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.

                                                              

Detached

It was dark by the time she boarded the 7.15 bus. The seats at the rear would not be 

occupied as commuters gave last preference to them. A smile behind the silk scarf 

appeared at the sight of vacant seats. With none for company , she was happy to be in 

her own company. She scanned the area between the driver and herself. A few stray 

female commuters with bawling kids were to be seen. The kids kept their moms occupied 

so there was no fear of her being noticed by them.

She kept her head low while passing through the condominium gate. She rummaged into 

her tote if any neighbor made an attempt to greet her. She ditched the elevator to take 

the flight of stairs. Her legs needed the exercise, she justified it to herself. Moreover it 

was good for her heart. She had read in a Health Magazine.

Inside the safe confines of her apartment she breathed freely. The wall of loneliness and 

enigma was a bulwark, which she painstakingly built brick by brick, around her. The 

barrier or defense wall collapsed and she felt emancipated. 

Daisy clambered on her. Her feline friend purred with excitement and she  reciprocated 

the feeling. They both ate fish in silence.

Night seemed to embrace her like a warm blanket and she gazed at the twinkling spread 

up. She loved to talk to the residents of the skies. They asked her no questions. They 

were faceless and nameless. She was comfortable with the soliloquy . The distance 

between her and the constellations melted way. Sleep kissed her eyelashes and it was 

time for the rays to wake up.

                         This was a quotidian ritual without fail.

                                  

                                     

As her heels hit the hard ground, a pair of a dozen curious eyes behind the mango tree 

stared at her silhouette.

" I wonder where does she work?"

"She is a witch devoid of a broom"

" Does she practice black magic?"

" Shush".

"She cannot hear".

And she heard it all.

                                                         

Plot

The swords were out of the sheaths, brandishing and gleaming. They threatened to harm each other and she would not hesitate to slay her opponent.

                                   


The white coat's sword clanged and a sonorous atmosphere filled the air. Her mouth winced as her arms bore the brunt of the constant defense. The black mask hissed and spread her hands that seemed more like claws. She tried to pierce the white coat. The white coat resisted the onslaughts. Beads of perspiration sprang on her cherubic , serene face. The mad dance refused to die down. The white coat made slight inroads and wounded the black mask's facade. The injuries were deep and red liquid coagulated on the skin. Realizing that she was on the verge of losing, the black mask nodded and winked. The grey mask jumped from behind the white coat into the arena with a piercing scream. The white coat got a whiff of the scheming alliance after being taken by surprise. This ain't not a fair duel, white coat sensed.

                            But, is the world a fair place to dwell in?

The white coat lashed out at lightening speed. She valiantly battled with the dual evil forces with gusto. 'Now or never' seemed to be her motto. God and Satan both watched from the skies that threatened to shake humanity. 

On the periphery, the various 'body' spectators watched helplessly.

The eyes refused to see the bloody battle. The pair of hands washed themselves off. The heart wished it could provide reinforcements to the white coat. The legs didn't move an inch to intervene.

The battle  raged in the arena of my mind. The Good, Bad and Ugly thoughts pulled me from on all sides. The Bad and the Ugly battered my soul while the Good awoke my conscience.

                                            Who will win?
                       And where would the losers be lodged?

The Good thoughts fluttering with white coat adorned the tiara and the Bad and Ugly with their masks, beat a hasty retreat from the arena. Flowers spreading fragrance once again bloomed in the garden of my mind. Peace reigned.

                      Readers, how do you tackle the negatives of your mind?

                            

                                   

(Google Images)

The living ghost

Chomp Chomp Chomp...... the bowl of white radish , cucumbers and carrots generously sprinkled with salt and lemon juice is polished off and only the residue stains sat in the middle of the steel container.

"Ughhh. Were you a goat in your last life ?"

"And you were the King of the Jungle, isn't it?"

"Meat is delicious". Ivanka devours on the piece of chicken.

"Salads keep my bowels clean". Anita rubs her right hand on her well-toned abdomen.

" Girls, place your plates and bowls into the sink", orders the matriarch.

" Ivanka, you picked a fight with that bully Sam?". Anita relishes the cucumber bits still stuck in between her teeth.

" He started it first".  Ivanka rolls her eyes and stresses on the first pronoun of the sentence.

"You could have ended the war of words, Miss LazyBones". Anita piles the dishes in the sink while Ivanka rests her feet on the table.

"I had my fists on him and the red oozed from his nose". A satisfied smiling Ivanka relishes the chicken gravy still on her tongue.

Anita startled , looks up, from scrubbing the kitchen platform.

"Miss Preacher, don't start your lecture on non-violence". I believe : an eye for an eye", Ivanka heaves and  signs off in her usual trademark line.

" Mom , Ivanka is in trouble again". the soft-spoken lass is extending her neck so that her voice can travel to mom's room above.

