The Baker

      

Twittering Tales #121 – 29 January 2019

                                              Photo by Oleg Magni at Pexels.com

Her wrinkled but deft hands moved creating masterpieces that melted in the hearts. Patrons would line up early morn . Technology changes people's taste. Fancy shapes and packaging rule the market. It is time to down the shutters. The last batch of cookies would go into the oven. 

             Twittering Tales. Thanks Kat Myrman

                                               

Vagaries of Nature.

The dormant dinosaur had stirred and woken up from its slumber to become active after 

nearly two decades. The ash strewn had settled everywhere. The molten  liquid had shed 

its anger and managed to go into aestivation.

The survivors were transported to safer  places. The basic amenities were provided but 

fell short of expectations. Queues stretched like serpents to fetch potable ale. Harish 

thirsty's feet refused to move out of the shelter. His diabetic body had not consumed the 

mandatory medicines. Anita was busy with other chores.

The Rehabilitation form was lying besides him. He was procrastinating and the details for 

compensation remained unfilled.

"Look at the Saptarishi", said Anita trying to infuse enthusiasm in his favourite subject. 

She pointed her index finger upwards at the blanket of blackness. "Isn't it fascinating?" It 

was more of a statement than a question. But Harish's mind was blank and his gaze was 

transfixed into distant nothingness.  She caressed his back with concern, "Look Harish 

everyone is in the same boat".

Images of his home reduced to debris came flashing before his eyes. Anita had pushed 

him out of their house as emergency sirens wailed. They were a part of fleeing group to 

safety.

The vagaries of Nature had tossed their lives into disarray.

A wrinkled face looked around the pandemonium and softly uttered. " The dawn will 

herald a new better beginning." A child squealed with a crude ball of rags. A nubile girl's 

anxious eyes searched for her near and dear ones. A dozen pair of legs hurried to get 

provisions.The fire in the belly had to be doused.

Mother Earth had spewed detritus from her bowels. Harish's heart lay below the rubble of 

his home.

                                              

someone

"There is someone under my bed!", wailed Anjali.

She tucked her saree and bent down.

"There is no-one here", adjusting her bindi which had moved from its place.

"I can feel the presence of some-one", adding melodrama.

"Mathematics test is scheduled tomorrow . So no excuses. Sleep". She walked away put 

the lights off.

In the dark, a figure jumped on the bed.

                                 

                                            #TellTaleThrusday with Anshu and Priya

The Wigwam

                                                                         PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath

Six curious eyeballs stared at the painting.  The harsh landscape with stunted shrubs 

scattered did not evoke an appreciation from young minds. The urbane locale presented 

a sharp contrast to the picture hung on the wall.

“Grandpa, was this your land?”

“Yes, the land of our ancestors”

“And then?”

“They came to usurp our land through one-sided treaties”.

“We lost everything?”

“Everything. The land, our culture and identity”, wiping the weary tears.

“Didn’t our ancestors resist?”

“They did. We were tricked and defeated in warfare.  If the three wooden chairs could 

speak, you could hear tales of deceit and defeat”.

                 written for  :  Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Rochelle Wisoff


                                            

a Car named desire.

                                                      PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

I had looked at it from far,

Gleaming, sturdy, excellence par,

On threshold of adolescence,

I stood, with ambitions and innocence,

Desire I had named that car,

Often I had watched it from far.

Seasons waxed and waned,

My flames of Desire brightly burned,

Some satiated, some un-satisfied,

A few achieved, a few pacified.

With salt n pepper beard,

No competition feared,

Cruising in the lane of content,

Inhaling the cool scent,

The Desire is left behind.

Hobbling with a walking stick,

An ascetic, I turn away, quick.

                                   Written for  : Friday Fictioneers


                    

Blind-date

As I pushed the ornate gates of her little cottage, my heart gathered speed as if I was 

cruising on the Highway. The manicured lawns reflected the neatness freak in her. The 

green thumb was evident by the array of colourful flowers blooming. Anne would have 

loved such a picturesque garden.



Billy has been my best friend from childhood. He was worried about my loneliness and 

aloofness and had taken matters into his hands. It was his persistent rant that I move

ahead in life. I was a bit skeptical when he passed on her cellphone number.



