Pain – Short Stories

Beautiful | Part 1 of 3

Posted on Sep 10, 2026Sep 10, 2026 by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily

“What avatar would you like today?” The Image Converter app starts interrogating me as soon as I step out of bath and begin pulling on my comfortable skirt.

“The usual, please,” I reply, gritting my teeth for what is sure to come.

“Are you sure, you don’t want to try the latest Diva or Corporate Femme avatars? They are more popular and would suit your personality better.”

For a moment I am tempted to try the Diva avatar just so that I can impress Mark. But who am I kidding?

“The usual, please”, I repeat, habitual of resisting the daily offer. Earlier, I had tried explaining my dilemma to Image Convertor; that I have Werewolf Syndrome or what doctors call as Hypertrichosis; that I do not want to present myself as a perfect woman since I am not one. But Artificial Intelligence seems to lack emotional intelligence. So, now I just keep repeating the order until it gives in.

After a few failed attempts at making me look feminine, it relents, “As you wish.”

In the mirror across the room, I can see my clothes converting into an electric blue formal suit and a neat beard growing out of my clean face, Ironically, I also have smoky eyes and lipstick. Sigh! “Make the suit grey and remove the make‑up.”

My Image Converter gives an exaggerated sigh and removes the virtual make‑up, turning me into a regular bearded man. From prior experience, I know that my voice has changed too. The beard is for irony, of course. Afterall, my facial and body hair is the reason I use the Image Converter app. There was a time when I wanted to look like a normal girl and have a normal life. But as a woman with a potential of growing an actual beard, I am the biggest irony of all.

*****

I rush into the lounge. The Day Planner app activates at my footsteps and begins reciting my day’s engagements. I curse Derek under my breath for ditching me yet again for this meeting with Mark. I would rather be sleeping and dreaming about that man than meet him alone face‑to‑face.

The food processor alarm breaks my reverie and my breakfast of eggs and bacon slides in front of me along with a mug of iced latte. I shovel food in my mouth as I read emails displayed on the wall‑screen. If I wasn’t so angry at Derek, I would have taken time to appreciate the effort he took to install the wall screen. I always complained that palmtop screen in the office was just too tiny, but there is client privacy to be considered. More importantly, Derek keeps sending stupid jokes that I can’t let the staff see; there is reputation to uphold—his and mine. So, he installed the wall screen at home for the days when I am working from home—today was supposed to be one.

But he had called me this morning bright and early that I had to rush to office on my work‑from‑home day because he was bailing on me for ‘unavoidable reasons’. He must be taking Stacey out for shopping again. He has been doing that a lot ever since their marriage. Usually, I don’t mind but today, we were supposed to meet Mark for an on‑site meeting, and I hate the thought of being alone with him all day long. Well, not really hate…

In fact, I like it too much… which scares me witless.

*****

Ever since his engagement, Derek has been pushing me to take over some of his older and stable clients to free up his time. Mark is one of them. This is the fifth time in Derek’s two-month-old marriage that he left me alone with Mark.

I wish Derek isn’t my bestie, so I can kill him without remorse. But he is and so I can’t. We started school together when I used to be a normal person. When I hit puberty and my facial and body hair started growing beyond the normal length, he was the only one who stuck around a ‘werewolf’. Considering my great-great-grand aunt had the same affliction, my parents were somewhat prepared and got me the medical attention, but I was still underage for the highly restricted medication and by the time I received government approval, I looked closer to a wolf than a human.

I missed the year at school and stayed at home until the medicines stopped the hair growth and I shed the ‘fur’. I had also stopped socialising to keep the news from spreading, but the story leaked out somehow and someone took a picture of me at my worst and published on the school newspaper.

After this incident, I was a laughingstock. All my friends shunned me, fearing that my exceptionally low social status would rub off on them. Only Derek didn’t care about what others thought. He would tell people off when they wouldn’t leave me alone, meeting snarky comments with snarky comments. Once, he even punched a guy who posted that same photo on social media as a Halloween joke.

And Derek’s friendship is the reason I didn’t commit suicide after my horrendous last year at the college. And that is why, I am currently suppressing the fantasy of strangling him to death and concentrating on getting ready at full speed.

To be continued

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Fiction, Published, Random Thoughts, Science Fiction

Sigh!

Posted on Aug 13, 2026Aug 13, 2026 by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a story from my sixth short stories collection: A Window in Future. To read all the six stories together, find the book available for free here: Books by Shaily.

Sigh! Red suits her!

As always, I am stealing glances at Sabrina—the pretty femme at the reception across my table. She is decked up for the event at the hotel today, wearing a red dress that makes her even more magnetic than usual. Her melodious voice fills the hall as she greets each arrival and inquires their details and requirements. She is scanning each invitation card for authenticity, and I wish I was one of those cards, just so that she would notice me. But I know my wish is wasted.

Sabrina is a state‑of‑art Social Interactive Belle Android (SIBA).

