I am an Instructional Designer, avid reader, small-town woman and working mother with a fish-eye perspective. I have just published my first book, The Forest Bed and other short stories.
If you like my stories on this blog, feel free to Like, Comment, Reblog and Share.
You can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org or through my Facebook page facebook.com/shailyagrawalwrites/
Wow, has it really been over a year since my last post? I’ve still been writing, reading, learning… And here, at long last, is a new story. I hope you enjoy. Don’t forget to check out the Tiny Tales Podcast for more stories that you might not see here: https://www.tinytalespodcast.com/
The child lay on the shore of clouds and gazed at the world below. Beneath the pool of sky, land stretched green and gray and brown. The shadow of drifting feather clouds passed dark over the forest, pierced by the jagged arrows of bird flocks.
An arm sweeping, stirring the empty sky, the child watched through half-open eyes. Wind tickled his fingertips. He was wide-awake, dreaming. Walking the green stretches. Striding through the trees. He scaled mountains, forded rivers. Mighty Cirus. Unafraid.
Sighing, he stretched an empty hand to the open sky, shifting near enough to the edge that…
Author’s note: The first line of this story was offered by Elizabeth.
It happened at last but not the way I had hoped.
I didn’t have to stay in the river anymore. It was too crowded anyway–too many grand hippos, uncles, aunts and cousins left too little privacy. Too many family members shared the food that was mostly just grass. An occasional fruit would lead to fights among cousins where I always lost, being the weakest one. Also, too many fishes poked their noses in my business, gossiping about who I spoke to and how it all went.
I couldn’t get away from them fast enough.
So, I was happy, at least in the beginning, that I wouldn’t have to share my food anymore. Ever since they brought me here in that trailer, I had had more fruits everyday than ever in my lifetime. And I had the little pond all to myself without any gossiping fishes or frogs or uncles or aunts or cousins…
There was no one to fight for food and no one to gossip with or about…
The doorbell rang with shrill urgency. I opened the door yet again. No one was there.
Of course, it would be so. My doorbell was having a day. Nothing I did or said could make her let go off her fear. With all the anxiety, she was close to having a cog attack and I wondered if I should get her checked by a professional. Of course, they wouldn’t really understand the problem. They’ll just open her up, oil her, double check her wires for any cuts and, then, return with a suggestion of buying a new, more reliable door bell. And there lay the problem.
May, my girlfriend, had suggested just the thing earlier that day insisting that my doorbell never rang whenever she pressed the button. She believed the thing had a faulty wiring. Well, in a way she was right. It is wired to my jealous dead-wife’s soul.
When alive, my wife would call my office landline under various pretexts to check I was really there and follow me in her car when I was too cheery about the weekend fishing with my friends. But it was nothing compared to now.
Ever since she died, I felt I wasn’t alone; that I was being watched. I would glance over my shoulder so frequently, I had kinks in my neck every now and then.
When a few months later, I mentioned it to a friend, he suggested that the loneliness was probably getting at me. He set up a blind date with his cousin, May.
Once I reached the venue for the date, my car door wouldn’t open. I had to get out by breaking a window. A few weeks later, when my car failed to start every time I planned a date with her, I sold it and bought a new one but the problem continued and I could see a pattern forming. I started calling May to pick me up instead. It was then that my cellphone stopped working whenever I called her or she called me.
I could clearly see the issue now. The feeling of being watched was intense. I craved being left alone. Desperate to get out of the horror show that my life had become, I requested a witch doctor for help. He was quite understanding, having once suffered similar pain (Not my story to tell). He offered to cage my late wife inside a house fixture and asked me to choose one. I didn’t want her shaking the walls or bringing down the pillars, nor did I want lampposts falling on my head or door handles getting stuck. So, I chose the doorbell, which was out of the way, believing it would cause me the least distress.
