Category: Fiction

Posted in Fiction

The Ceremony: Part 2 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the second instalment of my latest short story.

My eyes follow her as she moves towards the shadows behind the throne, glancing at the throne nervously. The Royal Couple is not there. Honestly, I haven’t seen them since she danced with her father. It isn’t normal for the Royal Couple to leave the room during an event.

Is she looking for them?

Are they alright?

The warrior in me spurs in action. I follow her quietly in a room behind the throne.

She turns around and challenges me, her sword at the ready, “Why are you following me?”

“I wish to help if there is an emergency. The Royal Couple is not on the dance floor. I haven’t seen them for quite some time.”

“They are fine. You can leave.”

Her attitude puts me off. She is hiding something. “What are you hiding? Where is the Royal Couple?”

My question throws her off as she fumbles, “I’m not hiding anything. They are fine. They just—”

Her words are cut off with a feminine shriek. The voice is coming not from the hall but from the wall behind her. It urges her into action.

She speaks quickly as she quietly moves the fake wall behind her, “This is a secret tunnel which leads to a hidden inner chamber. I thought my parent went there because they didn’t want to be overheard. Now I’m not so sure.”

Swords out, we enter the tunnel and the door closes behind us, leaving us in complete darkness. The woman shrieks again—The Queen? I take off after the Princess as fast as I can without announcing our presence.

Suddenly the shrieks change to giggles, “Please don’t. Don’t. Stop it. I can’t take it anymore.”

There is a slow rumble of laughter as the Consort’s voice follows, “But you said nothing I do could make you laugh again. You lose! So, now you have to forgive me.”

The Princess is looking utterly mortified at her parent’s childishness.

“Okay!” Queen sighs, “But I still think it was wicked of you to trip the boy. Nala’s breaches were ruined.”

The Princess stiffens.

The Consort countered, “I had to! Ester wasn’t giving her a chance. He wasn’t dancing and, when I saw him slinking out, I had to act on my feet. I wanted him to see she wasn’t some pampered Princess he believes her to be.”

Are they…are they talking about me?

The queen interjected, concern lacing her voice, “Did he say that about her?”

“No. But I could see it in his face when she stepped into the room. Well, you can’t fault him for that, considering how shy she is and tries to look strong to hide her nervousness in public events? One would think she is snubbing people. So, I had to prove him wrong. I saw his face as he waited for her to blast the boy and how his jaw dropped when she went all soft on him.”

Nala shoots me a look, quickly averting her eyes like I had burned her. It is my turn to be mortified. She has understood who they are talking about.

The Queen sounds wary, “But, how can you be sure Ester is the right man for her?”

“Well, he is a decent man—doesn’t want to marry for wealth and position. As his father puts it, ‘Only love has the power to tuck away his sword…’ Only after seeing her soft side did he join the ceremonial dance, which means he likes her for the right reasons.”

“So, will you tell her to choose him?”

“No. I would prefer her to find him, like I found you all those years ago. The moment you touched my hand, I knew…”

Nala sucks a breath beside me.

The shuffling sounds make me realise where this conversation is going and I tug at her sleeve. We run out of the tunnel quietly. As we brush our clothes to straighten them in an attempt to avoid each other’s eyes, she whispers sadly, “I am not a snob, you know.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She nods stiffly, moves quickly ahead of me and joins the festivities again as far away from me as possible. The Queen and her Consort follow us soon after, looking as if they had been here all along. No one could guess they were hiding away like teenagers just a moment back.

During the dance, I catch the Princess looking at me several times, averting her gaze quickly as if caught. Her face is impassive—the mask is on. I would give anything to make her smile at me again. As our turn to dance together is coming and my stomach is churning with anxiety, I realise I want her to choose me.

She looks a bit pink in the face herself as she faces me. We dance with swords striking with wordless grace in rhythm with the music, The quiet steel in her eyes is stabbing me over and over. We haven’t known each-other, but I feel like a traitor for judging her. I have to do something to make her forgive me. Anything to bring that smile back.

As she passes close to me, I do the most inappropriate thing a warrior can do—I tickle her with my free hand.

Her eyes open wide and I give her a devilish smile, like issuing a challenge.

I see Nala trickling through the Princess as the steel in her eyes melts into a mischievous smile.

Challenge accepted.

End

Posted in Fiction

The Ceremony: Part 1 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first instalment of my latest short-story.