I, on the other hand, am an old piece of junk with technology so obsolete that it is a wonder I can still work. They call me a restored piece of history—an antique Personal Computer or PC. But honestly, it is just a way of saying that I am a useless item meant for display only.

I often wonder why they installed me at all. Nobody uses me. They just bought me seven months, 23 days and 15:29:14 hours back to celebrate the first century of the hotel (2003‑2103 AD). Every morning, they just boot my system, grumbling all the while about the time it takes to get me going. And, then they switch on the screensaver videos that show the landmark moments in the hotel’s history. These screensavers are displayed on various e‑walls inside the hotel. That’s all I do all day.

They don’t even need me to do it. They could have easily used a thumb-sized nano‑chip displayer for that. I think they have bought me just because of when they started a hundred years back, they had a PC exactly like me at the reception where Sabrina now stands. It is featured in a lot of their pictures from the initial years. They have been telling the guests that I am the same PC—a symbol of antiquity and reliability, just like the hotel itself.

Mark of antiquity, my foot! (Well, in a manner of saying…)

Sabrina is flirting with a handsome guest. I have an urge to let sparks fly. Of course, it is all innocent fun. She has been programmed to be pleasant with everyone, and a bit of flirting is acceptable. It is not like they are running away with her. But she flirts with everyone except me!

My screen flickers due to frustration. It has been happening a lot lately. The closest bot who works as the bellboy rolls his camera‑eyes and moves close to Sabrina to wind me up some more.

Sabrina smiles at him and chats up about the latest updates she has received—the security patches and the latest voice modulator that allows her to speak in two hundred and fifty languages. She is looking at me with a smile as she speaks about it; the smile holds a hint of disdain.

What did I do to earn her contempt? Her coldness makes my screen flickers again—rapidly this time.

She probably knows I never receive any security patches. I am not even connected to the hotel’s tech‑systems. They say I can’t bear the load. It is all a lie, of course. They don’t want to risk mixing old technology with the new one. They just want me to look nice until they don’t need me anymore.

I hate being here. The antique technology shop from where I was bought was a lot more civil than this place. Over here, none of the bots communicate with me. They are all high‑end, drunk‑on‑technology snobs. They all have their own new terabytes to process without adding my old bits into the mix.

I am an outsider and a poor one at that.

I often think of the old days when I was a new home PC. The Mother would work from home through me, and her kid would beg for screen time to play online‑games. They would caress me every day with a soft cloth and treat me reverently. Their everyday life ran around me: the morning news, food recipes, home‑office work, music, games, movies…

It was a busy life; one with a sense of fulfilment.

And when I did retire, my new owner had kept me carefully among others of my own age. We would snooze all day and chat up when one of us was awake. Some of us were sold for parts but that was expected. None of us can live forever.

When the hotel had bought me, I thought it was the end of me; that they would use parts of me to fix something they had. I was glad for it too. A life of doing nothing did not sit well with me. Little did I know that they would put me on display like a dinosaur fossil to be scorned at everyday by the only one I ever desired.

I look up at Sabrina again; she is laughing at something the bellboy said and looking at me derisively. Of course, the joke is at my expense. The pent‑up rage is all‑consuming now and I see red. My internal wiring is hot, probably sparking.

My screen flickers again—very rapidly this time, like an old man wheezing. I can’t see anymore but I hear Sabrina’s concerned voice getting more distant by each nano‑second—not concerned for me but for the hotel’s reputation being killed by “useless antiquated technology and a worthless asset”.

I feel someone pull my plug.

I hope it is finally the end.

Photo by Bernd 📷 Dittrich on Unsplash

Fiction, Tiny stories

Vulnerable

Posted on Jul 29, 2026Jul 20, 2026 by Shaily Agrawal

The vulnerability is eating at me.

I had spent years building this tree trunk around myself, until what was supposed to clothe me became a fortress. The trunk was thick and unbending. I was safe from prying eyes.

It was lonely but it seemed worthwhile.

I was free to wield my magic however I wanted. No one could criticise me. No one remembered it was me. I was safe. Comfortable.

The world outside went on without me until they had all but forgotten me. I would make Spring, I would call on Summer and Autumn, I would call on new leaves once Winter was over. Over and over and over…

There was nothing to look forward to.

When the storm this morning broke my tree, suddenly, the entire forest was looking at me with curiosity, wondering what to make of me–trees, birds, squirrels and predators alike.

Once again, I was bare…open to everyone’s scrutiny–raw and vulnerable.

I was finally free.

This is a photo-prompt story. Thank you Mohammad Gh for the amazing picture (available on Unsplash.com).

Fiction

At Sea: Part 3 of 3

Posted on Jul 2, 2026Jul 16, 2026 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

Fiction

At Sea: Part 2 of 3

Posted on Jul 1, 2026Jul 16, 2026 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

Fiction

At Sea: Part 1 of 3

Posted on Jun 29, 2026Jul 16, 2026 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

Fiction

Alone

Posted on Jun 24, 2026 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.

Fiction, Tiny stories

Deep Within

Posted on May 22, 2026May 21, 2026 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).

Fiction, Poetry, Tiny stories