Flash Fiction: Result Day

My eyes steadily went down the list, Aisha, Alisa, Amal, Basma… I stopped. My heart skipped a beat. I ran through the names again up until Basma. Ameena wasn’t there. My name had been skipped, which meant, I failed the exams.

I walked away from the board in a daze. I failed…. what would my parents say; and I had already told them that results were coming out this week, oh the price of talking too much. My palms were getting sticky, my throat felt like a hot coal had been stuck in it.

Tears formed in my eyes and were starting to trickle down, I let them flow. It was a good few minutes of grief and mourning before a thought occurred. What if, my surname was used on the list. That way it would be Khan Ameena. And I didn’t get to K while checking the list so, I wouldn’t know.

There was a chance after all, I didn’t fail.

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Word count: 162. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge where each week we are provided a picturw and are to write a 75-175word on it. Thank you for this week’s photo @Grant-Sud

 

Flash Fiction: Superstitions

The sun shone through lace draped curtains, announcing the arrival of dawn. I instinctively turned my face away from it. A few more minutes of sleep shouldnt hurt, but my alarm had other plans. Almost on cue, It started ringing. I turned again, groaned and decided today would not be the day for extra sleep.

It was only as I sat upright on the bed that I noticed it. My hands were flexed at a 45 degree and my fingers were each positioned at an odd angle. I tried to extend my hand but felt a dull aching pain in reaction. They also appeared swollen.

The irrational part of me took over and i started thinking- the village witches have finally gotten to me; I should have prayed before going to bed last night. I worked myself into a nervous sweat, before the rational part of me kicked in to remind me- there was a reason doctors existed. Some parts of culture just never leave us, I sigh.

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word count: 167. This story is in resoponse to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you for this week’s image @artycaptures

Flash Fiction: Trip down memory lane

The sight of the two boys cycling round the park in a tandem bicycle took me down memory lane to 14, no 15 years back, when mama got my brother Adam and I, a tandem bicycle, to our horror.

It was during the Undertaker & Cain, Jeff & Matt hardy WWE era, and so inspired by them, my brother and I resolved to settle every little dispute, the WWE style- fist fight, uppercut and all. Mama apparently had gotten tired of it and decided to get creative with her punishments.

The next time she caught us fighting, we were ordered to ride on the tandem bike, taking turns to seat at the head. We’d go cycling around the estate yard, singing Barney’s “I love you, you love me”, over and over again while she sits, watching from the veranda.

Safe to say, WWE phase ended pretty quickly in our home.

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word count: 146. This story Is in responses to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy, where each week, we are provided with an image and are to write a 75-175 word story on it. Thank you for this week’s photo @dorothy.

Facebok page: words of a random. let’s connect!

Flash Fiction: Talker-much

We sat by the shore, listening to the sound of waves intermingled with the occasionally far-out voices of travellers, traversing the water in their boats and canoes. It was a peaceful 20 minutes, while it lasted.

“Did you know“, Alexa piped up and I was too mannered to tell her I just wanted to enjoy the moment in silence. Darn good manners.

She went on to spend the next one hour enlightening me on who did what from amongst our friends, her friends and strangers I didn’t even know. It was all I could do to throw the occasional good word in there. They couldn’t all have been that bad.

Finally exhausted for words, she said, “So, what’s been going on with you girl“.

“Me,” I replied in a high pitched voice, “ohh just the usual. I’ve been fine. The Lord has been good to me!”
There was no way I was going to be the talk of her next conversation with Lord knows who.

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word count: 164. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by priceless Joy, where each week, we are provided a photograph and are to write a 75-175 word story in it. Thank you very much for this week’s photo @Louise of The storyteller’s abode. 

Flash Fiction: Coincidence

“My son is missing”

Within minutes, Parkland Forest was thronged by Law enforcement officials- tents were set up and search parties, dispatched. D.I Lucy and her partner D.S Fenworthy were seated in one of the tents, across a woman with dishevelled brown hair and tear stained cheeks. She was fidgeting in her chair, looking from one detective to the other.

“Can you please take us through everything that’s happened, Miss Jerome?” It wasn’t a request on D.I Lucy’s part.
“You can call me Susan,” she answered in a low voice and began to talk the detectives, somewhat calmly, through every detail of the trip, up until the moment she couldn’t find her 8 year old son.

At D.I Lucy’s request, Susan got up to get the detectives a picture of Jake, the missing boy, giving the detectives time to converse.

“She obviously looks distressed“, said D.I Lucy, “and notice how she chokes whenever she mentions Jake by name.”

“Yes, but boss”, added D.S Fenworthy, “I haven’t been in this department long, but I have never met the mother of a missing kid who didn’t lash out during interview, wondering what on earth we were doing seated instead of out there looking for their kids”.

“Nice observation”, remarked D.I Lucy.

Susan came into the tent after a few mintes and with her was the picture of a young boy- raven black hair, brown skin with a smiling face. She handed over the picture to D.I Lucy, and for someone who was a pro at her job, she couldn’t mask the shock on her face. D.I Lucy looked from the picture, to the woman standing in front of her. The recognition of the face in the picture registering in her mind and the words Fenworthy had just said, playing in her head. Susan didn’t lash out earlier because this wasn’t her first time being in the situation; she’s been through it before and knows how the investigation goes.

