Flash Fiction: Born from Love

Seeing him stand there, in the middle of the garden we grew together, my eyes get misty. Our plants were the children we never had, born from our mutual love of nature. I still remember the day we decided to turn the mini kids playground to a full-blown garden. We planted the seeds and watered them with love and dedication and attention and seeing the plants grow in size and the flowers bloom, filled our hearts with joy.

That was fifteen years ago. It’s not always been a perfect journey. There were times when we fought so hard that gardening and nurturing the plants were a source of solace to either of us. There were also times when the snow got so bad I feared for my babies, the plants I born with my two hands. But we got through it.

And that’s how I know we’ll get through this too. A diagnosis is not a death warrant even though it might feel like it.

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word count: 165 words. The above story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by priceless Joy. Thank you very much Louise from A story teller’s abode for providing us with this week’s photo. 

Writer’s Quote: Believe

At the end of the day, all we are left with is our thoughts. Friends leave for their various houses, family goes to sleep, the noise drowns out except for the faraway sounds of crashing waves; birds return to their nests.

My prayer for you, is in that moment when the silence gets too loud and there’s solitude about, you can embrace it for what it is. Breathe in, breathe out; feel your diaphragm expand and contract, hear the slight wheezing form your nostrils, listen for that far out sound of the waves and let it take you to beautiful places, places your mind deserves to go.

And I know it’s not an easy task, trust me I know, but I want you to believe. Believe that you can beat this, you can bear to dwell in the silence without that voice in your head nudging you that silence is something to be feared because it’s not. As long as the steering wheels are in your hands, it’s not.
So believe that you can and I bet you… You will.

The above post is in response to Writers quote Wednesday writing challenge hosted by SilverThreading and RonovanWrites. This week theme is “Believe“. 

For Those days-

I write for the days-
When nights seem long,
And eyes won’t dry;
When tears fall non stop,
And silence- too loud.

When the sun is ablaze,
But your world remains dark;
When the clouds part ways,
And your Heart breaks apart.

I write for those days-
When loneliness creeps in,
And memories haunt your mind.
When friends are away,
And none present understands.

I hope you find a friend,
A companion in my words;
I pour my heart for those days,
When you need a helping hand,
When your world is falling apart…

The above image used in this post is gotten from keyword-suggestions.com

Writers Quote: Hope

When I saw this week’s theme, “Hope“, I knew I had to write on one of my favorite poems, “Hope is a thing with feathers-” by the late Emily Dickinson. Here’s the full poem below,

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to share an Emily Dickinson poem. Many a times, I see and read stories and poems bordering on the statement, all I’m left with is hope. I think, what we sometimes forget is- hope is all we need.

This thing we refer to as “just hope” is what keeps us going every single day. It is the light at the end of a tunnel which enables us to wake up every morning, believing the coming day is going to be better than the previous one. It is the motivation and zeal which gives us the strength to put a smile on our faces after a tear filled night. This little thing, hope, is in fact what separates us from falling in to the abyss of despair, which is a tough well to climb out of.

Hope is not just a word, it is the fading voice in our head reminding us amidst the storms, we’ve got this, the sun will rise at dawn and everything will be alright again.
Hope is much more than a four letter word, it is the thing with feathers which helps us to fly despite the tumultuous wind dragging us down; it is that bridge which help us to trudge out of our miseries one baby step at a time.

Hope is the greatest gift we could ask for because without it, there would be little meaning to life knowing each day is a disaster waiting to strike. Hope truly is a thing with feathers, which gives us the wings to fly.

This post is in response to Writers Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge, hosted by Silver Threading and RonovanWrites

Flash Fiction: Survived

Sleep was supposed to be an escape for the soul, but not for Anita. Not after March 25th, the night she found herself victim to an eccentric looking man with green eyes who although immune to emotions, was a master of facade; a man who’d cut short the lives of seven innocent girls before her… She should have been number eight.

Anita had tried everything, therapy, meditation, you name it but still, each time she shut her eyes, the memories come gushing in blurry flashbacks with only one clear cut frame amidst the chaos- A red chandelier. Shutting her eyes, took her back to that moment, when she’d stare at the chandelier, the only thing with color in her hunter’s den, trying to gate the pain and fear off.

But she’d survived then and would survive facing him in court the next day, with or without sleep on her side. She was ready.

