Brew trouble

This week'sprompt is neither a sentence prompt nor a picture prompt. It is just an instruction that you need to follow. Hide at least one truth about yourself in the story, among the lies. Hide it well, let the readers guess, have fun reading others’ stories, and guessing their truth amidst the lies. Make sherlock proud, use the ‘science of deduction’.   Take out the magnifying glass and read between the lines.

                            My party has lost the hold on assembly polls. 

The psephologists hadn't predicated this but the inevitable has happened. The political 

pundits are having a field day analyzing and dissecting each defeat. Panic has spread like 

wild fire in the upper echelons of the party and the grass root level workers numbering in 

millions, are losing hope.

I have congratulated the winning party, acknowledged defeat and bowed to the people's 

verdict. The print Media and digital communications have splashed the news with 

alacrity. The Twitter twittered the cacophony. Memes circulating on social media and the 

political arena have metamorphosed into a giant entertainment bazaar.

I am the lone person maintaining the calm amidst this avalanche.

I know that after the last cracker has been burst, there will be a mad clamor for 

ministerial berths. Who would be the CM? There is trouble troubling  the winning camp.

I can feel a smile spreading on my serene face. My right hand holds a cup of strong brew 

while only my left hand knows that a hornet's nest has been stirred in the opposition 

camp.
                                 I grew up brewing tea and trouble.

                                                    


                                                   #TellTaleThursday with Anshu and Priya

Loyal

FFfAW Challenge – 195th

                      

            This week's photo prompt is provided by Jodi McKinney. Thank you Jodi!

The sky was a melange of hues. Did it portend the end of the day or the beginning of the night?  She has no answers.

She had finished her knitting work and the cat purred luxuriously. She caressed the fur. Cats are loyal creatures, she said to herself.

The pots and pans were on the gas stove, keeping the food warm and juicy. The plates and cutlery were in the right places. The table was decorated with dainty lace napkins. The flowers were fresh and smiling.

She peered behind the heavy curtains at the distant undulating road. The twin headlights seemed to pierce the darkness while moving at a hurried pace.

She smiled and welcomed him home.

The perfume wafting from his clothes hit her nostrils and she felt a tinge of familiarity.

He had not mended his ways. Cats are the only loyal creatures.

                              
                          This would be his last supper.

                                                



                      Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks you, Priceless Joy.

Word count  : 151

better late than never.

                                                         


                                                                                       Copyright –Douglas M. MacIlroy

Nikhil had never bothered to learn the 3 R’s. He felt he could make a success without 

their crutch.

He joined Neeta’s Hobby class as a cleaner and he proved himself wrong.

The kids enrolled in schools came to learn extracurricular activities and were deft with 

their fingers and brain. His inferiority complex multiplied and ego took a beating.

The papier machie ball balanced on the red bucket beckoned him. It was rough but would 

be smoothened, painted and decorated to take a fancy shape. Its market value trebled.  

             Sensing his predicament, Neeta advised him to join a night-school.

                                                  Friday Fictioneers.Thanks Rochelle W.
             

                                               

word count : 100

morning reflections

" You look so beautiful", said the painter, " wish I could hold a giant mirror to showcase your grandeur"

"The branches swayed lightly, acknowledging the words.

HE was witnessing the scene from the clouds.

HE murmured as the breeze carried the message, " look at the reflections in the placid waters".


                                             O Man!!!

                                             thou admire the reflections

                                             and pen verses,

                                             thy brush paint a thousand pictures.

                                             Do you see thy reflections

                                             in the waters of your conscience?

shuuush , 
the breeze whispered
to tiptoe by,
without stirring
the meditating trees.

I obeyed,
stood quietly,
listened to the quietness
inhaled the calmness.
Peace radiating into each pore.



                                                 


                                 Linking to Wordless Wednesday. Thanks Esha and Natasha.

Pruned

            She wore black and her face was dull and withered.

Mourners wondered how she would live her life without him. They were blissfully 

together for 30 summers. Or was it the way the world perceived ? Only she knew the 

truth. Dementia had taken a toll on his mind and had ravaged her soul. As a primary care-

giver she suffered the most.

Her fledglings had taken a leap in the open skies. She was instrumental in strengthening 

their delicate feathers. A proud mother, she saw them fly away to foreign lands. She 

waved to them with a heavy heart.

Her young  shoulders efficiently shouldered the domestic machinery running smoothly.

She tended to his sick mind and body as a dutiful wife. She had done enough to fulfill all 

her roles.

As the tender rays peeped through the curtains, she looked out at the  Fiat and 

Ambassador parked in the open space of her house. The vehicles were gnawed with 

dust and neglect. The place resembled a junkyard. The ground beneath was 

with moldy and dirty.

                              She had already made up her mind.

Two fortnights away, she stood with the blinds pushed away, sipping her ginger tea. 

She wore a baby pink tunic and  her face was adorned with a smile. 

The tiny sprouts craned their necks above the wet soil to greet her. The sunshine that 

spread over the newborns greens seemed to bless them . Soon Jasmine, roses , lilies will 

vie for space with ferns and succulents. The mint, cabbage and aubergines will nourish 

her soul. 

          The garden of her home and mind is blooming and blossoming once again.

                                 

                                

Journey

                                                       Photo Prompt :Dawn M Miller

Grandpa tried to hide the salt in his eyes.

Little Nikhil loved the clang of the sonorous tracks and the speed transported him to 

another world. Both of them were travelling but in different eras.

The wrinkled eyes saw a hard track with clouds of dust rising and the adrenaline rush of 

the pounding of the hooves. “It is Shivaji Maharaj and his mavlas galloping. They were 

expert in guerrilla warfare”.

The little mind confused of the bygone era, which he studied only in his History 

textbooks, kept mum.

“One may not see but one can experience the feeling, Nikhil”.

                                         Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Rochelle

                                     

word count  : 100

Caution

                              

Even at three score and three years, she in ash grey off-shoulder gown managed to fire 

his passion. The corporate world gushed over his Armani frame while her clairvoyant eyes 

saw the flannel suit dissipate into ash. The smoke in his lungs suffocated her.

                                       

(Google Image)



The prompt is a story in exactly 44 words that includes the following two elements: a color word and a number.