Well, so we are here now. The felling of being watched is less intense and limited to the area around the doorbell. But ever since my girlfriend’s mention of a new bell, my doorbell has been ringing frantically every five minutes, demanding my presence. All coddling and reasoning have failed. Frustrated in extreme with the constant ringing that kicks up my heart rate and bring my blood to boil, I finally chuck the doorbell out of the door to be rid of her forever. She can spend the rest of her time in a landfill or, maybe, a recycling plant until the day of judgement.
It is quiet now. The feeling of being watched is gone and I am truly alone. I had believed I would revel in the alone-ness, but weirdly enough, I miss it. I look outside and think of my erratic wife lying outside in the snow. True that she couldn’t feel the elements anymore but still…she loves me, even if a little too much. And I still love her, even if she is being insufferable now a days.
Half an hour later, I still can’t get away from the window, watching her protectively. Car headlights flash ahead. What if it crushes her? I rush outside and pick the doorbell up from the freezing road and bring her back in where it is warm. Placing her on the table, I hear her ring without the wiring; a faint call, reminding she was still there. It is time for tough decisions.
I call May one last time and break up with her. Then I pull off the enchanted rope that the witch doctor had used to tie my wife to the doorbell.
She sat waiting for him to return home. It was Karwachauth fast, so she was thirsty, hungry and crabby. She was also annoyed that seven years after their marriage, he would choose to ignore the day. He hadn’t called all day. Neither had he come home a little early like he did in the earlier days of their marriage.
It was almost time for the moon to rise, for her to break the fast, but she couldn’t eat or drink until he fed her with his own hands. She wondered if it was worth staying hungry for the long life of a man who didn’t give a damn anymore.
He was all work now, always at office, only returning to eat and sleep. Sometimes, he would play a little with the children but he didn’t have time for her anymore. Did it have something to do with that new pretty girl in his office, Priya? That day at the office party, she seemed too intent to please. Always hovering around him, “Sir this…”, “Sir that…”.
What would she do if he decided to ditch their marriage for this one? She worried with the lace of her red sari–one she had worn for too many years on too many Karwachauth fasts. It was the only decent red sari she had, the colour she had to wear as per the tradition. She hadn’t asked for another. It seemed weird asking for a red dress at her age. That too for just one occasion an year. Not that he noticed anymore anyway.
The bell rang, she almost ran to the door but collected herself together. She didn’t want to look desperate, so she called one of the kids to open the door.
Her husband walked in with a large package in his hand, which he handed to her with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I’m late. You know how tailors can be. I had to sit there and wait until he finished. I could have called you but I wanted it to be a surprise. You already look lovely, but this shade suits you better.”
She opened the package. It was the perfect red sari ensemble.
Tomorrow I am going to kill Caroline, but I can’t decide how to take her life away.
I can always bite her head off…the thought was repulsive, so obviously, I relished it. I run through the scene in my mind where I bite off different parts of her head one-by-one, leaving the nose, of course, since she has nose allergy which keeps it permanently runny.
But honestly, once I bite any part of her, she would snap and throw me out of the room. I need a more plausible scenario. Maybe I’ll pick up a fight with that mad dog in the backstreet to get rabies and then bite her.
But what’s the point of revenge if I don’t live to enjoy it? I rack my brains again. What if I push her overboard when she offers to take me on a flight around the place? I’ll make sure she lands on something hard.
But then, who will steer? I hardly have the physical faculties needed for a safe landing. Well, maybe I’ll just bite off the twigs from her broomstick and then decline to go with her. Then her broomstick will surely crash and Dad will never go on a date with her. And he will never forget to feed me…
How could he forget to feed me? An overwhelming sadness engulfs me that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with losing the only man I ever loved…
The soft click of the window handle startles me. Dad glides in on his broomstick. But, how? He was only gone 15 minutes. Didn’t he say he’ll be out all night? Not that I’m complaining…
“Caroline was asking about you, Darling. She sent me right back when I admitted having forgotten your dinner.” He hugs and pets me, pours kibbles and fresh fish in my bowl and leaves on his broomstick again.
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: 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…
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.
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…
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, a stray, joined 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 Molly 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.
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…