Flash Fiction: Evil eye…

Flash Fiction: Evil eye…

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“Hey, that’s enough”, he screamed.
Apparently, I’d been staring at the sunflowers for so long I might as well cast an evil eye on them.
“But they are so pretty”, I retorted. He came and stood between the flowers and I which was preposterous comsidering I towered over him in height.

“I am Sara by the way”. I said
“And I’m Amir. Please lower your gaze.. evil eye”. He pleaded, seeing as I wasn’t budging.
“Okay, okay”, I backed down.

Amir had sterling gray eyes with scruffy blonde hair, of which a few strands fell over his forehead. He wore plaid shirt and grey shorts which were pulled up to his navel. He looked like a cartoon character but in an appealing way.

Want to be friends?” I asked.
“sure” he replied after a pause, “as long as you don’t stare at me the way you do those flowers”
We both laughed.
“first things first though”, I remarked looking him over, “we need to lower those shorts to your waist for starters”.


word count: 173 words. *this is an edited version of the original piece I posted a while ago, I didn’t like how it turned out so I tweaked it a bit. Thank you Priceless Joy for hosting this challenge and helping us to practice writing.* This post is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. 

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Liberation-

Liberation-

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I see you conceal dark circles
And apply your mascara,
I hear you silence your sniffles
With pillow every night,
I see you cover with henna
The bruises on your arms,
But I know, oh mother
Who the knight Is In the battle.

He calls you names like lousy
Scarring you with his venom,
And he claims he does love you
Body and soul, fist and punches,
You take his storm and thunder
Shielding us under the weather,
Love and mercy go hand in hand
And his is just one sided.

He exposes your errors
Shaming you even in public,
And you shrink with every word
Antagonizing your existence,
And your kids are your solace
To us, you are a temple,
You’ve been fighting this battle
We say- it’s time you retire.

He can’t hurt you anymore
For your kids will be your armor,
And the patience you practiced
From your lord will be your reward,
Take one step into the pathway
There’s a whole world beyond this,
It is time to break the shackles
And step into liberation.

It’s over at Hargun’s #4

It’s over at Hargun’s #4

It’s both a pleasure and an honor to be interviewed by the wonderful Hargun Wahi. I had the best time, chatting with her and trying to make this work despite time differences.
Below is the interview. Please do check it out 😊

LIVING THE DREAM

Over at Hargun's

Sat Sri Akal! A warm welcome to all you this chilly winter evening. OAH is finally back  and it’s a girls’ day out this time.

We all in the blogging world know a person through their blog or the interaction with them in the comments section. But many times we form a bond with these people, we often look forward to seeing them in the blogging world and then we realize we have found a great friend! Or else, there may be personalities whose works are a big inspiration to you. Though virtual, these friendships and fan followings are real. And so here’s OAH, where we more than just meet and greet a fellow blogger, we see some unknown aspects of their life and we have loads of fun doing that!

Now, I hope you all are tucked tight in the blankets because if you are not, you just might…

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Writer’s Quote: Matthew G. Gubler

Writer’s Quote: Matthew G. Gubler

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Meet Mathew Gray Gubler. Some of you may know him as the genius FBI agent on Criminal Minds, Dr Spencer Reed. He is also involved in another aspect of creative arts other than acting/directing – Painting, to be more precise.

As the popular saying goes, “you may be the ripest peach in the garden, yet there’ll be someone who hates peaches”. In life, criticism is bound to follow. We can sit all day doing nothing and still be criticized for doing just that. Chasing our dreams is only going to increase the force of criticism. Certain things can’t be escaped, but our perspective of them goes a long way in how we deal with them- criticism is one of such things. If we could employ the advice of Matthew Gray Gubler, and just for a moment, envision criticism to be the beautiful creation he described it to be, it might be a whole lot easier to deal with.

Taking criticism by the hand and viewing it through rose colored glasses is not an easy task. But then again, it’s also not impossible. Bad days happen; negative comments have the tendency to strike just the right nerve; it hurts when hard work is viewed as everything less. We can’t control people’s words towards us but we can control to some extent, our reaction to them.
Next time we are hit with the close fisted criticism, lets try to imagine the words of our criticizers (as hard as it is), as nothing more than incentives towards a colorful masterpiece. And if that doesn’t work out, I say, sleep on it. Yup, some days, all the wisdom of inspirational words can only do so much without that much needed sleep, if we are being realistic. Sleep, and hopefully, the new day would bring a brighter perspective.

