In my bed,
Holding my finger.
In my bed,
Holding my finger.
Author’s note: The First line of the story was suggested by Webb Blogs
Why is everyone being so loud, and why is this stranger claiming to be my husband? My head hurts like there is a stampede inside it. I can’t recall where I was last night or what I did but I certainly couldn’t have married a stranger overnight!
If only Priscila was here to provide me an alibi. She had promised to meet me at my home last evening. She had something to celebrate and wanted to give me the news in person. But she never showed up. I was bored and lonely. So I decided…
This is where I came up blank. I just can’t remember what I decided or what I did after that. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I am not on drugs and I didn’t have alcohol. I also don’t have a life and have lived vicariously through Priscila since forever. Ideally, I would have had dinner and slept the night off. Only, I am not in my bed. And the owner of the bed, and the house it is in, says that we dated for six months and married a couple of days back in a small ceremony in front of the minister!
How can I date and marry someone and then forget about him?
May be he’s lying. He shows me some pretty convincing pictures of the ceremony with me as the bride. But photos can be fake. Or worse, what if he slipped something in my drink last night? An LSD? That can explain the loss of memory and the headache.
He looks genuinely confused, which unsettles me, but he can be a good actor, “I don’t understand. You were fine with our marriage until last night. You even went out to share the news with a friend! Have I done something wrong?” His eyes are honest. He doesn’t seem like a guy who would gaslight a woman but, then, what do I know? I barely met him five minutes back when I woke up in his bed.
Why isn’t Priscila picking up her phone? Is she alright? It isn’t like her to not show up. Already at the end of my nerves, I throw my phone down on the bed facing upwards.
His brows are crunched in confusion, “Honey, why are you calling yourself?”
“No, I am calling my best friend. She’ll help me figure it all out. She always does when I am not able to make sense of something.”
“Darling, the number is yours…”
“No, it n…” I look closely and beneath the name Priscila, is my own phone number. My stomach drops out of the bottom. “I must have messed up the contacts when I changed my phone. Maybe that’s why I am not able to get through to her. I’ll check the recent calls. She called me last evening.” Hastily, I scroll through the recent calls. I have several incoming calls from Priscila but all of them have my number.
The stranger looks at me with a guarded expression that I hate. Even though he is most certainly not my husband as he claims to be, I want him to know I am not insane. I hated when sometimes people assumed that about me; makes me feel like killing someone. I feel anger rising already, “I don’t understand. I swear Priscila called me last evening. She was so excited about something that she wanted to share. But she never turned up!”
“So you have a best friend named Priscilla too?”
I grit my teeth and my confusion comes out harsh, “What do you mean? Do you know a Priscila as well?”
He slowly stands up and inches towards the door as if I am a wild animal that might attack him. He clearly thinks I am a deranged lunatic. The gesture raises something wild within me. I am too hurt and too livid, and I begin to black out…
Author’s note: This is a six-line story. The first line was offered by by Sarada Gray.
It was almost dark when I realised that the four of us were suddenly five. Shivering, I quietly signaled and we cowered in the shadows trying to blend with the walls.
Hiding was the only way to survive these days. I always wanted to fix that broken door but the rest of our group felt it would give our position away.
I knew the ruse could only work so long, because now, with abated breath, we waited for the axe to fall. And sure as death, a teenage scream rented the air, “Aagh, Ghooooooost!”
Author’s note: Thank you, Gavin Marriott, for the first line of the story.
I had only just come indoors from the cold and wet, putting the kettle on while I was to change into something warm, yearning for that hot brew, when the phone rang. Wearily, I picked up the receiver of the old landline.
The giggle was horribly familiar. But for the first time in our three-year marriage, it gave me goosebumps.
I looked around for her cellphone. It had to be here somewhere. Wasn’t she texting on it when I struck her from behind? Gah! She had pocketed it by the time the blow made impact. Which means she still has it! And she is making calls. How did she survive? I had checked her pulse before driving her to the forest and throwing her where only animals could find her. I should have buried her! Had she called the police yet? I might still have time.
I ran to my wardrobe and threw everything of value in a bag and rushed to the door of my cabin. If I drove without stopping for food or sleep, I could make it to the next state by tomorrow. Only, the old lock on the door was stuck. I tried with all my might. But the door didn’t relent. I tried to break it down but felt like I dislocated a shoulder in stead.