“The Princess has arrived!” shouts the crier.

Everyone in the room becomes respectfully silent, gazing at the entrance of the ceremonial hall in expectation of the belle of the evening, Princess Nala.

They are not disappointed. She looks exquisite in the ceremonial gold armour covering her body from neck to knees and wrists, with traditional breeches and laced up sandals beneath. As she smiles, the battle-scars on her face flex—a badge of honour for every warrior.

She moves confidently amongst the guests, followed by a stream of female warriors in similar ceremonial garbs made of silver. Everyone scrambles forward trying to catch her eye in the hope of the grand prize—the Princess herself. She nods dismissively at the people as she passes them to meet her mother at the throne.

The Queen is standing—a rare gesture reserved for very special occasions—to receive her daughter after her return from the gruesome battle against the savages of the north. Princess Nala won. As always.

As she moves on to meet the Queen’s Consort—her father—the Queen makes the formal announcement everyone has been waiting for all evening, “The Princess intends to take a Consort. Please propose her tonight if you are willing.”

We all had known, of course. But now it was time to act.

I look at the Queen’s Consort. He looks discomfited. May be because his “little girl” is taking the decision in her own hands.

Or, may be, because, as soon as Nala gets married, she will become the Queen and her husband will be the Queen’s Consort, pushing her father to become a nobody. Having lived in the shadow of his wife all his life, he never was much anyway. And now, he will be erased completely from the royal scene.

How would it feel to be in his place?

I have met him once when he visited our county and stayed at our palace. My father was over the moon. He couldn’t stop gushing about him, ‘Ester, you have no idea what an amazing warrior the Consort had once been! We were close friends and we fought side-by-side. He was the only one fit to father the next Queen!”

Even I could see how regal and majestic he was. Yet, how could a man of action set down his sword for a crib?

Loud applaud and excited chatter are making it hard to think.

Should I just leave?

I don’t want the life of a Queen’s Consort. I am here on my father’s insistence to win the Princess Nala’s hand. But to me, she is nothing—brave, powerful and wealthy, but a snob regardless. I can’t forget her dismissive nod at the crowd around her. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with such a person.

As the music starts, female warriors, including the Princess, form a circle, while male warriors form a bigger circle outside the existing one. The ceremonial dance begins. Moving in waves, weaving through men as they all dance with their swords, striking, saving, turning, touching each-other and circling in rhythm with the music. They pass from one person to the next until the Princess has met and danced with all of them. So far, the Princess has smiled courteously, but she looks unimpressed.

She is edging out, looking for escape. Her eyes wander as if searching for something…someone…until she finds him—her father.

She urges him to dance with her. And when they do, it is like they have done it a thousand times—fast, strong, but still lighter, like best friends’ banter. I see how the father’s eyes shine with pride for his daughter, but his eyes are searching too. Distracted.

As the music stops, the Princess is hanging on to her father longer than needed. The way she looks warily at the throng of men trying to woo her… Is no one good enough for her?

Well, I don’t want to find out. So, I edge towards the shadows close to the backdoor. Hopefully, I can slip out unseen—the gardens look inviting. I will slip back in when it is time to take leave.

The sound of glass shattering halts my feet. A young attendant, barely thirteen, is cringing next to the Princess, her armour dripping with the wine he had spilt on her and her breeches are soaked. Her father doesn’t look concerned but other people are waiting with abated breath for her to lash out—this boy has just ruined the biggest event of the Princess’ life. I wonder if I should intervene before she starts screaming, “Off with his head!”

But she just looks quietly at the shaking boy. Her eyes soften. She whispers something and the boy leaves. My eyes follow her as she excuses herself, holding her head high despite her condition. She is moving towards the shadows I am standing in, but mesmerized, I can’t make myself move away.

The same attendant comes to her with a clean towel in hand. She takes it and asks him quietly, “Are you okay?” The boy nods quietly, a smile replaces the nervous twitching.

Her words make me stay. She isn’t a snob any more than I.

I join the dance, not sure why. I’m not sold on marrying for wealth, but I itch to figure out this woman. I can’t wait for my turn with her as we change partners. And when she finally arrives in front of me, my heart changes beat to double-time. Her battle scars don’t matter anymore. All I can focus on is her deep eyes and how I will love to make them laugh. Hers are entirely too serious.