My anxious hand hit the doorbell. What was I expecting? I know not. Could any lady 

match the graciousness of Anne? I brushed aside these stray thoughts. This was just a 

date, I reminded myself.The door opened and my eyes fell on a feathered mask."Good 

evening , David", a husky voice peered through the mask. I returned the greeting. The 

voice had a tinge of familiarity.

I sat on the chair and she got up from the opposite chair to be behind me. I tilted my 

head behind and before I could look up at her , my eyes were blinded with a piece of 

cloth. The vehicle of my thoughts hit a speed breaker. "Whhhhhat is.......", completely 

taken aback. "Shhhh...This is a blind date, isn't it?". I hadn't heard a more feminine 

seducing voice. My nerves relaxed a bit. Something touched my lips and my hands felt 

the shape of a goblet. "Drink ", she urged me. It was my favorite wine. 

                  Billy must have told her about my preferences. 

I could feel her closeness as she hovered around me. Her perfume slightly assailed my 

nostrils. Anne's favorite perfume. I had gifted it to her on our wedding anniversary. Her 

touch was soothing. I had missed this gentle touch after Anne left my world. The goblet 

was taken away from my hands and she stroked my lips with her slim fingers and I felt 

stoked. This was a beginning of a wonderful relationship, I deduced. The pleasure 

continued. I lost track of time. Her arousal made me tumescent. I was dying to 

see her face.The telepathy worked and the blindfold was yanked off in one 

smooth action. There was no mask on her. I could feel the color drain off my face. The 

face was very familiar even in dim lights. She could not be Anne. NO. 

I could feel my chest constrict and breath tighten. My hands and legs were in air, 

gasping. Two claw-like hands encircled my neck.

                 Karma had come back to haunt me.

                                   

The homecoming.

                                     

                                          



In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes colonnades. It can be natural, architectural, or a metaphor. Take a stroll and go where the prompt leads.

The tourist guide leading the Brit contingency started to rant the history of the historical 

monument. “This was the royal dancing hall where danseuses exhibited their talent and 

paid obeisance to the local deity. These colonnades are a mute testimony to the bygone 

era. If these colonnades could speak, a thousand tales could be heard. At the end of this 

hall…

 “……a giant kund existed where Soudamini jumped to her death”, said Sandy, the British 

born girl of Indian origin who had set her foot for the first time on the Indian soil, “ to 

escape from the Raja”.

                                             written for : Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction. 



word count : 99

Kund : a tank or a water reservoir.

Raja : King.

Door

                                                            Picture prompt :Dale Rogerson.

 “Öhh! Should I open the door or not?”

“If I push it, it will be hurt. The glass is splintered and the tapes are trying to heal it 

faster. I better not open the door.”

The monologue continues as Alice refuses to move forward. She stands still twitching her 

pinafore.

A hand gingerly taps Alice’s little shoulders. On an impulse, she turns behind. A stern 

Teacher Rose bends down to Alice and glares into the Kindergarten pupil’s eyes.

“What new ploy is being hatched to stay away from class?”

The reluctant student pushes open the door and enters the class. 

                                   written for : Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Rochelle. 


                                 
                   
Word count : 100

The mesmerizing eyes.

                                                      pic credit Pexels.com


The weight of my feet sunk the wet grains and made a depression. I turned behind to observe the phenomena. The water filled the depression. I smiled. Aha Nature. The vagrant strands of hair flew in the forward direction. I did not bother to gather them and anchor them to safety. My tongue rolled out and caressed the slightly parched lips. The wind had salt in its sails.
With the entire beach to myself, I felt I was the Master of all I surveyed. The lady at my home-stay cautioned me not to venture out early in the morning. I hadn't slept properly last night. The constant tossing and turning in the bed reminded me of the ebb and rise of the waves.The Writer's Block seemed to hit me like a tsunami. I needed the ink of inspiration to flow from my dormant pen.

I enjoyed the loneliness and the solitude of the hour. The pattern made on the beach by the ocean waves and the wind bore an uncanny resemblance to an artist's abstract portrait. My gaze shifted to the tapering trees in the distance. They seem to dance with the symphony of the wind. I mentally patted my back for rising with the lark and being an early bird to the beach.

Something arrested my attention rather caught me by surprise when i saw a figure coming toward me. I had never seen such forlorn eyes. The blue in the pupils made me dive to the bottom of the ocean bed. Her face was hidden behind a knitted shawl.

"What is your name?" 

"Maya", Did I hear or did I imagine? I could not see her lips move.