I looked out of the window. I could jump out of it but I’d never survive the fall from the steep cliff. The only way to get out was through the door. I checked the storage for anything that could help me open the door. An axe, a shovel, not even a carving knife… Desperate, I threw the chair at the door but it bounced off. Not even a dent! I tried the table next. The table broke in splinters but the door stood unaffected.
I went through my options. I could wait here for the police and tell them she was lying. But with that head injury, she’d have a clear case. I could almost see the glint of cruel madness in her eyes when she knew she had me at her pity. I’d seen it too often during our marriage.
And she giggled…
She was really there, standing in the room in front of me. She had probably locked the door and had the key. I could try reasoning but had it ever worked in the past, I wouldn’t have killed her…or rather, since she was standing here, tried killing her. So, I picked the only remaining chair and swung at her. But, somehow I missed. I tried again and the chair passed through her. She giggled…
Horrified, I rushed to the door and yanked the door bolt, only managing to break the handle of the bolt. There was no way I could stay at the cabin with her. I quickly picked up my phone to call my bestie to break down the door but there was no connectivity. Only her giggles were coming out of its speakers setting my teeth on the edge.
I was shaking as I rushed to my bedroom, closed the door and opened my laptop, hoping to catch someone online. She slipped inside through the closed door and stood sentry, fixing her gaze on me with an intensity that frayed my nerves, and giggled…
After an eternity, the laptop finally booted and her grinning face filled the screen. Scared, I skittered backwards. In the process, I had upset the laptop. It fell on the floor and broke in two pieces.
I turned my eyes skywards seeking help from the almighty and found her hovering on the roof, grinning down on me.
I threw myself at the room’s door. It, too, was locked. I threw things at the door while screaming at the top my lungs for help even though I knew no one could hear me. The nearest house was a mile away. Soon I was standing in a pool of broken things with nothing left to throw at the door while she giggled from the roof.
I could not stay with her here. Anything had to be better than this.
There was only one way to go.
I opened the window and jumped off the cliff. I could hear her giggles following me all the way down. When my body made contact with the rocky floor, the pain had me blinded and, for a few seconds, all I could feel was my broken body and all I could hear was my own ragged breath as life seeped out of me until the blessed silence enveloped me. I was finally free of her…
And then, she giggled…
Author’s note: Originally, I had told this story to my daughter to bring a twist in the old story. But when my daughter chose to retell it to me, as it happens so often with retellings, she added her own touch. By the third retelling, the story had its own character. Then, she created illustrations at my request. I couldn’t help but share it.
If the story doesn’t make sense, well, it’s not mine. You have been warned.
The Happy Beginnings
Long ago, there lived a girl. We don’t know her name, so for the sake of reference, let’s call her Cinderella. She lived in a huge house with her father, stepmother and two stepsisters. We don’t know their names too but it doesn’t matter; it is not their story.
Cinderella was really happy in her life with only one problem–she hated bathing. In fact, the only person who could urge her to take a bath was her father.
Once her father died, no one in the family could make her bathe again. Within a couple of months, the situation became unbearable for the family. The house staff quit, complaining of smelling death in the house. Soon, the outside staff that took care of animals and gardens quit too, believing the hearsay of the family being haunted.
The step-mother tried everything in her power to subdue Cinderella. She made her do all the household chores, reminding her, “If you bathe even once a week, the staff would return. Then, you wouldn’t have to do all this work.” But Cinderella remained unmoved. After four months, the stepmother started to get strangling dreams at night because of the smell that was now Cinderella permanent companion. She had no other option but to move Cinderella to the attic.
The Royal Ball
Years flew by. All the girls were now quite grown up. Cinderella happened to be prettiest of them all, but you wouldn’t know that, considering the cakes of dirt stuck to her body. The only clean place on her body was her hands, that were washed many times a day because of the chores she did. Her hair fell limp, caked with dirt too, on her back, never moving in strongest of winds.
One day, the king announced a ball dance at the castle, inviting all the girls of the city. The rumours were that the prince will choose his bride and the future queen during the ball. Their mother had dresses made for all three girls who were quite excited to go. On the morning of the ball, she asked all of them to get ready. She specifically requested Cinderella to take a bath. But Cinderella, being what she was, just went in the bathroom and splash water on the walls and came out toweling herself and wore her dress quickly.
She couldn’t fool anyone though. As soon as she joined her stepmother outside the door, the old lady wrinkled her nose and told her that she will have to stay back; they could not take her to the ball smelling like a dead cat otherwise the soldiers will toss them all out. So, they left Cinderella behind crying outside the house.
