Showing posts with label FFftPP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FFftPP. Show all posts

Sunday, 3 September 2017

Justice


FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017: WEEK #34




Rusty Gate



The azure blue paint had faded with the passage of time exposing the original colour of 

the wrought iron. I must have pushed this rusted gate umpteen times to enter into a 

different world of thread-bare emotions.


The penitentiary overflowed its normal capacity. The inmates accused and condemned to 

lead a life of prisoners were imparted different vocational training to keep themselves 

occupied and find gainful employment after paying their debts to the society.


Suman must have chosen an occupation for herself.

As I had defended her, my prayers were with her as I knew I was fighting a losing battle. I 

had faith in my client. But the scales of Justice did not tilt in her favour.


On the potter’s wheel, she was learning the ropes albeit slowly. Kneading and shaping 

the wet clay, she caught me looking at her. She had read my mind.


A woman should have the sole right to shape her destiny from wet clay, fire it with her 

inner strength, making the pot of life, strong and durable. The pot stored water, the 

elixir of life, cooling the pent-up emotions. I agreed.

The maiden pot shaped by Suman now reposes in my kitchen.



           Written : Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Thanks rogershipp.

word count  : 199

Friday, 25 August 2017

re'cycle'd memories


FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017
WEEK #33



 bike


                                                           JulyMorgueFile file581316132183

   
She nodded and flashed her infectious smile to acquaintances and strangers alike to 

needle the thread of conviviality as she walked through the market.

Her eyes sparkled as a green bicycle leaned on the brick wall of pizza outlet.

Her caprice lead her to grab the metallic body and clambering on the vehicle, her legs 

moved as the twin wheels obeyed her. Her thoughts raced faster than her.

A voice chasing her momentum gathered speed. Her straw hat turned behind to locate 

the screaming owner of the bicycle whose fingers held a half-eaten pizza piece.

The pedals accelerated to yawn the gap between herself and the pursuer.  She winked 

and smiled mischievously at the stripling, teasing him to run faster.

His heart-beats increased rapidly with his panting strides.

She zig-zagged her speed as he tried to grab her blouse.

Her laughter became gleeful as his legs ran swiftly.

The pathway changed its countenance.

Jennifer’s body tilted as the metallic body lost balance.

“This is how I met Frederick five decades ago”, blurted the septuagenarian as she landed 

in the youthful arms of her ‘follower’. Frederick chuckled from the clouds.

A big pebble brought the chase to a standstill lay unaware.



                 Written for : Flash Fiction for the practical practitioner week # 33

Word count : 200


Saturday, 12 August 2017

Prisoners

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017: WEEK 31


bus


                                                             JulyMorgueFile file6681324364046


The wheels wobbled in the uneven potholed road rocking the spines to and fro. The 

creaky bones cringed as the engine trembled. All heads were bent, the pupils glued to 

the palm that treasured the piece of modern technology of communication. Only one 

neck remained erect, the eyes scanning the contents of the bus as the scenes outside 

kept hurtling in the opposite direction. There was no action to arouse interest and his 

eardrums ached for a conversation.

As the vehicle hit the speed-breaker he became acutely aware of his Writer’s Block. It 

clung like an infatuated lover.  Nikhil’s keyboard had draped a thin film of dust. 

His fingers hadn’t tap-danced on the alphabetical pieces. His anxiety had made him take 

refuge in every element of Nature to stimulate his creative juices. Excess intake 

of caffeine was blamed as his body tossed on the mattress. The night seemed to stretch 

beyond its finite time to torment him infinitely. No inspiration sprouted on the barren 

linguistic field.

Finally he boarded a random bus unaware of its destination.


He alighted at the next stop and decided to pen about moron earthlings metamorphosed 

into zombies.


                  written for  : Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner - 2017 week 31

word count : 192