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

Journey

                              Sunday Photo Fiction – October 15th 2017

                                 PHOTO COURTESY : A Mixed Bag.

Her eyes scanned the monstrous dimensions with awe and a sense of longing. Even on the 

glossy paper it seemed behemoth to the innocent blue pupils. The hull of the cruise, the 

small windows and the life-boat hanging in the picture beckoned her.

Ananya had already made up her mind firmly to set sail on the serene waters.

She toiled hard giving the Sun an inferior complex and her stamina lay on the pillow only 

after wishing the Moon. Her bank account had enough to board the cruise liner,’Virat’ 

with a smile on her face and a spring in her step.

Her heart swam with the white froth of the azure oceanic waters while she learnt the 

geography and historical importance of every port and country that ‘Virat’ travelled. The 

eclectic mix of people ,varied cultures and their cuisines intrigued her and got imprinted 

in each crevice of her brain.

She believed in giving back more than she has taken from the society. The orphanage 

benefited from the largesse she earned.

She earned the title of “Most Efficient Stewardess” on the cruise. Ahoy Life!!! 

                               Sunday Photo Fiction

                                                  

word count : 182

Arrow

FFfAW Challenge-Week of October 17, 2017

                       



                 This week's photo prompt is provided by Grant-Sud. Thank you Grant-Sud!

The parents of the missing girl were waiting anxiously to hear any piece of news of their 

child. There was no ransom demand and hence kidnapping was ruled out.

Detective Karamchand ambled into the room of Ananya with his assistant Kitty in tow. His 

eyes scanned the entire space in white. A section of pink wall arrested his hawk-like 

eyes. 

A map detailing the entire layout of the sprawling mansion was pasted.

“Ananya seems to be a happy girl. Look at the smiley drawn”, chirped Kitty.

Karamchand glared at the naivety of his assistant and started to stomp his foot at the 

base of the pink wall.

“It is an arrow-mark, Kitty, Look at the direction”, calmly said Karamchand.

A secret chamber revealed an envelope with “Catch me if you can” scribbled, teased his 

grey cells. This is going to be a long treasure-hunt, concluded Karamchand.

                     Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.Thanks Priceless Joy.  

               

                                             

word count :146

journey

136th Challenge

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

                       This week's photo prompt is provided by BarbCT/Gallimaufry. Thank you BarbCT!

The white cotton candy clouds seem to sail with the wind against the backdrop of the 

azure skies. I bend on the railings running along the boundary of the behemoth water-

body ruminating on the present crisis of my financial health. The prospects on the 

horizon seem bleak and the sun seems to set in my mind. “Why does this happen to me?”, 

I whine.

A cargo container ship passes by, leaving a trail of siren.

“Does the ship protest of the heavy freight-age on its back and in the belly?”

“It carries and trudges to the port and off-loads its contents and not the burdens. 

Another batch of cargo consignment is loaded and the ship moves on post refueling. This 

is its journey and it doesn’t aim for a destination.”

I straighten my back, feeling a bit lighter. I jettison my grumblings and chart a new 

course of path with the aid of my internal compass. The innumerable ports beckon me. 

Ahoy.

                              Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thank you Priceless Joy.

                                            

Sad release.

                 Three Line Tales, Week 88

                                               photo by Kira auf der Heide via Unsplash

The waves in the ocean of her mind had gradually formed into a raging tempest lashing fiercely onto the shore of her face which reflected in the crystal clear myriad emotions as the colours splashed on canvas.

The wooden pen-holder moved to expose its lifeless contents as she picked it up to pour her inner turmoil on the blank sheets to release the farrago of discontent, doubts and sorrow.

The golden nib stubbornly refused to co-operate with the stimulus given by the brain to transfer the anguish from her senses to her diary which kept invading her whole being and subsequently her hands took refuge in the noose.

                3Line Tales. Thanks Sonya.

Fluid thoughts

The water meanders through the mountains, valleys and plains.

"Stop if you can", challenges Mother Nature.

The behemoth dam arrests the forward fluidity.

The water gurgles and spreads backwards, smilingly but not losing its fluidity.

"Is your brain membrane permeable for exchange of ideas, opinions and thoughts?” questions God.

“I am your creation, Almighty, and am open to all discussions and signals from you", humbly bows Man.

                                    Six Sentence Stories. Thank you Zoe.

                                              

StarDust

                                                                         PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

The ferry lazily drifts on the silent waters patronizing the people with deep pockets and 

a penchant for the uncommon.

“Shouldn’t Nikhil’s feet be firmly on the ground while he reaches for the moon?” concern 

dripped from Priyanka’s throat.

“Many moons ago, you aimed for the stars, isn’t it? Let him find his way”, reasoned 

Aniket, puffing smoke from his Havana cigar.

She turns her head to avert her husband’s gaze, trying to stop the fusillade of moisture 

from her eyes. 

“The leap to stardom is full of compromises, deceit and of course hard work”. She stifles 

her sobs.


                                Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

                                             

The Mask

                                                                 

                                                                            Photo by GLady on Pixabay.com

As he scrubbed his face clean, he felt unsure. The face in the mirror and the mask had merged into one and he never knew when.


                                               Twittering Tales # 52. Thank you Kat Myrman

130 characters.

Shielded

135th Challenge

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

                                                 

This week's photo prompt is provided by Elaine Farrington Johnson. Thank yoiu Elaine!