Suddenly Cinderella felt someone behind her. As she turned back, she saw a small figure the size of her palm hovering in the air behind her. She sniffed the air and asked, “So, what died here? And how long back?”
Cinderella was rather surprised at the sudden appearance and the enquiry, but she replied with as much dignity as she could summon. “Well, my mom died a while back and then my dad.”
“Yeah! I know that. That’s why I’m here. But, still—What’s this smell?”
“Ah! That must be me!”
“Really! How did you manage to do that? Upset stomach?”
“No! I…well, I just don’t like to bathe…”
“Ah! Okay, so why were you crying?”
Cinderella relayed the incident of the day and the fairy just shook her head. “Well, you didn’t leave her much choice, did you? What if the horses had bucked by the smell? Well, if you really want to go to the ball, I can arrange that but I cannot assure entry, considering the smell…”
Cinderella finally gave up. “Alright, I’ll go and take a bath!”
“Darling! The time you need to take off this amount of dirt and smell from your person…the party would be over by the time you reach there. We need to arrange something quick and easy. Ah! I get it! Stand back!”
She swiped her wand and a mango moved out of the fruit basket and started to swell until it was the size of a carriage with shiny golden wheels. The flies began swarm around it. She, then, picked two flies and turned them into horses. Then, she turned one into the carriage driver and asked him to tie the horses to the carriage. Flies don’t mind smelly things, so they would do well. The fairy then asked Cinderella to step inside the mango-turned-carriage.
Once Cinderella was seated inside, she suddenly remembered, “What will I tell my family?”
“Nothing. Just avoid them. They won’t believe you anyway.”
“No, I mean, my mother will be furious if she returns before me and realises I went all alone.”
“That can be arranged.” The fairy swiped her wand and another Cinderella stood there. “Ensure you keep the family happy until Cinderella returns.” The clone smiled and went inside.
The Bath, the Ball and the Magical Lease
The door and windows were immediately barred, the carriage started moving and a warm shower started coming down from the top of the mango soaking Cinderella’s clothes. The fairy handed a soap bar smelling like a mango to Cinderella. She did a quick job, but fairy made her repeat until all the dirt and grime was gone. Cinderella’s dress was still smelly, so, the fairy created a new dress and pretty shoes too, which Cinderella wore quickly as the castle came into view.
The fairy whispered, “You have two years until all of the magic is gone. Use it well.”
And then she left with a pop.
As Cinderella stepped in the party, everyone looked at her. She looked rather pretty and freshly washed, and the smell of mango soap clung to her. Of course, the prince asked her to dance with him and again and yet again. She was rather elusive of her whereabouts but the prince was totally taken with her because of her deep knowledge on the things that really mattered, like how to bathe horses and polish shoes and buttons and how to be happy with simple things in life, like having someone to serve food.
So, he asked her to marry him. Of course, Cinderella agreed and they were married in a quick ceremony the same night. Cinderella knew she’d have to bathe everyday now but she didn’t really mind it so much anymore.
Two Years Later
Two years flew by. The time of magic lease ending was up, so on the last day, Cinderella returned to her home.
She was greeted with a sight of her clone–freshly bathed–sitting in a lawn chair along with her sisters laughing at a joke while the staff that had returned was busy working around the house.
She decided to wait until the magic wore off in the evening and this one was gone and hid behind some bushes. She heard a pop behind her. “Hi! Why are you hiding in the bushes?” the fairy asked smiling. “I am waiting for the other me to disappear. I have returned. Why is she still here?”
“Ah! That one will remain forever. One of you sisters wished she’d be forever the same, and I am their Godmother too.”
“Then, where will I go?”
“Back to the palace obviously. Don’t you want to be with your family?”
“Of course I do, but once the magic ends, I will be back to my old self again.”
“And you are not your old self yet?”
“I don’t see any difference.”
“Well, where are the dress and shoes I gave you?”
“I’m sorry. I seem to have misplaced them. I went looking in my closet but they were missing. Even the mango carriage, the horses, and the driver were missing when I went to get them. Someone might have taken them for a ride,” Cinderella looked apologetic.
“That’s because the magic ended last midnight. The dress and shoes are back to nothing now. And you can’t expect to recognise three flies in a place full of horses and that mongo must have become someone’s late-night snack.”
“But then, why am I still the same?”
“Well, you bathe everyday, I believe? That’s not magic. And your clothes and shoes are made by humans too. What is there to change?”
