t make me feel like they really are, they tease me because I don’t talk much and it doesn’t make sense to me why they do that. Why does that make me a weirdo? I do have one friend, he’s my secret friend.

After school most days daddy drops me of at Nana’s. I wish I could live there all the time. She’s the only grown up who listens to me and answers my questions and never tells me to ‘go along now and play nice’ somewhere. Nana makes the yummiest hot chocolate and peanut butter cookies. She would hug me in her lap and tell me stories about her adventures in Paris when the big war was on a long time ago.

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Lake in the woods

This is my bit for last week’s Picture It and Write! photo challenge brought to you by Ermilia Blog. I’ve read some very well written entries for this one and most were tragic in one way or another, the photo surely inspires such trains of thought but my mind tends to veer in the other direction. Shall we follow and see where it leads?

woods

via Ermilia Blog

They say around, the way you’ve asked for me. There’s even talk of you wanting me … I need to know, oh baby girl, I need to know … wondering if you’re gonna take me there … it’s getting harder not to think of you … If it’s true don’t leave me alone out here … tell me what you’re feeling … I need to know … I need to know … I need to know … … …

The Latino beats were ripples in my blood, growing into giant waves of a jittery high that crashed inside me as I moved in time, as my limbs interpreted the lively, seductive rhythm. The music, the dance, the heat of it. It was like a fever in my veins but I was going to out scorch it, I’ll be damned if I didn’t. My skin was slick with exertion, breaths left and entered my lips in sharp rushed bursts. I felt on fire as I twirled on the tips of my toes in my ballet pumps, my shoulders got into it, my arms had a mind of their own. I conjured him here with me, my shadow prince in my dreams. His handsome features hidden under a mask of midnight, how I longed to see beneath it.

I threw my head back, eyes closed, as the blare of the trumpets swept me away, my hips swayed with the delicious spicy beats. I imagine his hand closing around my waist, the other one taking possession of my wrist pulling me closer and away. I grit my teeth as I stepped up my pace. Feeling more that a bit wanton in this snatched moment, no rules, no delicate movements here like what was demanded of me in the studio, but still graceful as the Black Swan. My body was free, mine to manipulate.

“Marie? Are you still up?” my mother called from the front door. Crap. I came to a halt. He faded once again to nothingness, smoke chased away by the cold wind of reality that strode in after the woman who insisted on its constant presence. I hurried over to cut Mark Anthony off in the middle of the chorus in time to hear her keys drop with a feint clatter in the bowl on the coffee table. She didn’t consider this music of quality. I love Mozart and his lot, don’t get me wrong, but tame music all the day long never did a body any good. I wonder, though, if Mark was loud enough for her to have heard him.

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Trapped

This is my piece for last week’s Picture It and Write! entry.

via ermiliablog

via ermiliablog

He stumbled backwards in haste before tripping on the extra long lab coat in an attempt to remove himself as far has he could from the giant glass tube in front of him. Under the relative safety of the desk the only disturbance in the air was his uneven breathing and the distant hiss, a result of the process now in progress which he had initialized after hitting the orange button on his way to hiding. A last resort, which meant this wing of the building was now on lock-down.

The little man sat there curled into a ball, dreading the outcome of the experiment. It was no use thinking that he knew it would have gone downhill after the second stage, the commander didn’t care. He wanted it done and he’d wanted it done fast. The bastard’s getting it alright, but not as they’d planned. Gathering up whatever traces of courage that was left, he chanced a peek. The woman, Lannie Jessup, was plastered against the glass in a thick viscous layer of steadily drying goo, it clung to her like the second skin it was, sparing no dip or curve. Trapped before she could have escaped and wrapped those long strong fingers around his scrawny neck.

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