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Word count: 160. The above story is in response to a Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by priceless Joy. Thank you @TJ Paris for this week’s picture. 

Chasing Love…

I think, the more you chase love, the more it gains energy and eludes you. The more you want it, the more it runs off. Love becomes this person who seems to enjoy the thrill of the chase more so than being caught; its mastered the art of evasion and just when you think, maybe, this is it- love has a way of getting one over you, it does so skillfully, taking with it pieces of you and leaving several irregular gaping holes.

And despite, despite the tumultuous ride and the many bumps on the road, we still chase love. We still get on the ride, despite knowing we may be left with even less pieces of ourselves than when we started. What does that say about love? What does that say about us? That we need it, maybe not as much as the oxygen we breathe, but still, as a necessity if we want to “live” not simply “exist”. And sometimes, this love that we’re chasing, isn’t hiding out with someone else; sometimes, this love is within ourselves and we’re simply driving through the wrong paths. I mean, how else can we fill the hole in someone else’s heart when ours is half filled yearning for us to fill it. And maybe, these are the lessons that love teaches us through its eventful journey.

The above image is courtesy of OrdinaryGirl

Writer’s Quote: Memories

 

MEMORIES
And there we were,
Under the night’s blanket;
Wrapped around your arms,
In a loving embrace;
Swearing, I’d never fall in love again,
It’s just a big mistake;
And you say, hush baby,
Listen to winds-
You’d be alright again.

Mama, I miss you
All over again;
And you were right
I’d fall in love again
And I miss
You saying, well I told you so…
And how we’d laugh,
Like friends not mother and kid.
I miss you,
Every now and again.

And here I am now,
With life’s pieces fitting into place;
And your memories,
Your laughter,
Keeps me going anyway;
And though tears sneak out
when I’m reminiscing you,
I know, like you said to me
once before-
I’d be alright again.

The prompt for this week’s Writers quote Wednesday writing challenge is memories. This is an event where you share a quote and write a piece, anything, inspired by the quote.

If you dare-

You can start this very moment,
To make this life your own,
Erase the dusted part of you,
So you can create your home
There’d be cobwebs,
There’d be to roaches,
There’d be traps to hold you back,
In the form of,
Hurtful memories,
Screaming- this, here, is your life.

But honey,
This can’t be your life,
A life that’s riddled in despair,
Where sadness has no comfort,
And love has turned wingless,
So sweep off all those places,
Where the past keeps hiding in,
Then use those wings,
You know you have,
And soar out and be free.

For there’s more to life,
You will find-
Once you dare to take the risk.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest/Hexdragon.com

Flash Fiction: The New Neighborhood

The neighborhood was eerily quiet, with only a handful of people visible, going about their businesses. I was going to love moving here, I thought to myself. There was even a parking space reserved for me, ah, gone were the days of fighting with the neighbors over “my space, your space”.

A young fair-skinned man, dressed in jeans and a blue shirt hurried towards me, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sorry, for being late”, he said amidst breaths. He introduced himself as Mark, the real-estate agent and offered to help park my car properly while I checked out the house.

I had barely stepped inside the house, thinking what a generous person this Mark was, when the roar of a car driving off, alerted my attention. I hurried to find an empty parking space, my car gone,  no sign of Mark and everyone else going about their businesses.

I was carless and nobody cared. Oh, how I missed my nosey neighborhood.

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word count: 159. The above story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy. Thank you very much @Phylor for this week’s image. 

Sorry’s not Enough-

I used to think all one had to say was “sorry” when I was wronged.
Sorry, I broke your toy.
Sorry, I stole your note.
Sorry, I yelled at you
Sorry, I grabbed you grimly
Sorry, sorry, sorry… And all would be well in the world.

I didn’t realize, “Sorry” was not a broken record to replayed over and over. It was a testament, a promise saying, “I feel awful for doing that to you and even though I can’t promise I won’t do it again, I vow to do everything within my power to avoid doing it”.
“Sorry”, wasn’t simply accepting you did wrong, it was supposed to mean you were willing to change as well.

It took you saying-
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you” over and over like a broken record for the reality of it to click on me. You weren’t sorry. You never were. For you, “Sorry” was nothing more than a five letter word to be stringed at the end of every sentence.

I am Sorry, it took so long for me to realize this.
                           -Sincerely, someone who values the meaning of the word.