The eyes have it

The vultures are always watching, hovering overhead, waiting for a sign of weakness, so that they may sweep down and devour. Don’t show any weakness. Most importantly don’t harbour a bleeding heart. No matter how carefully you camouflage your emotions, they can scent blood.

You may be a single parent with a beautiful smart golden haired baby who needs to be dragged kicking and screaming to day care, you may have an ailing mother at home who eats more medicines than her granddaughter eats candy, and you may be driving a beaten down old car that has far outlived itself, but you better not dally, you better not stop to fret about your abysmal life, cause the clock is ticking, and the vultures are waiting.

You cant see them, but they are ever watchful over you, because you see they now have these devious little aids calls biometric attendance systems and closed circuit cameras. They will know if you enter the office late.

In response to the Sunday Photo Fiction‘s prompt of 18th June with photo by A Mixed Bag 2012

I need raindrops falling on my nose

The Rain God’s reign over my city is very closed fisted. Sigh!

We beseech him, eyes raised heavenwards, for some relief, but it is only his fierce and merciless brother The Sun who laughs down upon us. And just as we give up, and hang the clothes out to dry, The Rain decides to play Peek-a-Boo with us, says a hearty Boo and disappears, and we are left with wet clothes, hot sun and a wrung heart wailing Boo-Hoo-Hoo.

Please Mr Sun, if I may be bold enough to make a suggestion, perhaps now is a good time for a recess, preferably in the arms of some heavy moisture laden dark clouds. Perhaps now is the time to hand over the reins to another. Hint, Hint, the shirk Mr Rain.

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Prompted by The Stream of Consciousness Saturday – rain/rein/reign

The Manganiyar Seduction

Earlier this year I had the good fortune to attended a program called the Manganiyar Seduction by Roysten Able.

It was an innovative concept where 43 musicians are seated in 36 red-curtained cubicles arranged in four horizontal rows one on top of the other. One by one the curtain opens, the cubicle lights up and the singer begins his song. The buildup was dramatic, like a symphony of lights and sound, and the music continues to linger in the recesses of my mind.

Manganiyar seduction at mall

The Managaniyars are folk musicians from the desert state of Rajasthan in India and play some pretty interesting indigenous instruments, like the Kamaycha that has a big, circular resonator which produces a deep bass sound, typically consists of nineteen strings, three of gut for melody, two of brass for drone, and fourteen of steel for sympathetic resonanen blocks played by the hands.

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Image of Kamaycha curtesy Manganiyar Musicians

In response to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge – Music

Life and Living

That all my worldly possessions fit into the trunk of a car should mean something. But it doesn’t.

Not much means anything any more.

The tears of the sky fall upon my wind-shield and the wipers brush them away with nonchalance, a nonchalance that has now settled deep within my mind.

For forty years I worked as an accountant, bent over a desk in a 4 by 4 cubicle, returning to a house ransacked by two hyper active kids, who I love most dearly. What got me through was the mantra – ‘when they are off to college, I’ll be off to live my life.

The elder one graduated last year, the younger one graduates next year.

So here I am. I’ve settled my affairs, cashed in my chips, and am off to live my life, or at least what is left of it. With stage three carcinoma, the doctors really couldn’t say.


In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 23rd June prompted by a photo by Ted Strutz

Perfect beauty

Sarah realised that it was the third time this week that she was leaving at dawn, but when you are at the precipice of a breakthrough there was no time for rest. The results had finally come back and the figures looked more than satisfactory. This work was going to revolutionise the cosmetic industry. Thanks to them, perfect beauty was no longer a dream.

Her phone buzzed just as she reached the parking lot. “Sarah, there’s an anomaly. I don’t think we can ignore it.”
Shit. This was going to be another 48 hour day!

Above her, the sun took its first peek, streaking the sky with foamy waves of orange, pink and fire, an eager debutante trying to make shy acquaintance.

But the phone kept buzzing and Sarah was too busy to stop and say hello.