This post is in response to Writer’s Quote Wednesday hosted by Silver Threading.

Of the darkness-

Of the darkness-

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I know the darkness is consuming,
And the cracks are fit too tight,
For the golden rays to traverse,
Illuminating whats inside.
I know the smooth road’s more inviting,
Cause you’ve roughed most of your life;
And though seasons change from summer
to winter, the darkness stays constant.

I know these things cause I’ve lived that life,
When dusk and day are alike;
When the tear drops from the heavens above,
Mix with those from your eyes.
When the incessant battle in your head,
Reflects in the black you adorn;
And you bite your tongue each time the words,
I’m fine slips from your mouth.

I know the darkness is consuming,
And the light seems far away;
But I’ve been there and I tell you-
It’s a long journey with spiral corks,
Which in the end, the path will straighten,
Though you doubt that will come true;
But only so much darkness can circle around,
Before inevitably, the light shines through.

The above image is courtesy of Medyafaresi.com

 

Flash Fiction: For a moment…

Flash Fiction: For a moment…

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For a while, her ear drums were selectively deaf to the sound of motor tires grazing the gravel roads and the incessant honking by impatient drivers. She watched at a depressing angle, focusing her gaze on the crowd of teenagers playing away their worries. Their worn leather ball being tackled swiftly across the field and red soil swirling above their ankles with each pass.

Their black and coffee colored skins glistened with sweat under the summer sun. She grinned to herself as a bunch of them tried to wipe the salty water streaming down their foreheads while at the same time keeping the ball in check- an act they failed at.

A Black-headed Gull flew past her 3rd floor window, distracting the view in front of her. How easy it was to get carried away by hopeless wishing. She gazed around at the emptiness of her home and said a silent prayer on the kids who unknowingly put a smile on her widowed face every evening.
It was time to shut herself once again to the rest of the world.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest

Sunshine Blogger Award

Sunshine Blogger Award

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I know I haven’t done this award thing in a long time, but I loved the questions posed by My nominee. Also, today is one of those mornings when I can’t go back to sleep, so… Anyway, I’d like to say a big THANK YOU to Robert from”Not In My World” for nominating me for the Sunshine Blogger award, please do checkout his blog. Now, in answer to his questions:

1) How many days a week do you wake up in a bad mood?
Very rarely, I find mornings to be the best time of the day. Sorry guys, I’m a morning person.

2) what are two things wrong with the world today? (1 to 3 word answers)
So many, it makes me sad just thinking about them. If I have to pick, I’d say the Injustice carried out on so many levels.

3) How strong a swimmer are you?
Embarrassingly, on a scale of ten, I’m a 1. But, I’m planning on changing that. 😄

4) what kind of music is best?
I have no idea, I don’t listen to music.

5) when was the last course you took?
I’m currently in school so, still taking a course.

6) Do you work a regular job?
No I don’t have a job. If I did, I’d have to quit blogging. What with school and work, it’d get too stressful.

7) Television or fishing
I haven’t fished before…

8) snowball fight or suntanning
Hahaha, snowball fight

9) How many languages do you speak?
Fluently, 2. Partially, 2.

10) subject of your next blog?
I have no idea yet, we’ll see what tickles my fancy to write.

11) your age when you fell in love the first time
Haha, another embarrassing one- 15. Lips sealed.

I’d like to nominate everyone of my followers for this Sunshine Blogger Award. As I don’t do this often, I hope you will accept it. P.S, feel free to answer the same questions posed to me .

Flash Fiction: Mommy’s day out

Flash Fiction: Mommy’s day out

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“Remember, be-have!”, Christine warned the kids right before they stepped into the restaurant. She marched over to the counter with Mark where they requested a menu for their table.

Christine had barely slumped into a seat when the terrifying sound of “mama” came to her ears. She smiled at her husband, “so much for behaving”.
“What happened sweetie?”, she asked, putting on her mummy face as one of the four approached her with teary eyes.

“Who’s your favorite child”, her teary four year old asked.
Experience with three previous kids had taught Christine there was no right answer to the question. She threw Mark a sympathetic look. The sides of her lip turned upward as she watched her husband handle the situation gallantly.