"She is sleeping. don't disturb her. Papa will be proud of his daughter. ", and Ivanka feels the flush of pride spread on her face. She is the apple of his eye, a soldier's daughter. Anita feels that papa's genes runs in her sister's bloodline. 

"Did your finish your homework, Ivanka?"

A question mark stretched on Ivanka's face and words barely escaped from her mouth. Her legs spring into action faster than her brains and she searches for her books.

"How many times have I asked you to arrange to study table?". A precocious Anita is picking a novel.

"I prefer it my way", scowled Ivanka.

A pair of wrinkled eyes and ears is an invisible  witness to the  drama.  A murmur is whispered , unheard to anyone in the house, " Identical twins with non-identical outlook towards life.  They look alike yet so different". And the grandma vanishes through the roof in resignation.

                                               

Festival of Lights.

The bursting crackers outshone the twinkling skies but darkness multiplied in his heart. 

He wished that he could celebrate Diwali as other fortunate kids.

The Sunshine caressed the nondescript facade as his tiny feet made a way out 

with a childless couple. He had a last look at the orphanage and desired each kid, a home.

The lady with wings and wand pronounced Tathaastu.

                                                             

Thread of life

FFfAW Challenge – 190th

               He looked at the box and his eyes turned moist.

The noise of the sewing machine woke him up. He knew his mother was up 

with the Sun.

He was her sole reason to be alive and she felt alive seeing him smile with the 

glistening trophies and certificates. He was the apple of her eyes and a blue-

eyed boy of his teachers and professors.

She would often tell him that clothes do not make a man but manners make a 

man stand out. He was never ashamed of her humble work and took pride of 

her independence.

When people asked him for the secret of his success, he said there was not 

secret. The coloured threads unspooled and unleashed his academic and 

management talents. His mother was a blanket of security for him.

                          

                                (photo Credit :Yarnspinnerr)

                                               Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. 

                                                               

(134 words)

thoughts

"And if she doesn't come?"......thought I, as my soles boarded the bleak vehicle. The 

content of the bag was weighing down my shoulders but not my 

conscience. Ughhh!!! does the uniform dress colour have to reflect on the bus's exterior? 

It makes my mind sick. Wish I could dip the brush into the palette of my mind and colours 

of Nature would be splashed on the bus. Now the dull hues of smoke grey and black 

dominate my body and vehicle.


Pushing back the curtain of colours, my mind raced to the 'Little Angel' as she is known to 

everyone save me. 'Green eyed monster' as I have silently baptized her. She would be at 

the school gates with her mom and a smiley pasted on her face.

I have a strong urge to put an end to her but don't know how to.

If she accidentally slips into the pool. No-one will suspect me...oh no!! she is born with 

fins. Plan drowned.

I could mix some poison with her food? I know not where to find that stuff. Idea kneaded 

away to cold storage.

Could I put her into a spaceship and orbit her away to outer-space? There would be aliens 

to praise the  'little Angel' in the unknown territory. Option not a feasible one and 

aborted before take-off.

The school bus came to a screeching halt and so also the train of my thoughts.

"I have brought a chocolate donut for you, Hazel" and my thoughts melt away at her 

sweetness.

There is another chance, I console myself.

                                                         

shadow of doubt

"Good-night, little Princess". 

“Don’t leave me alone, Dad. The monster under the bed keeps me awake the 

whole night”. I bend. She is sitting with her arms encircled around her knees, 

her face ashen.

“Dad, don’t believe her”. I go numb.

But when my eyes scan the bed, nothing is there.

Laughter resonates the room.

But when I check under the bed, nothing is there.

                                    

unmatched combination

                 YeahWrite’s Weekly Writing Challenge #390

If you wanted to set your life on fire, there wasn’t a better combination.

The warning pronounced was not heard by anyone in the room but resonated in the labyrinthine 

folds of her grey cells and I seemed to absorb every word of it. But I failed to grasp the 

intensity of the prognosis. A silly assumption laced in over-protectiveness , I concluded and 

brushed off. She felt it as intrusion of my basic privacy while my interpretation was his fondness.

He kept tab of every phone calls I made and received. Questions were raised and I stood in the 

defendant's box explaining to him my every move . Sulking became his middle name  and I took 

pride in pacifying him.

The arduous hours behind the counter , the stilettos pinching my independence earned a pretty 

sum. A large chunk of it footed his vices.  

She fought tooth and nail imploring me to set aside a sum for rainy day. I brushed her fears 

under the carpet.

The landscape of my body was contoured with blue and black marks. I subjugated to slavery 

losing my self-respect. I hid every punch under the guise of a branded scarf.

                            She died a thousand times breathing worry and helplessness.

I stood on the threshold of her house nay my home, defeated. My mother's warm embrace 

and acceptance injected a hope in my battered soul.

                                                      



The first prompt : If you wanted to set your life on fire, there wasn’t a better combination.


The second prompt from the narrator's point of view  is: Death.