Sunday, 23 February 2014

Wednesday Prompt: Write Tribe

She was panting by the time she finished her 12 mile jog on the treadmill. And as always, she could feel the release, the contentment wash over her. Her tired muscles seemed to sigh in pleasure. Things had been so tense lately, she had forgotten this happy feeling. Her release she knew was short lived, only a short respite from the real world worries that seem to plague her constantly. Ryan was still depressed. He was still the innocent younger brother to her and she was still as protective of him now as she was when he was eight. 'Big Sis Instinct', was what he called it.
 She knew he blamed himself for their parents crash. He was the one driving, was what he kept repeating over and over again. The therapist had given him sleeping pills, among others. Nothing seemed to work. Their parents death had taken its toll on him. He lived his life now mechanically, almost like he was doing someone a favor. A constant aura of decay and decrepitude enveloped him. Vulnerability had silently crept into his eyes, and put up a permanent home there. Those eyes reminded her of a deer's eyes in the headlights of an oncoming car. Her heart broke and ached for him. He was her little brother!

The phone rang. She wiped the sweat off of her face and reached out."Hello", "Hey Bree, it's me." "Ryan...How are you? You could have called before you know", she tried to sound humorous and carefree but her voice broke on the last note." Yeah, I am fine Bree. Just wanted to hear your voice", said that stranger's voice she had come to recognize as her brother's over the past few weeks."How're ya holding up Ry?! Are you really okay?", she said. "Yeah.....yeah...i am! I think i will be", continued the voice devoid of all emotions."Alright Bree, know i love you, right Bree?" Something was wrong, she could sense it. "Ry, whats going on Ry? Whats wrong?" Desperation started to seep into her voice. "I love you Bree", said the voice. " to me...please! Ry...I am coming over okay...I'll be there in five minutes okay, I am coming!", she managed to say before the line went dead. She grabbed her car keys and ran to the garage. Storm clouds were brewing...a premonition perhaps! She shoved the thought out of her mind and increased the speed. The seconds ticked away, the air growing palpably heavy with apprehension. She jerked on the brakes as she reached her destination and jumped out of the car. Reaching for the spare keys, she jammed it into the lock, turned it and entered.

 She was too late. His body lay draped across the white cushions of the sofa, one hand clutching the gun and the other hand reaching out towards a smashed frame of the four of them of them standing together grinning at the camera."Happy Times", it said at the corner of the frame. But not today, she thought. She was...too late!

The above post was written for the Wednesday Prompt from the Write Tribe. Click on the link below to visit...Enjoy!
Write Tribe (Click Here!!!)

FSF: Sunshine

The dust motes danced and twirled in the rays of sunshine peeping through the curtains. Like an endless array of scattered thoughts, they were eternal. Golden thoughts, too far away to reach out to but near enough to catch an enticing glimpse of. Detachment reigned the air today. My eyes looked on with an expression of fascinated boredom. And I waited...for the numb existence to cease.
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The above was written for the FSF challenge. Click Here to visit!

Friday, 21 February 2014


Sweet cherub-ed Cupid was but a subservient to her wishes
Lovers were a plenty, so were the gifts showered upon her
Lovelorn and love lost were they, enchanted by an ethereal beauty
Oh her, men were lost, for they came in numbers more
At night she reigned, a queen, an Aphrodite come forth
By day she groomed, Vanity her companion constant
Her heart an icy cold, raged with the fire of passion
A goddess she was not, immortality not her suit
And an end must be, the permanent outcome
Beauty was she, but Vanity was her fall. 

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Thursday, 20 February 2014


I see
The dark future progeny,
Embedded into a
Fleshy womb.
The rosy armour
An only shield.
Its fate still
Remains sealed.

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Friday, 14 February 2014


The gun was still pointed at Jean's temple. The sweaty, bearded man had begun the countdown. Ten....Nine.... He had only ten distinct seconds to make a choice, to reach a decision.

 Eight....Jean was breathing heavily, blood slowly crawled on its downward journey from a gash on her forehead.Her life slowly seeped from their home without any regrets.The musty twang of blood hit his nose hard. Fear, and a faint glint of...hope?! darkened her eyes.
Seven....Six...The butt of the gun now pressed against her temple. Sweat dribbled down its owners face, the brows set, the mouth forming hard lines of stubbornness.
Five...The silence bulged with a cacophony of palpable emotions. Flies swatted near the mans head.
Four....The air hung still, prominent detachment silently took its place.
Three...His throat was dry. Breathing grew difficult.
Two...He moved. Sheer strength of will made his decision. He moved a step and fell on his knees, defeat slumping his shoulders.