As we clang our swords together and move around, I copy the moves she made with her father, and it feels natural…fluid…like we have known each-other forever. When she turns behind me and our arms touch, I can’t help but smile at her. She smiles back and it reaches her eyes.

When we change partners, we keep glancing at each-other. And when I can’t see her, I can’t focus. I wonder why.

It is my turn with her again and I touch her fingers again for a short second, on purpose this time, and as she looks me, I grin, wishing it was longer. All of a sudden, she stops, looking discomfited. She isn’t looking at me anymore.

Did she take offence at my touch? She didn’t get angry in our last dance. And everyone else is doing the same around us.

She excuses herself out of dancing the piece on the pretense of needing a drink. As I set out to get one for her, I see her glancing around again. Searching.

I can’t help but feel more than a little let down.

To be continued

Posted in Nature stories, Tiny stories

Runaway

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

If only I can reach the side before she can get a hold of me…

The Wicked Witch of the West has nothing on this crazy woman–the way she laughs after pulling me in the river!

Someone SAVE ME!

Author’s note: A photo-prompt story–Thank you, Karsten Winegeart for the inspiring photo (available on Unsplash.com)

Posted in Fiction, Tiny stories

Colourful

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I felt utterly lonely as I stood at the door of the old age home.

No one was around except a gentleman reading a newspaper. A lonely cup sat in front of him on an Italian coffee table. It was white as his snowy hair, a bit of coffee still left within—like his wizened eyes that now held mischief, “New girl, eh?”

Gallantly, he stood up—though it took him some effort—and took my bags from my wrinkled hands. Smiling, he offered me his arm and walked me indoors, “Join me for a cup of coffee before the other single boys swoop in?”

I blushed as I nodded.

I was sixteen again.

Posted in Fiction

At Sea: Part 3 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the third and final instalment of my latest short-story.

You can find Par1 and 2 here: Part 1 and Part 2

A higher wave pushes us and we hold on to each other for dear life, hoping our combined weight will stop us being pushed into the rising sea. The rock is submerging too fast.

“Do you want to do a Titanic for the selfie you are sending him?” I ask. “It will be completely dark in a couple of minutes.” I don’t say we will drown in sometime. I want to hang on to hope.

The sudden smile on her face makes my heart squeeze, like I am alive again.

She quickly poses against the Sun with me behind her, one hand spread out in a flying pose with both of mine and clicks a picture with the other hand. She quickly sends it before she loses her nerve. She is giggling like a school girl, “I know it is not a making-out picture but I’m happy we sent it. Let that photo burn his retinas.”

“Okay, what else do you want to send him? I’m game.” I join in enthusiastically.

A sly smile spreads across her face for a second. I can see she is considering a really obscene photo. Since we are dying in a few minutes, I don’t mind. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind it even if we were going to stay alive. There is something about this person, which makes me feel like I would be upto anything she suggests. Like an old school-time best friend.

But then she stops, shaking her head. “No, I can’t subject him to that… or you. I’m not that person.”

I shake my head, realising I believe her words. I am not that person too. I try to change the topic, “So, is it true? Did you really hire a guy for…?”

“I tried to get one. But I lost my nerve before I could speak to him,” she admits sheepishly.

“Why did you try for one though?”

“I wanted to move on…” The pain on her face sears my heart.

A large wave pushes at us, and I hold her to my chest, lest the water might topple her into the sea before it is time. I keep hugging her after the wave is gone. With my wounds still raw, her pain is mine.

“You don’t hire men to move on, you know. You look for one who might really mean something to you and take it from there.”

“Does your advice apply to men too?” She gestures at my henna-tattooed palms for impact.

“I don’t know. It has only been three days since she eloped the night before our marriage,” I speak in a defeated tone.

It is completely dark around us, and I feel her nod against my chest, “I guess you will find out in a few years.”

Does she really believe I have a few years ahead of me? The darkness compounded by waves occasionally pushing at our knees makes me feel not so hopeful. I wonder if there are sharks around. Nerves are rattling around my insides, and I am shaking from more than just cold. We are still not inside water but we are close.

I feel her fumbling with her hands and hold her tightly afraid she is going off-balance, trying to be the anchor, at least until the sea is high enough to swallow us.

She switches on her phone torch and waves behind me, signalling. I dare not move, afraid of losing balance, but I hear voices at a distance.

The rescue team has arrived.