In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers’ 120 challenge based on photo prompt by Footie and Foodie

When Gods awaken

He loved it.

The textures and striations of the rocky outlet glistened in the sun. The little cottage at the peak overlooked a kaleidoscopic green blue sea. That it was available so cheap was the clincher. If local superstitions of the land being possessed by a sea god worked to his advantage, then he wasn’t complaining.

It was the day of the neap tide that he felt the ground rock. Earthquake was his first reaction, as he rushed out of his cottage towards mainland, only to freeze in his tracks. All around was only the great blue sea.

He, it appeared, was atop the giant turtle sea god.

In response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Words Wednesday: Week 24 challenge based on photo by Geran de Klerk

Delusory

Jellies

Delicate and graceful, as if a touch would them tear

Freely floating, inviting, enticing, dancing without a care

Yet prod them and face venom; all beauty is not for your play, beware


In response to the Three Line Tales week 72 challenge based on a photo by Joel Filipe via Unsplash

Stakeout

This wasn’t what he had imagined when he joined the academy. In his crime fighting daydreams stakeouts were thrilling like the movies. His partner and he would be slouched behind the wheels of a nondescript black sedan sipping hot coffee and before they were done the perpetrators would appear.

Instead here he sat on a cold street bench dressed like a vagrant staring at the dying lights of Pearl’s Di-er, lips too chapped to even smile at the ironic sign.

Just as he shifted hoping to feel his legs again, he saw it. The distinct red dot of a sniper rifle aimed at his chest.

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Written in response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday 23rd challenge with photo prompt by Jesse Williams

Day one

I stared at the huge structure with its looming stone walls and wondering once again what I was doing there. Everything screamed money, and heritage, and every arch appeared to questioning my right to tread these hallowed grounds. Staring at the ground I quickly walked in, half expecting someone to shut the gates on me at any moment.

As I walk through the hallways I notice the furtive stares directed my way. Everyone noticed the strange boy, yet no one seemed to care that I looked lost and uncomfortable. If only I could turn invisible, at least until I found the others like me. The school had a 15% reservation for economically challenged meritorious students, so I couldn’t possibly be the only misfit here.

Suddenly someone tapped my shoulder. “You look new. Would you like me to show you around?” she asked, and with that sweet voice my day immediately got a thousand times better.

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers’ 119th challenge based on a photo provided by The Magicsticgoldenrose

Fly

There are boys who join the army for honour and country, there are others who join in search of a new home, and then there is Jason who enlisted because Tommy bet him 5 shillings that he would not qualify the physical exam.

Jason would do anything for a dare, and for an adrenaline junkie, the army was perfect.
If there was a dangerous place to go, if there was an important message to be carried, or if someone had to dash in and out of the line of fire, Jason was that man. Jason on his trusty bike!

“You can ride her, but can you make her fly,” someone once taunted, and Jason decided to take on the challenge.

A date was fixed, a ramp set up, and to add to the thrill, it was decided that he would jump over his mates.
The bets were not far behind.

Five brave men sat shoulder to shoulder. Ten feet away the bike started revving up. Louder and louder, closer and closer, until she sped up the ramp and shot off like a rocket amid raunchy claps and hollers, and landed perfectly and well clear.

‘More…More…” egged on the crowd.

Five more lads volunteered to join. The bike started its run up fifteen feet away, faster and faster, until she sped up the ramp and shot off like a rocket. Another perfect landing.

‘More…More…” egged on the crowd. The bets rose higher and higher.

Fifteen young men sat shoulder to shoulder. Once again Jason started his race up the ramp amidst thunderous clapping and cheering. The bike shot off the ramp. But the speed was too much. The ramp wavered. The crowd froze. The lads lost their smile.
Was the bike was going to land short?

Only Jason smiled.

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Written in response to Michelle’s Photo Challenge #91.
Writing style adopted in response to Neil’s Scrivener’s Forge Exercise 6 – Character in action.