“Once this come”, she said, pointed to a growing bump, “my garage is officially out of business”. Mark couldn’t contain his laughter as he remembered that was the same thing she said after their 3rd. 

“We’ll see” he teased, knowing although the kids drove her nuts, she wouldn’t have it any other way.


Word count: 176 words. Thank you Etol Bagam for this week’s picture. This is my submission to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. Each week, we get a picture to write a 150 give/take 25 word story on. You’re welcome to participate, the more the merrier. Just click HERE.

On heartbreaks-

On heartbreaks-

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What was it like, she asked:
It was the soft drizzle,
Of rain-
Before a stormy weather;
It was the haunting
Silence-
Before rumbling thunder.
It was the knowing
Which comes-
Before a world comes undone.
The bitterness of coffee
Before-
It hits an ulcer.

It was all that I knew,
But regretted-
Ever knowing.
It was the rippling,
Of waves-
From a miniature pebble.
It was the puddle of rain,
Following-
A storm aftermath.
It was wanting
To retrace-
But all was said,
All was done.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest

Mental Health Friday #20

Mental Health Friday #20

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How I made it to eleven years clean despite having a nervous breakdown and thinking terrorists had poisoned all the blueberries in my local supermarket.

When I went into rehab at the beginning of 2005, my seriousness and dedication to my treatment can be deduced from the essential items I packed:
12 pairs of Agent Provocateur lingerie (in case I got lucky)
A vibrator (in case I didn’t)
Enough benzos and diet pills to get me through the first week.
17 pairs of designer shoes (later smuggled up to 70)
36 handbags.

My therapist said I looked like I’d escaped from the set of TV Sitcom “Absolutely Fabulous.” I sincerely believed this was a compliment. I had chosen St Chillin’s, Britain’s most exclusive rehab, as I felt it would look best on my C.V. and hoped to bump into a celebrity. Despite having been arrested at Heathrow airport, as sundry dogs, passengers and tea ladies detected that my passport and all my possessions were heavily (and visibly) coated in cocaine, I considered myself to be a party girl who had simply partied a bit hard. Quite what party I was attending when I was scoring drugs in a Jamaican ghetto at midnight, thinking I was likely to be gang raped and have my throat cut, is still a mystery. Other adventures I’d got up to included being seduced by a (female) teenage stripper in Jamaica, who’d killed someone the week before (and then stole my car). And deciding that the best medication for a cocaine induced heart attack, was (naturally) to take more cocaine.

Only a few days after the benzos I’d taken into rehab ran out, (which caused major panic attacks as well as a serious problem with imaginary insects that kept on biting me) I was forced to do “Step 1” of the AA 12 Step programme “We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.” The reaction from my therapy group to what I’d been getting up to in Jamaica was, instead of the laughter and applause I’d been expecting, shocked silence and a recommendation “to write it all down as a public leaflet to warn people not to take drugs.” That Step 1 changed my life, reducing my denial from the size of the Titanic to a one person canoe. Instead of just having a break from my using, I now decided I was going to get clean.

After relating a catalogue of disasters with my mental health, the psychiatrist at St Chillin’s diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder and said I had “too many problems” to be treated in the private sector as I would “bankrupt my family.” This diagnosis came after previous diagnoses of clinical depression and bulimia in my early twenties. The psychiatrist said I needed to move to a state rehab. I decided I’d better listen, as my decisions had ended me up in rehab, totally broke. The only place my local council would fund that had a bed, was a tough rehab in South London, bristling with ex-cons, where I met the “love of my life” an ex-armed robber, pimp and drug dealer who’d forgotten how long he’d spent in jail. Naturally, when I left residential rehab at the end of 2005, he moved straight in with me. But I’m not sure I would have got through that first Christmas out of rehab clean if he hadn’t been around.

I was going to 12 Step meetings, which I had always primarily viewed as places you went to pick up men, arriving at the end of the meeting, with my telephone number tattooed on an exposed breast. I had chosen a sponsor in NA because her handbag collection was much much bigger than mine. My local council decided I was too deranged to be left in society on my own, so my GP referred me to the Waterview Psychiatric Unit where they had a programme to treat people with Personality Disorders. I immediately renamed it the “Prison View Psychiatric Unit” as water was as absent as lakes in the Sahara, it was actually overlooking a juvenile detention centre. Read more