“Miss Jerome?” Blurted out D.I Lucy
At that moment, tears descended across Susan’s face as she nodded in affirmation.
“Yes,” her voice was breaking, “Jake’s twin brother got missing three years ago and was never found.”

D.S Fenworthy looked to his partner in shock and then asked the mother, “what was the date?”
24th of March.
D.S Fenworthy immediately looked to his phone although he already knew the answer. Today’s date was also 24th of march.
That’s one heck of a coincidence.

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I wrote a flash fiction about two weeks ago with the characters D.I Lucy and D.S Fenworthy, and I loved the idea of writing a story surrounding detectives ad partners so I thought I’d write another one again. And I’m sorry, but that is where the story ends, it’s  not a series and there’s won’t be a continuation. Though I might occasionally write on the two characters.

The above image is courtesy of Scary Mommy.com

Day 9: Close to her bosom

Some women hold stories,
Close to their bosom;
Stories so grave,
they believe,
It could cause a ripple effect,
And upturn the balance of life,
If repeated.
My mother- was one such.

She’d sigh at length and go off,
Staring,
Into space…
Oblivious to three munchkins,
laying on the ground,
Competing,
Who’s got,
The healthiest lung.

She’d go off sometimes,
At the sight-
Of a man in a red shirt,
Or a yell across the street,
Or something so little as,
An innocent question put forward,
By a kid.
My father would say-
Just let her be.

And so I grew older-
Mastered in the art of
Threading lightly;
Till my curiosity,
got the better of me;
And I questioned-
Why does she do that?

That summer morning,
I learnt of the horrors,
Of a young black girl,
Growing up with little to nothing,
At the edge of the sea;
Where being a dark skin,
had a price and being a female-
A burden.
And I knew why, she held those stories
Close to her bosom.

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Prompts: Day 9 (a story), Day 10 (Summer). This poem is in response to December Poetry Challenge. 31 poems in 31 days.

the above picture is courtesy of Legend.az

Flash Fiction: The Mysterious Gem

“It’s not just a gem”, began Mr Parker, trying to convince his daughter that the gem he got her was something more.

“Yeah… And Father Christmas is not just a myth”, she concluded. Two things were obvious to Mr Parker: one, his little girl was growing up and two, she wasn’t buying into his magical gem story.

“Alright honey”, Mr Parker gave up. “The truth is, the conference went on too long and I didn’t have time to get you that book you wanted, or get you anything really”. And then he confessed to coming across an Airport trader, Fatima Bhi, who traded Arabian items and she sold him the gem.

“It’s alright”, Sarah sighed “at least you didn’t just forget like the last time”.

Sarah placed the gem on her bedside drawer that night, when a bright pink light emanated from the gem illuminating the entire a room. Wide-eyed and terrified, a feminine voice spoke in a calming tone:
               “I hear someone is in need of a little love”.

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Word count:169. The above story is in response to Flash fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy. This week’s image was provided by an amazing blogger, Jade.M thank you.

Flash Fiction: Family Squabble

“do you know how expensive it is to take care of a horse?” Nathan was about to reply when his mother cut him,

“Never mind, I’ll tell you” she continued, “very, that’s how expensive it is. Why you gotta spend so much money on an animal when you ain’t even gonna eat it.”

“Nobody eats horses”, Nathan snorted.
“You sure about that now son?” She asked with a raised brow.

“Mama, I love you, but you touch a hair on my horse-“
“The horse you are yet to buy”, his mother interjected.
“yes, the horse I am yet to buy and I swear, I’ll tell the authorities”.

His mother threw her head back and laughed till streaks of tears glistened on her cheeks.
“Oh honey,” she declared wiping the tears off, “it’s gonna take nothing short of a SWAT team to put cuffs on these two wrists.”

It was a dare… And in that moment, Nathan decided the horse he was yet to buy would never set foot anywhere near fifty feet of his mother.

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word count: 175 words. The above story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. Thank you @Phylor for this week’s image. 

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. 

Flash Fiction: Grief…

Jenna was leaning against a wall at the edge of a long winded passageway. Her body, obscuring a better half of the passage from the rays of the sun.
My feet were tired from running, and I swear I could hear the incessant terrifying flutter of my heart. It was times like those, I regretted not putting in extra couple of hours at the gym.

By the time I got to Jenna, I was panting, barely able to make complete sentences.
“We’ve been worried sick looking for you!”, I managed after a few moments of getting-myself-together.
Jenna looked up and smiled. I could tell from the redness of her sclera and her stained cheeks, she’d been crying… Again.

I made space for myself beside her. Eventually she spoke,
“This grief, does it- does it ever get easier”, she choked. Placing her hand on what used to be a growing bump, her baby bump.
Staring into the abyss, I placed her hand in mine and let the silence answer…

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word count :168. This story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you @storyteller’sabode for this week’s image.

I know I have been awol this week. I will try my best starting today to get around all the long overdue comments for which I do apologize. And I do miss reading you posts and I’m looking forward to them.