Friday 9 March 2018

The Villa









                                                        Photo Prompt by Sandra Crook.


The Villa that had weathered a century of rain and sunshine, stood upright 

sheltering anyone who set their eyes on its facade.


Her mother held her little finger and the other hand held the featherweight 

duffel bag but the emotional baggage weighed down her young shoulders.

“Has papa bought this big house for us, mother?” questioned little Mary with 

pride in her heart.

“Your papa has gone away to greener pastures”, grinding her teeth with 

bitterness.

“I start work as a laundry maid and you keep out of trouble”. 


Mary leaned forward and looked up to see the wet cheeks.


                   Friday Fictioneers. Thank you Rochelle

                                                          

word count  : 100

Saturday 3 March 2018

Walk the path.


         Sunday Photo Fiction






  25 Mike Vore February 25th 2018
                                                   Thanks Mike Vor the photo prompt


Is the way going away or approaching towards me?

Is this the beginning of an end or an end of the beginning?

Does this road lead to the Heaven or a journey to Hell? Who will guide my shadow?

This walkway doesn't seem to be paved with petals , do scorpions lurk in the crevices?

The wooden planks must the ghosts of the tree bark. Will they haunt my mind?

Do the twists of the pathway portend a catastrophe? I know not.

The bard stood transfixed and ruminated. The wind whispered nothing . The sun-rays added more cacophony to his muddled grey cells.

A multicolored ball bounced breaking the silence.  Thou are blocking the path. Make way , said the cherubic cheeks and ran with gay abandon.

Didn't the questions arise in his little mind?, racked the poetic mind or has he his answers?

Nay,  Let me not cogitate. He strode the path to reach the other end.


                                                        Sunday Photo Fiction


                                                      

Windmills of God.


                Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers


                 

                                             Thanks Fandango for the picture prompt.



Nikhil was never enthralled by the sport of boxing. Barbaric, he termed it. However, he is 

rudely tossed in the ring without the protective gloves and his opponent is a formidable 

one.

The numerous blows that he has received has made him gather himself up albeit a 

weaker shadow. Separation from spouse perturbed him. Another blow was the demise of 

his first-born. He is relieved that his parents are not around to watch his plight. The desk 

job that kept his body and soul together is gone.

Nikhil’s tousled was the result of neglect rather than the wind churning from the 

Windmills of God.

The unfavorable roll of the dice is deciding his destiny. The vagrant turn of the wheel of 

fortune is shrinking his confidence. He has to pick up the un-tessellated pieces to 

complete a picture.

His gaze shifts to the giant windmill. I will not be a victim, he declares.



                      Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.Thank you Priceless Joy



                                         

word count: 152

Friday 2 March 2018

Ravenous




It slithered around the rough bark climbing up. Twenty pair of black claws impeded its 

progress. However, the scaly creature defied the cacophony of cawing and clawing to 

reach the eggs cocooned in the nest on the highest branch. It was a war, a war of one 

species versus the other. Nikhil held the pink slip between his fingers and un-spooled in 

his mind, the war fought in the boardroom with his own species. The Law of the Jungle 

was very much evident in the urban concrete. He had to fight his own battles. The ravens 

were still cawing.


                                      CARROT RANCH FLASH FICTION.