The above was written for the FSF challenge-
FSF(Click Here!!!)

Wednesday, 12 February 2014


Darkness Calls

Echoed screams dance,symphony of insanity and death.
Darkness smirks, entices even
Tentacles reaching out,beckoning Cimmerian gloom,
A sin to inveigle,its solitary desideratum
An ostentatious facade allures to corrupt the uncorrupt,
The unsullied,the unblemished and the untainted.
Virginal souls who fail to discern,
A veiled beneath.

This was written for Angela's Visdare Prompt-
Originally I was going to write a story on this picture. It was going to be an old, dilapidated and unoccupied mental asylum haunted by the ghosts of its past residents, where the walls still screamed and told the stories it had been made a witness to of. But as soon as I wrote the first line 'Echoed screams...', it presented itself as a poem. So here is the result! It's a little short, but its what I wanted. So...please leave your comments and suggestions! Thank you, appreciate it!

Saturday, 8 February 2014


Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, silently but persistently. And still she didn't make a sound. Liana knew what the five year old had suffered through her life. Her loss would have driven any adult to the depths of depression. Gathering the little darling in her arms, she kissed away her tears and cleaned her grazed, bleeding knees. Finally she held her close, as close as she could, to let the little girl know that she wasn't alone, but she knew the ache was still buried there and would never really go away.
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Friday, 7 February 2014

Wednesday Prompt-Write Tribe

Finally the man had put the trash bag inside. I had been waiting a long time. Tonight he had been late, probably because of the party they had been hosting. The happy, soulful sounds emanating out of the house during dinner had me yearning for more during that time. to begin! Slowly I felt inside. It was hard, for someone in my position to do so, but years of practice had perfected it. I had made it a game,if only to relieve myself of my bored, bland and monotonic lifestyle. The game was to guess what they had for breakfast and dinner. Lunch was excluded considering they ate it mostly outside. A little squirming around....stretching... a little more. Yes. I can make it out now. Slowly I tried to put all the different prices together, to get a complete picture of their meals. Just have to put it together. A picture starts its distinct assembling in my mind. Like a jigsaw puzzle,I muse. The thought both amused and fascinated me. A milk carton, some greasy beef remains, a cereal carton, traces of buttered bread slices- hmm....their breakfast. Oh....wait! A juice carton too. Well someone in the house ate healthily while someone else didn't give a fig as to what they ate. Ah... dinner...this is it- grilled chicken, a meagre amount of sausages, salad, some sauce....pasta??! Lasagne?! Difficult. That's all?!!! Oh well...must have refrigerated the rest!
I suppose that's all for today, ignoring some of the other junk.
Can't wait for tomorrow. Another game. Something else to look forward to.
You ask me I don't have anything else to do?!, I don't! After all I am a trash can!

This was written for the following prompt from the write tribe-
“life is like a jigsaw puzzle, you have to see the whole picture, then put it together piece by piece!”
― Terry McMillan, A Day Late and a Dollar Short

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Rebellion-A Poem
The Hunt- A Poem
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Wednesday, 5 February 2014


Knitting....yes knitting helped, helped you keep sane. sound you somehow found soothing. Knitting helped you remember while at the same time keeping a hold on you. You sat there alone, in the theatre, the theatre you were once a part of, a theatre you had grown, a theatre where you learnt passion,joy and to hope. You still remembered the backstage nervous mêlée, the apprehension, the feeling of discovering something new again and again. And as you knitted, you relived it all again. Then when its your turn, you soar, you fly, you dance to a symphony of the heart, pirouttes, fouttes, jets, you relive it all. The exhilaration, the excitement and the feeling of achievement. relive it all, knitting, sitting their all alone in the theatre, with that wild spark in your eyes. The spark of control barely there, the spark of owning and losing, the spark of insanity glimmering slowly into life. The spark that says you are broken.