*****

Since the boat can’t come too close to the rock, the team passes rubber tubes to us and makes us jump in the ocean before someone pulls us on the boat. And, then to my utter mortification, I retch on the side of the boat while my fellow survivor holds me, so I wouldn’t fall off in the ocean again.

Way to make a first impression!

Once we are back on the dry land and the rescue team members are sure we are going to be okay, they drop us where we can find a ride to our respective hotels. Trying to redeem some of my lost dignity, I am the first to speak, “Now that we are still alive, where do you want to go?”

She smiles understanding my intention, “My flight for Switzerland is delayed for some years. Sigh! I’ll go to my hotel room instead. Do you have any cash for a taxi? Because my purse with my cash, card and hotel keys was washed off at the rock before I woke up. And Paytm needs a working phone. Mine is dead from all the water.”

“Mine is dead too but I do have some cash. Don’t you want to eat something first though? I’m famished.” Suddenly, after three days of being continuously queasy at the thought of food, I am ravenous. Extended periods of near-death experience and utter mortification, compounded with absolute relief, can do that to a person.

“It depends. Can I send him a picture?” She asks, unsure now that we are both on dry land, alive and free.

“I’d love one, but our phones drowned. They are dead, at least until someone looks at them.”

“Well, I see a mobile shop over there. And a restaurant. Let’s eat something and then get our phones fixed. Then, we can get an icecream photo.”

“Only if you make a kissy face!” I can feel a smile creeping in.

“Let’s both make kissy faces—you can send a copy to your fiancée too.” We both giggle at the thought.

“Let’s both pick some nice locations for full effect!”

She is full swing now, “I’ve heard this place has some pretty waterfalls. Want to go there tomorrow? And… I didn’t get your name?”

“That’s a really lame pick-up line, especially considering it’s coming from a girl.”

She swats my shoulder, and I make a face, like I was six again, sending her into a fit of giggles again. We are fellow-survivors, alive in the moment.

The rest of life can wait.

END

Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

At Sea: Part 2 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the second instalment of my latest short-story. You can find Part 1 here.

It is difficult to believe such a simple traditional-looking girl like her could kill anyone. But what do I know? My own traditional-looking fiancée ran away with another guy, shredding my heart into pieces, not even bothering to throw it in a landfill.

I choose to be quiet.

“Not so keen on hanging around me for eternity anymore, huh?” She looks smug.

“Let’s just say I don’t like the idea of following you to hell. I don’t even love you to risk that for you.”

I think I would have risked that for my wife–well, ex-fiancée…if not out of love, then out of sense of duty. But she chose to bestow that honour on someone else. If only she had said something during our numerous romantic phone calls after our marriage was arranged. She made me believe she wanted me as much as I wanted her and then eloped with her lover while her family was visiting mine for the Tilak ceremony.

The only reason I travelled here today was to run away from pitying eyes. They would probably think I committed suicide.

The thought of dying is looking closer to reality now since higher waves are wetting our ankles frequently and the spray of water is constantly keeping us wet. I have waited all my life working hard, believing that once I am better situated in work, I would get my chance at love.

Now, here I am at sea, dying, right after I am dumped by the woman I finally set my hopes on.

The Sun is dipping on the horizon much like our lives. The thought of never finding love hurts much more than the rejection itself. I don’t want to die but, more than that, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction that she affected me strongly enough to drive me to suicide. She chose to dump me. She doesn’t deserve the credit for my death.

The stranger on my side stands quietly and lets me have my ‘moment’. She seems to sense there is more to my story but doesn’t have the heart to tease it out of me anymore.

A phone call pierces the space around us. Her phone screen blinks.

“You get phone reception here?”

“My phone does, it seems. How else do you think I made that phone call for help?”

“Oh yes. I think you should answer the call. Your husband from the landfill might not like being ignored.” I point at her phone, smiling—”Hubby” is calling.

She huffs and accepts the phone call. I can’t help being curious enough to listen in. We are huddling too close in the center of the peak of the rock now to avoid overhearing anyway.

“What do want?”

Pause

“Why do you care where I am?”

Pause

“In middle of the sea. Probably drowning in the next few minutes.”

Pause

“Huh, you wish. I am not coming back to haunt you! Four years were more than enough. I am not wasting another minute on you. Now hang up. You are ruining my first post-divorce vacation. I don’t want to drown thinking of you.”