“But I look pretty.”
“You ARE pretty, darling. You just needed a bath. Now, if you are done with the questioning, there is a girl stuck on a tower I must send a prince to.” With those words, the fairy disappeared.
Cinderella took a great sigh of relief and went back home to her happily ever after.
Sun rains down not kindly.
I plough through life as not me
‘Cause you love not me.
Authors note: A Haiku is a three-line Japanese poetry with 5,7,5 syllables. It contains a reference to nature.
Author’s note: This is short story based on the first line suggested by Beetleypete.
It was so hot there, much hotter than I could ever have imagined it would be. I had always expected it to be cool below the surface since the desert sun couldn’t get to you. But apparently, I was wrong.
It was stifling hot and suffocating, even though, I didn’t need to breath anymore. The casket I was lying in was rather stuffy. May be a walk in the tomb would help.
It was just as dark outside. There was no way of knowing whether it was day or night. Who would want to live for eternity stuck in a hole where you could see neither the sun, nor the moon and stars. Not that I needed light to see. My eyes adjusted to the dark just fine but it didn’t take away the claustrophobia, reminding of the one time I had been foolish enough to hide in a closet.
The paintings on the walls depicted my life in the world outside–my wife, sons and daughters, my territory and the time of my glorious reign. As if I needed a reminder of that now! I already thought of it all the time. The other paintings were decorative and I had already memorised every single line from the countless lonely walks in the past years.
The bandages on my body were making me itchy. I wished I had my wife to scratch out that itch on my back but she was still out there, alive. Sigh! I will have to wait until she is done with her time on the surface until she is lowered here with me. If she chooses to sleep in the same tomb as me…Not sure she would. I wasn’t a model husband–too many mistresses to make her jealous.
She wasn’t allowed to have another husband to get even with me but what if she took a slave? Did she do that while I was still alive? With the dark one with the tall soldier-like build–the one she had chosen to keep when we were sifting through the war prisoners? In my mind, I could see the longing in her eyes for the tall monstrosity who became her personal guard and the knowing smirk on the guard’s face when he had leaned on one knee and kissed her knuckles.
I wanted to throw my fists through the walls. If I had a heart anymore, it would have burst with the pain. You would think that, with an eternity to brood, I would accept fate but, with an eternity to brood, the thoughts kept coming back. Like the day our last child was born–the child was darker than usual. The pain of deception had cut me through. It was one thing for me to sleep with another woman but to find out that my wife was doing another man…
When I had voiced my doubt, she had cried her heart out, reminding me of my own many indiscretions and fainted in her bed. I was aghast. I knew what she had done. I should have ordered their beheading right then. But here I was sitting in her bed, holding her hand, feeling guilty, waiting for her to wake up. Not sure when I fell asleep too. The choking sensation had had me reeling.
I wondered if he helped her or she did it on her own…
I wondered if she cried for me at all…
I woke up inside the casket in the tomb. It was so hot there, much hotter than I could ever imagine. I had always expected it to be cool below the surface since the desert sun couldn’t get to you. But apparently, I was wrong. The bandages were itchy and I wished I had my wife…
Blessings falling from the sky.
I perch on a wire
Soaking the love,
While humans hide inside
Their brick prisons,
Bound to chairs
With weird square manacles,
Staying out of sight.
Sigh! Humans are so naive…
Tiny tailor bird stitches leaves together.
Soon she’ll have a full house.
Jealous, I hold tiny boots close,
to heart empty as my nest.
My old bicycle still stands leaning
on the crumbling wall
of the old garden shed
of my childhood home,
much like my childhood long lost.
Author’s note: The first line of this story was shared with me by Jennie to help me break the writer’s block. Thank you, Jennie, for all the help.
Dogs know everything. The boy followed his Lab, his best friend. It was a different path and that worried the boy.
Usually Molly always took the same path for their walks. She knew it was difficult for the boy to navigate through unknown terrain even with her help. Not being able to see what lay ahead put him on the edge and, in his nervousness, he tripped more often. So, ever since Molly became his family, they always stuck to the same route.
But, that evening, when she stopped to sniff the air and moved in a different direction, the boy wondered what had changed.
She pulled at the leash hurrying him. He couldn’t run as fast as she wanted but she wasn’t patient as always. He wondered if Molly was after a squirrel but it was unusual. She never went after squirrels. She knew never to rush because he couldn’t follow. As he ran breathless and clueless after her, he wondered if other people were right and he should have bought a dog trained by the professionals.