For more info on the VisDare challenge-

Saturday, 1 February 2014

Fighting Memories

Clich kere to view the VisDare Challenge-

She walked up into the abandoned house, her camera crew following like obedient chicks following the mother hen. By now she was used to them and felt quite oblivious to their presence. She was focused now, on her goal, conquering her ambitions one by one, a woman on a mission. Her heart had been closed to everyone around her since her father had decided that abandoning them, and her, was better than facing the repercussions of his actions. She was determined, strong -willed and independent. Focused. All she had to do was complete this last segment before she could make off for her long holiday in the Indies.
The house she entered was talked about all right. Surrounded by mysteries, said to be haunted (although that was probably a rumour), had a tragic and violet past. Even from the outside she could see the unkempt condition of the house, the abandoned air that surrounded it, rousing a sensation of despair and longing so strong that she had to stop and force herself to regain control on her emotions. She entered first and stopped short. The house was bare, as though the previous inhabitants never wanted to leave proof of them ever having lived there. Frayed and tattered curtains whipped about in the open windows adding to the stagnant and putrid air which gave it an undertone of suppressed depravity. The wooden planked floor rotted,the paint peeled off the walls, but everything was completely bare. Stripped. Naked, for all to see. Blood stained the foot of the staircase, telling a story about its forgotten violent past. They took the necessary shots with her running commentary. Upstairs they did the same. It seemed as though she was on autopilot. She was numb, just doing her duty. They finally entered the last room. It was smaller than the others. But most importantly it was not bare. There, right in the centre of the room stood a wonderland. A child's toy piece, she thought, this must have been a nursery. She didn't want to shoot here. With a grave shake of her head and a few curt words she sent her crew to pack up the equipments. She somehow thought shooting in this place is going to break something, something precious and beloved, something sanctified. She stepped farther into the room. Her hand automatically reached up to touch the arch. She ran her hand along it as though to soothe her own stinging soul. As she did, she thought of her own fathers betrayal, the subsequent pain of bereavement and despair, of love betrayed. She thought about the child that would gave gone through the same. And she felt pity. Pity for the child to face a fate so not unlike her own. Sadness and despair for her own situation mingled and became one with the sorrow she felt for the child. Her eyes glazed and misted over with unshed tears. With a deep breath, she took control. A simple 'no' escaped her parted lips. Squaring her shoulders, with unspoken words and a heavy heart she turned and walked out...out of the room....out of the house...out into the too bright traitorous sunshine.


Her breathing grew heavy and fast. She was cold, but she was sweating. The sheets twisted to form a binding hold on her body. A snake twisting out the final breath of its prey. She felt trapped. The bed creaked. Her arms thrashed wildly, fisted hands convulsed at her sides, the nails dug into her skin making permanent marks. NO...her whimper hardly above a whisper. She screamed and shot out of her bed. Her legs barely supporting her. Gasping for breath, forcing herself to breath normally. After her heart stopped pounding, she forced herself to think. It was only a a nightmare. A nightmare forever etched into her mind. Frozen eternally in a corner of her mind best left alone.


The Blizzard...

Everything was perfect today. After such a long time too...thought Katherine. The sun was warm on her skin.  The lake, still frozen glistened like a field of diamond saplings yet to grow. There, she thought, I can make out a bird on the far side of the lake, probably gazing longingly at the fishes swimming below, smiling to herself. She needed some exercise, after being cooped up in her little apartment. And it helped that the park was right in front of her apartment. Oh, and there's Tom and Jenny. She could see them on the other side of the lake, almost hugging each other. Even after six months of marriage they were still gaga and moon eyed over each other, she thought wryly, as she made her long way over to them.  There was still a chill in the air but the weak sun after so many days of being stuck inside her little apartment provided relief. She still remembered the panic, confusion and mostly disbelief brought on by the news announcement in her little town in Alaska three week ago. Most had ignored it as another one of those hoaxes flying around and although decided to take the rest of the day off, refused to take the necessary precautions like stocking up on food and water. Her own supply of water had promptly frozen the next day after the announcement of the blizzard. The phone lines had been down and she hadn't been able to contact anyone. At least she'll manage to prod out some information on what's been going on around from Tom, who worked for the local newspaper. Everyday a glance out of her window had shown her practically nothing. The thick sheet of almost continuous snow and a howling, freezing wind had come up within a matter if seconds on the second day. At lunch too, a time when everyone would have been about enjoying the break. She hoped there were no causalities and no one was reported missing. As she neared them, she saw a hot dog seller hunched over his wares. Back to business I suppose. Hey, she said as she reached  her friends who hadn't even bothered to change their position. Hey guys, come on- she stopped short. Her blood ran cold. She couldn't feel the warmth of the sun anymore. She could only feel the icy chill around her. Fear, shock, disbelief combined in her throat to form a shrill scream. She ran blindly towards the hot dog seller, shouting for help. Another scream escaped as she reached him. No... she thought, no....! She ran towards the streets. The bird hadn't moved or changed its position. Oh God.... please no! word screamed and threatened to tear her mind apart. She ran out into the streets...
No...not everyone....! Everywhere she went...same with everyone. It was like she was trapped in her own nightmare. Everyone...whatever they had been doing, in their own actions, eternally frozen!!!
File:Dupont blizzard.JPG
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