Pause

“Yes, she told you the truth. Yesterday, I went to a striptease bar, drank half-a-bottle of wine and hired a man to spend the night with.”

Pause

“Stop laughing. I am telling the truth!”

Pause

“Fine, I did try though. I can cheat, just like you cheated on me for so many years.”

Pause

“Okay, it’s not cheating anymore that we are not married but the thought counts. I just need a little more practice. I am alone with a man right now.”

She looks at me guiltily as I raise my eyebrow. Would I help someone take revenge for being cheated on? The fellowship rises its head within my chest, and I smile back encouragingly.

Pause

Her voice is softer this time, “No, I can’t return. I can’t forget it. I might have if I hadn’t caught you in the act; say, if someone else had told me. But I saw you both, and I keep thinking about it. Even after an year, it is all I see whenever I close my eyes. Please stop calling me and move on. Let me move on…”

Her begging tone cuts through my core–“Even after an year…“

I had been there only three days and I feel half-dead. Is there no hope?

Pause

“No, I am done with repeating myself. I am moving on.” She looks back at me in apologising manner, “I am going to make out with this guy here. And I will send you a photo as proof. May be then you will stop calling me.”

With those words, she hangs up. I can feel my eyebrows reach my hairline. She just shrugs, “It felt good to say it out loud and hear him squirm one last time before I die.”

To be continued

Read part 3 here: At Sea: Part 3 of 3

Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

At Sea: Part 1 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first instalments of my latest short-story.

She is shivering violently and blabbering, “I am flying to Switzerland tonight.”

“You mean if we are rescued?” I try a gentle tone. I am scared stiff too, so I can understand her denial.

She manages a smile, though the strain of the effort is clearly visible on her face. “No. If they rescue me, I have a crap job to go back to in three days and a mean manager to hate. But if they don’t find us in time, well, I am no mermaid. It is all well to see one sunset at the sea. An eternity of sunset view is too much! If I die, I am going to travel—there are so many places I want to see—”

If she is trying to make light of our impending demise to avoid a meltdown, two could play at this game. “Aren’t ghosts supposed to stay and haunt a single place?” I shiver at my own ill-timed joke. If only I could turn back time a couple of hours.

*****

It was a bad idea to seek out a stranded place on the shore to sleep in when I had never been to the sea before. All I wanted was a couple of hours of peace from the continuous phone calls—people offering sympathies or advice to move on. I didn’t want to switch-off my phone. It felt wrong to turn my back on my well-wishers. Going out of network coverage area for a bit had seemed like a good excuse at that time. So, I had walked until the network bars had stopped showing.

Then I saw a road sign of what seemed like sun setting in the sea and found this large rock rising gradually from the sand. The highest point was nearly two-metres high providing an amazing view of the sea ahead. It seemed like an ideal spot to sit down and settle my thoughts. There was enough room for me and one other person here on the other side of the rock, sleeping in the sun. I had walked up on the slowly rising rock to this highest point. Then, exhausted after three sleepless nights, I had closed my eyes to rest them for a few moments…

An urgent voice woke me up, “Hey, do you know how to swim?”

My eyes wanted to stay glued together but the fear in the voice made me sit up, “Why? What happened?”

The stranger’s face looked scared, “If you can swim, I think you should leave now. My travel agent told me this rock gets submerged during high tide.”

The high tide was in. The rock that had been so far away from the sea earlier during the day was now almost-submerged. The lower part from where I had walked up here were now under at least five feet of water. Waves were rolling in and there was half a mile of sea in the direction I had come from.

There was no way we could walk back.

“I don’t know how to swim. Do you?”

“No.” She sighed, “I have called my travel agent. He said he will contact the local rescue team. Let’s hope they find us real soon. He said locals usually avoid this rock since the area is lower than others. He said there is a danger sign on the main road, but tourists seem to be ignoring it.”

“Danger sign? So that sign showed the rock getting submerged?”

“You saw the sign too? It looks so much like the sun setting in the sea.” She shook her head in a mocking way, but her voice was shaky.

I sent a quick prayer to the skies. Yes, I was heart-broken, but I wasn’t ready to die yet.

*****

Returning to this moment, I can see she is considering how to answer my ‘haunting the place’ question without having a meltdown, “I think it depends on personal preferences, whether a ghost wants to stay put or drift. I want to travel. What about you? Are you planning to haunt this rock?”