The recent carnage had left many wounded in mind and body. Some breathed their last 

even before they could remember their loved ones. The silent march of protest against 

the violence unleashed, started from a nondescript lane. All silent hands held candles 

that crackled with the wind. Their feet moved slowly with the weight of their grief of 

having lost their kith and kin.  A pall of gloom descended as the celestial beings numbed 

their shine in the darkness. Only a little innocent hand carried a placard which had the 

magic four letters hurriedly scribbled on it with hearts drawn around. The little orange 

hood manged to hide a part of his face and perhaps veiled his loss. The little boy was 

unhurt in the bloodbath as his mother pushed the child on the ground and lay over him 

shielding him, while she became the target of the insane bullets.

                         Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.Thank you Priceless Joy.

                                               

 Word Count : 150

The harvest

He had drawn a blue print plan to put his free time to better use long before retirement. 

Working in a corporate office he had lost touch with Nature. The farmland in his village 

was sold off to the highest bidder after his father’s demise. How fervently Sridhar wished 

he hadn’t.

After a session of yoga, he sat at the table with renewed vigour chomping on the freshest 

tomato-cucumber salad. The aubergine vegetable tasted the best he ever had. From his 

potted plants in the verandah straight into his kitchen.

The seminar on urban farming has found many takers.

                  

(Google pics)

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction.  Thank you Charli Mills.



                                           

Mother Courage.

                                                 

Today as Amrita stood tall on the dais, with a thousand palms applauding her for the 

breakthrough in Genetic Engineering, she credited and thanked her mother , Nirbhaya, 

for her guiding spirit.

Nay Amrita was not born in an improvised family but her rich ‘zamindar’ grandfather-

patriarch tried to throttle her as soon as the umbilical cord was cut. The young Nirbhaya

barely out of the labour pains shielded the tiny life. Despite looking wan and feeble, her 

fierce mien and ululation pulverized the ageing head of the family.  Nirbhaya's husband a 

nincompoop put a pococurante demeanor while the sordid ordeal was being played in 

the ‘haveli’. The breeze stopped in its track and the sheep swallowed its bleats into 

deafening silence.

Nirbhaya, as her name suggested, stepped out of her marital threshold gathering her 

courage and the new-born Amrita in her arms. No voice cajoled her to stay behind. The 

blood of 'Durga' ran in her veins and voice of 'Kali' ordained her to take this step. The 

firmament bowed, showering their with blessings.

Nirbhaya’s parents did not welcome her but the security of a roof over her head was not 

denied. She picked up the books again, breastfeeding Amrita and changing the diapers.

Two pair of feminine feet entered the school premises, one as a student and another as a 

teacher. Thus began the arduous journey for Amrita to culminate at the dais. Nirbhaya’s 

palms refused to stop cheering for her Amrita.

The media-persons thrust their microphones towards Nirbhaya for sound bytes.

“Whatever I had earnestly wished for, has become the fulfilled goal of my life”.

Nirbhaya’s words resonated through the television screen of the crumbling ‘haveli’. The 

patriarch‘s photograph hung on the wall adorned with a sandalwood garland. 

                                           Reena's Exploration Challenge # 4. Thank you Reena S.


Notes : Zamindar : family owning huge tracts of land.

             Haveli - huge mansion.

            Durga and Kali are Indian goddesses.

           Nirbhaya means fearless.

plate

"I would have loved to help you, Sandra, but you know I have a full plate now  with the client meetings , power-point presentation", and Zarine's voice trailed off.

"It is okay", said Sandra concealing her disappointment and making her way to her cubicle.

                                              **********

"Here is your dinner and don't forget to take your medicines", Sandra's courteous voice echoed as she pushed the plate towards her sick room-mate and office-colleague.

Nibbling on her food in bed with the fever burning her body and the throbbing ache threatening to split her head into two, Zarine recollected her self-centered and selfish attitude while donning a mask of civility.
                                
She realized that tables could be turned on her and a helping hand and heart went a long way in establishing solid bonds.

Zarine missed her mother in this moment of weakness and decided to make amends.


                                            

                         Six Sentence Stories. Thank you, Zoe.

                                                The cue is plate google pic

Walk

                           Thank you Sarah Potter for the wonderful picture prompt.

“You need not have remained single to bring me up. I could have managed by myself”.

The old man’s proclivity for silence irks James.

“Dad, are you listening?”

The senior citizen draws an old battered suitcase and beckons his son to open it.

A pair of old shoes lay reposed wrapped in faded newspaper sheets.

He surveys the white canvas soles with a farrago of sadness and fondness and 

communicates with his eyes.

“These are old worn-out shoes and not my size. I cannot walk in your shoes”, blurts out 

the young son without realising the wisdom of the words. 

                  Written for :  Friday Fictioneers. Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

                                                

The Night.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

133rd Challenge

This week's photo prompt is provided by Pamela S. Canepa. Thank you Pamela!

25^th March, 2017

20^th floor apartment, Mumbai

8.30 pm

The tenebrosity of the night seems to hug her like a warm blanket. The Earth Hour has 

just begun.

As her gaze wanders up, the celestial twinkles seem to cast their glow a tad brighter.

The vehicular traffic appears to crawl, holding lanterns in the trajectory of darkness.

Anita turns inside to step into her cosy home. The aromatic candles are lit, mingling its 

scent into the urn of red floating rose petals. The gastronomical wafts beckons her to the 

table. He serves her the simple yet tasty food for soul and both eat with love in their 

eyes as the two decades of their flowering partnership melt in their hearts.

The next day the maid steps in with newspaper and milk while Anita is still in the 

embrace of slumber.

The maid notices the two plates in the sink and sighs, “Poor madam is missing her 

husband. So she eats from two plates”.

                           written for  : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

                                                  

word count  : 161

Notes : Earth Hour is a 60 minute period when all the lights are switched off voluntarily.

Read more about Earth Hour.