She suddenly veered left and ran off-road. He tripped and fell. He thought she would stop for him to get up but Yelllow grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him behind what smelled like hydrangea bushes. He could feel his blood from where it trickled down his bruised right elbow. She licked at the wound and a horrible thought crossed his mind. Aren’t all dogs related to wolves? Now that she has tasted his blood, what was she going to do with him?
As he pushed her away and tried to stand up to defend himself, she jumped on him. He fell face down with her sitting on his back with all the weight of a grown-up labrador. He lashed out at her but she didn’t budge. He hated feeling powerless but there was no other option. He would have to shout for help, he decided.
That’s when he felt them–the dank wiff of cheap alcohol, the sound of several staggering footsteps and the reckless, cruel laughter. He didn’t know any of the voices but the fear in his gut intensified and his instinct told him to stay still as the raucous procession passed. He felt Molly tense up on his back in what felt like a protective stance. Suddenly, there was a sound of a glass bottle shattering on a tree trunk close to where they lay. Someone whooped at the perfect shot. Another challenged to try a ‘moving target’. He shivered with fear. Had they seen him through the foliage?
But they moved on to find that ‘target’.
Once the prcession passed, Molly finally got down from his back, pulled his stick urging him to get up and move back to the safety of their home. He didn’t know the path anymore after having run pell-mell to the place but he felt safe with Molly. She would never let him get lost.
me from within
until I cry. Damn
Author’s note: Lantern is a Japanese forn of potery with 1, 2, 3, 4, 1 syllables creating the shape of a lantern. Usually it is about much deeper topics but dieting makes me shallow. 😁
Damn that rat! I am having a bad hair day, or rather an even worse hair day because I always have bad hair. It’s a curse that has followed me since forever.
I keep rat poison around the house and in the gardens too but one of these always sneak in. And, then, my hair go haywire, sniffing in all directions, getting tangled in the process, never remembering that they can’t leave my head to hunt it anyway.
My life is hell. Yours would be too if you had a headful of snakes for hair. I am Medusa and I’m still trying to hide these cursed ‘hair’ under an assortment of wigs.
I hate Athena. Just because I was slacking from my duties as her priestess, thinking of the time I had with Poseidon, she had to curse me. She could have simply fired me from the post. But no, she had to make a point. And now, I have to deal with hair that eat rabbits for dinner. And live for an eternity too.
Earlier, it was easy. I would simply petrify anyone who stared at my ‘hair’ longer than needed. But it became increasingly difficult when soldiers came calling to check if I had seen certain missing people and finding their statue in my garden shed. They could never pin the abduction/murder on me but my luck wouldn’t hold out forever. Also, now people have trackers on their phones, and sometimes in their cars too.
That’s why I started this business of fashion wigs. It gave me an excuse to have an unlimited supply of ridiculousy large wigs to hide my own head and adverstise my fare too. Getting rabbits to feed my snakes was also an issue, so I started a small rabbit farm on the side, increasing the products to guniea pigs, hamsters and hare. Of course, they are scared of me and never come to me easy. But then, who cares. They are not my pets. They are pet-feed.
Speaking of which, my ‘pets’ are now settling down. It seems like the rat has finally left the room. Nagina is even rubbing her head against my cheek, probably asking for a belly rub and Vipe is pointing his head towards the bag of treats.
Sigh! Don’t I love them all! I just wish they weren’t so much work…
Author’s note: This is my second attempt at a “first-line story” to break what we all know as a writer’s block. The first line of the story was suggested by GP. I hope I did it justice. 🙂
She wandered aimlessly through the maze, wondering what the surprise was when she emerged.
Her father was holding her hand, of course, afraid that she too will run ahead of him like her brother did. She was constantly barraging her father with questions he had no answer to—how did he know where to turn and which door to take, and how would they find their way back when they have found her brother.
When, and not if…her faith was absolute—nothing untoward could befall her seventeen-year-old brother. He was her hero—fearless, invicible and undestructible.
The maze seemed to be going on forever as they went door after door looking for him. She was sure he would have reached the prize by now and must be waiting for them with the trophy in his hand; or may be it would be a really big teddy, like the one she saw the other day when her brother had taken her to the market. The thought perked her up and she quickened her pace, pushing the doors open before her father could stop her.
She felt her brother before she saw him. The smell of his favourite deodorant and the familiar sound of his favourite love song album filled the room that, she suddenly realised, was his bedroom. The sense of dread filled her heart and her gut told her to close the door before… But, like every time before that, she couldn’t stop herself.