“Well, I haven’t decided yet. Do you want company on your journey to Switzerland?” I smile, joining in this crazy one-on-one. I am tired of fuming for the past three days.

I want to cry but I was raised being told that guys don’t. My eyes are hurting from the effort of keeping tears at bay and I don’t remember the last time I ate. I think it was three days back during my Tilak ceremony. The thought of the happiness of that moment makes my eyes tear up.

I look away at the rising water around us.

She seems to have sensed my mood, “Naah, I’m good. I don’t want to give my shoulder to a drunk guy to cry on.”

The salt spray from a high wave hits me on the face and I stagger, “Seriously? I don’t think ghosts can drink. Moreover, you don’t even know if I do drink at all! You only met me five minutes ago.”

“Well, you are a man, and men take to drinking when they need to tell their wives on their honeymoon that they are into men? How else would they gather enough courage?”

“Into men? Who said that?”

“Really? What are you doing alone, sleeping on random rocks, in the country’s most hyped honeymoon spot while on honeymoon (gesturing at the mehendi tattoos on my palm)? Why did you agree to go to Switzerland with me? Why aren’t you calling your wife to tell her you are dying and that you love her?”

“May be because I don’t have a wife to call? May be because I never got around to getting married!” Some of the higher waves have started to push at our ankles. My nerves are getting at me and I am cranky.

“So, is it because you’re gay?”

“No. Why would you presume so?” She is getting on my nerves worse than the waves.

“If I had presumed, I wouldn’t have asked!” She is smiling. Now, I can see she is trying to make light of my non-existent marriage as well as our impending demise, while trying not to freak out by the water being so close.

I challenge her back, “Well, what if I am. Do you have a problem with me?”

“No. I will still not be the shoulder you cry on, and I will still not carry you when you are drunk.”

“Fine. I promise not to cry or drink once I am dead. By the way, why aren’t you calling your husband to tell him you are into girls, huh? From what I remember, you are also alone in the country’s most hyped honeymoon spot and sleeping on the same random rock as I.”

“I am not parading around with mehendi tattoos on my palms, am I? And may be, I am not calling him because I killed him, cut him into pieces and threw them in a landfill? May be, I came here to hide from the Police?”

The reply makes me do a once over.

Is she telling the truth? Or is she trying to scare me so I wouldn’t try anything funny while we are alone?

To be continued

Read Part 2 here: At Sea: Part 2 of 3

Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Alone

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Disclaimer: The story has some content about abuse and some violent visuals, which might be disturbing. Discretion requested.

The tree standing alone in the middle of the field calls to me. Through tunneled vision, I can see myself approaching it, wanting to touch its shining leaves with reverence. But every time I come close enough, wolf’s howling wakes me up, as usual.

While I am used to this nightly howling since I was a baby, I am beginning to begrudge it lately.

My father can never know about the dream. He never allows anything outside the ordinary for me. He considers me evil incarnate because of my eyes—one brown and the other blue. The only reason he didn’t manage to kill me the day I was born was my mother, who had shielded me with her body, tolerating his rage alone quietly. I still can’t look at him straight in the eyes without being punished for being “scary”, and I am always just a breath away from being beaten into pulp.

So, he must not find out about the tree. Talking about a magical tree would confirm his assumptions about me.

But the dream is insistent, catching me every night and leaving a longing so deep that I can’t stop myself from looking for the tree around the village. Maybe, if I could see it in reality and touch it, I would see the silliness of it all. I can’t find it though, and the longing is growing into a deep ache every day, until I feel like I can’t fit into my own skin.

I have to talk to someone…

Anyone…

My mother is sweet. She often tries to shield me from my father’s beating—not that it stops him from taking a swipe at me. Worse, he then turns on her and beats her senseless. But she tries anyway, every single time. I trust her to understand.

So, today, I have returned home a little early while my father is still out cutting wood for the fire. Once he returns, he will beat me again for ditching him early… But it’s nothing new and, at least, I will get some answers.

I wait for my mother to light the fire in the kitchen before asking the question, trying to be casual, “Mother, do you ever dream of trees?”

She looks up, startled, “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering…”

She hesitates for a moment, “Well, just one. It’s a memory really,” she admits sheepishly. She can probably see the question on my face, so she adds, “The faery tree at the eastern end of the village…”

Of course, why didn’t I think about it? People in our village avoid that area at all cost because of the tree’s reputation. Could it be my tree?