She walked into the embrace of the blue waters. Her body dissipated into fine particles and merged into the sand. I was jolted out of my senses.

Was she a mirage (Maya) or my muse? I know not.


#TELLTALETHRUSDAY with Anshu and Priya

The splintered window.

The rent is a big high, concluded the mature mind. Balancing the monthly budget with no 

room for trimming the expenses would be tough. Junior loved the house but.......

The little feet kept pace with the longer strides of the bigger boots on the cobbled 

pathway.


They could not save Kate. The proceeds of the sale of their home could not inject life back into her. 

Losing their home was equally devastating for them. Each corner of the house was a granary of 

memories. Of shared laughter, merriment and obstacles. The celebrations added  another dimension 

to their home. The walls resonated with excitement and joy of each milestone of their only child. The 

mango tree in the backyard grew up with their baby. The strings of attachment were difficult to snap.


Junior turned behind and eyed the 'To Let' sign . Let me do something , he 

ruminated. As they entered an adjoining lane, the tender hands picked up a 

stone and gave a mischievous look. He tossed it two times in the air to catch it 

and with a mighty heave the glass pane splintered , leaving a trail of a design 

of a peacock feather worth admiring.

Papa jerked at the sharp vicissitude of action. Junior shushed him with a finger 

on his lips.

"The Kid is my favorite Charlie Chaplain  film"and the impish eye looked up at 

his papa and winked.Dragging his father's little finger with his tiny hands he 

said,"Papa, the landlady will reduce the rent now. Let's go and negotiate"

                                                           

 


                                                       

Fence

                                                                                       PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

“Mom, what is this?”

“This is a barricade. The enemy lives on the other side”.

“Mom, I can’t see the enemy”.

“They too cannot see us. The land in-between is called ‘No Man’s Land?”

“If we cannot see them then why are they our enemies?”

“Shush! You ask many questions”.

“Mom Can I go to the other side and shake hands with the enemy? This way I be friends 

with them”.

“You cannot cross this boundary, child”.

“Look there, mom” points to the open skies. “If the bird is free to fly from here to there, why can’t I be?”

                                         written for  : Friday Fictioneers

                                            

The dark alleys

My soles made a hard impact on the cobbled pathway affecting the anxious nerves of my 

brain. Trying to keep the slipping purse on my shoulder, I was turning behind to access 

the impending danger. The stranger's pace was quickening. Sensing the  closing distance, 

I made an attempt to increase my strides. Fear pervaded every pore of my being and the 

air around me seemed to be thinning. I gasped for help.

Beads of perspiration broke on my creased brow. My mouth stretched like the Thar desert 

and I ran my tongue onto to the roof of my mouth. I turned around to check my pursuer 

and fell short of stumbling. I gathered myself as I felt the bladder bursting. These 

inconveniences were a speck compared to the mammoth danger chasing me. The street-

lights didn't offer much solace to me. With no soul in sight , my confidence was at nadir. I 

once again turned my head back for the umpteen time. I don't remember how many 

times my neck had rotated backwards. The stranger's outer features shouldn't be 

distinguished . The visor was pulled down intentionally to mask his facial terrain.


                                                   


A pair of boots walked besides me. The rising palpitations drummed into my ears. The 

body moved from my left side with one swift motion taking a huge step ahead of me and 

came face to face reading the terror in my eyes. My handbag was yanked off as my 

shoulder went numb. His feet made a dash in the cover of the moonless darkness as the 

path forked into two. I could't know which way he disappeared. I was left helpless and 

penniless.

A silhouette came out of the darkness. "Missy , there has been a spate of robberies 

in the district. Deposit your gold chain into this". And he fished out a handkerchief. It 

made sense to my confused scared mind. Hailing a cab which appeared out of Aladdin's 

lamp, he pressed a currency note into my nervous palm and melted away as the wheels 

gathered momentum. I didn't have the time to thank the Samaritan.

I clutched the handkerchief as I rang the bell of my apartment. The piece of cloth felt 

empty. The last vestige of faith evaporated and tore my soul.

                                                      

(Google Image)

survivor

The deafening sound.

Wailing in the hospital.

Regaining consciousness, she felt numb.

The physiotherapist aided her.

She was unsure.

One step at a time, said he.

She obeyed.

She shuddered at her next step.

Her maiden step on prosthesis.