Her brother’s body hung from the ceiling fan—tongue lolling, eyes popped out…
She was screaming until her husband shook her out of the ‘nightmare’ and held her against his heart as he had done for countless nights in the past eight years and her parents did for many more years before that. She sobbed until she drifted into an uneasy sleep, hoping against hope for a dreamless night.
And to think that her brother died believing that no one loved him…
Photo by MontyLov on Unsplash
Dipping toes in the river,
I’ll never drown, never swim, never live,
While you call me from far shore.
Your arms curl around me
I snuggle content, hoping to die before
waking to find you gone.
A Haiku is a Japanese form of poetry with 5, 7, 5 syllable combination. Usually, all lines are independent with a least one reference to nature/seasons.
lets no starlight
through; darkness complete without
Author’s note: A Lantern is a Japanese poetry form with 1,2,3,4,1 syllables forming the shape of a lantern.
Author’s note: This is my first attempt at first line stories. The first line of the story was suggested by Fraggle. Thank you, FR. I hope it loves up to your expectations.
The death of the goldfish is the last straw.
My tail is twitching with agitation. I want to kill Gilly. I’ve been telling her since day one not to overfeed Goldy but she’s been constantly offering him treats for tricks when she thought I wasn’t looking. And now as I return from work, Goldy floating sideways in water, eyes closed, close to the cove roof while Gilly is looking at me sheepishly from the far corner, waiting for the sharp rebuke that is sure to come. The weight of the life lost is coming down on my shoulders making it difficult to stand.
I can’t always keep an eye on her. I’m a single mother with a job to keep. Apart from my regular job at the Shell and Pearls art shop, I work three nights a week at the Oceans One Disco to pay for Gilly’s tution. So, she’s alone after study hours. I adopted Goldy, hoping he’d give her the much needed company. I hadn’t considered if, without adult supervision, my young daughter would be able to keep him alive…
I sit down heavily on the ancient coral reef seat that once belonged to my great-grandmother. How did my mother manage to raise me and her mother before her, since none of our fathers—the stranded sailors—stayed long enough for us to grow up. They’d rather catch the first ship back home. But in those times, mermaids raised their children together in large schools so there was always someone elderly to take care of the young ones while mothers foraged for food and wannabe mothers foraged for sailors. I remember clearly the hours I had spent hanging around in open ocean with friends and elderly mermaids, learning how to sing, dance and read. I had a happy childhood.
But now, as the city of Atlantis grows to the outskirts and unfamiliar faces become a common sight, it isn’t safe to leave behind our children out in the open. So, schools are limited to a few hours a day with classes held in closed rooms, and children are sent back to empty homes to fend for themselves. Gilly has to spend uncountable hours alone and I had believed a pet would make her happy. He did too as her constant companion and friend. But now, he’s gone, and I’m not sure I’ll risk another life again.
A deep sadness settles in the pit of my stomach. Goldy wasn’t just a fish; he was family. He was my responsibility too—another one I failed at. Should I rebuke Gilly for being a careless owner? But she must also be grieving…
I look at her and am greeted with expectant eyes. I open my arms to Gilly and beckon her to me. She shouts with glee, “Didn’t I tell you, Goldy, she loves me too,” as she swims in my lap, and Goldy rushes forward to join her, leaving the play-dead act behind.
I roll my eyes to show I amn’t affected by their little drama, but my heart throbs happily, beating a steady rhythm against my chest, trying to drive away the memories of ancient pain.
This January, I was at mom’s and had a bit of time at hand so I drew these 5-minute sketches (using the pictures I had taken during our visit to the zoo) to entertain my daughter while she practiced writing hindi alphabets.
Now, my daughter has started water colours this month and as a gesture of comraderie, I joined in the fun and made these.
Here is the only one where I took a bit of time, around 30 mins.
My reintroduction to art is so much fun I am having a hard time stopping to live the real life.
In days of yore, a young lass
pretty as pretty could be,
her tresses gilted in gold,
azure eyes sparkled with glee.
At age, her parents invited
men from places far and neigh,
she slept assured true love will
find her in her reverie.
Years passed unaccounted for.
No one broke her thousand winks.
No prince ever came for her.
Parents crossed the rainbow bridge.
Their once pretty girl–with grey hair,
clouded eyes and sagging skin–
died in her sleep…
I wish she’d done something, instead.