Mother’s brown eyes, so much like my right one, are far away, “Years ago, I went there when I was married for a couple of years. I was tired of your father’s daily beatings and accusations for being barren. So I went there hoping to die. But I met a stranger instead.”

I don’t want to hear anymore, but my mother goes on, like a dam has broken, and she is unable to contain the flood.

“For hours, we sat under that tree, just talking and holding hands. By the end of the day, he promised to stay with me forever. I never went there again,” she sighed and continued, “Sometimes, I dream of us holding hands under that tree—more often on the days when your father beats me. It gives me hope that I have promise of an eternity with the man who never told me his name.”

Words tumble out unbidden, “But why didn’t you return to him?” She would have been so much better off with him…anyone who wasn’t my father would be better…

“I was still married to your father till death parts us,” she sighed. “Anyway, you were born nine months later. Sometimes I wonder if he was fae—you look so much like him, but I don’t know how else he could be your father unless—”

“You slut!” My father’s voice rings through the doorway. “You bore this bastard son of a monster in my house! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill you both!”

Shaking with rage and raising his axe, he strides towards me. His face is contorted with passion like I’ve never seen before. He is going to kill me, kill us…

I cower in the corner, shaking and eyes wide with fear, waiting for the axe to fall. But my mother covers me with her body yet again.

“NO!”

Senses overwhelm me—the tang in the air tells me that mother is bleeding before the blood trickles down her chest on my shirt. I am not sure how, but I can hear her pulse slow down.

Grief and pain—physical pain like I had never felt before—send ripples through my entire being. For the first time, I wish I am the monster my father always made me out to be. I sway where I stand, angry beyond words.

Through tunneled vision, I see my father taking a step back, eyes wide, raising his axe over his head again to kill me.

For the first time, I hit my father back…with claws…on a hairy hand…a paw…

His body falls where he stood as his head flies to the wall, blood oozing freely from his severed neck.

I wheel around on all fours to check on my mother. Her pained brown eyes are looking at the door as she smiles, relieved. The blue-eyed wolf I’d heard howl all my life is right there, whimpering now.

Mother whispers with an effort, “I always wondered…eternity…meet you…tree…” Her eyes roll in her head, heart still, pulse dead.

The wolf howls like someone had driven an axe through it too. A few heartbeats later, it dissolves into nothingness in front of my eyes.

I can still hear a howl though, shocked to realise it’s mine. I wonder for a moment and then run on all fours towards the eastern end of the village. Something tells me when I reach my tree, my mother and my true father will be waiting for me.

This is a photo-prompt story. Thank you, JR Korpa (on Unsplash) for fueling my imagination with your photograph.

Posted in Fiction, Tiny stories

Deep Within

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

He threw the trophy on the floor—useless piece of metal!

Can’t even sell the stupid thing to buy his family a meal. Should have taken a waiter’s job instead of playing football all these years—it would have paid the bills. Heck! He would look for a job today.

Meaning to throw it out of the window, he picked up the trophy…but, eyes glistening, hugged it tight instead.

Author’s note: This is a 5-minute photo-prompt story. I started with a trophy lying on the bed and what I saw, what seemed to be missing and what it made me feel. And Bingo!

Thanks to Robin Edqvist for an amazing photo (found on Unsplash).

Posted in Fiction

The Predator

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I knew she was a predator the moment I saw her.

How I could tell, I can’t explain—it was just the way her whole being swayed in the wind, leaving behind the alluring fragrance that had me following her every move with my eyes. Her smooth skin glistened in the rain, calling to my mesmerized brain as I moved closer to touch her. Her full lips—red and enticing—were clamped shut and stretched into a wide, inviting smile as I reached forward to hold her face in my extended palm.

She let me get close…close enough to not allow any space to back off…

Her fingers entwined around my torso slowly, but I couldn’t find it in me to break off the tightening grip. She looked at me straight in the eyes and opened her mouth—I half-expected it to be full of incisors.

She kissed me senseless instead, as always. And then she went for the kill, “The chapel is available this Sunday. You will be able to arrange everything else by then, right?”

Of course, she knew I would nod dazedly. She was a practiced hunter—I was her prey.

Author’s note: This is a 5-minute word-prompt story. I started with “Carnivorous plant: Venus flytrap” and ended up into a “bride”. Who could have thought there was so much in common?

Thanks to Jessie McCall for the awesome photo (via Unsplash).