Emulation amiss

Human teens are really cool, said Young Jellie without a doubt.

Floating with the tide was so unspectacular, he yearned to stand out.

In retrospect chewing strawberry gum was probably not the smartest route.

In response to Sonya’s 77th Three Line Tales challenge based on a photo by Pan Da Chuan via Unsplash

Dangerous Rattlers

Jenny was engrossed watching the sunrise. No sooner had the sky lit up than she let out the most awful blood curdling scream.
Now Mark was still in bed. They were after all on vacation, and of what use is a vacation if a man cannot sleep in. But upon hearing her scream he jumped up and rushed out, without even wearing his spectacles, which is why he misjudged the first step, tumbled all the way down and broke his neck.

Jenny let out a second blood curdling scream, which frightened the birds who flew off in a flurry, startling the rattle snake who slithered off in a hurry.

And yet the tale was thus told – adventurous Mark was killed by a rattlesnake.

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers‘ 122nd Challenge based on a photo prompt by Kecia Spartin.

Under the weather

I have been feeling a little under the weather. Whether the cause is the stress of college applications or the actual weather, is yet unclear. The truth is probably somewhere in-between as most profound truths usually tend to be. You see, my city, which for the record I love very much, has three subtle climates – hot, hotter and hottest. Right now we are at hottest. (There is nothing romantic about the Indian summer as some song writs would have you believe.)

I startled myself out of a most elaborate dream this morning. So elaborate that the fiction writer in me is actually envious of the dreamer in me. You might suppose that the two are one and the same, or at least close companions, but in my case they are not. Ironically I can dream gore, but it just isn’t my genre of writing.
But I digress. Coming back to said dream, it unfolds as follows…

There is an open drain flowing beneath my house (I swear there is none, nor are there sheaths of dust that my subconscious mind could highlighting. I checked. Nor do I live with any politicians or bureaucrats, so need to drain the swamp.) Mum finds a tiny little snake there and comes up to me saying ‘We need to burn it. That’s the only option.’ (That right there is another major digression from realism. In reality my mum would have frozen of horror and then shrieked loud enough to hit the snake’s hearing frequency and thereby destroyed it of internal bleeding caused by ruptured eardrums, or some such.)
So we wrap cloth around a stick, wrap the little snake around the cloth, douse it with fuel, and set it on fire. (All animal rights activists I assure you this is a dream and only a dream and I have absolutely no plans of acting upon it ever.) However instead of the cloth catching fire something very strange begins to happen. The little snake starts swelling at an astounding rate, blobs form, appendages grow, and from that strange grotesque lump emerges a man. He gets up, happily shakes himself off, saunters over to the sofa where he proceeds to perch. My first reaction is to scream out to my son to run into his room and lock himself (Ah, a mother’s instincts. There is no suppressing them even in dreamscape.)
‘What do you want?’ I ask the snake man.
And at this very cliff-hanger moment my alarm started ringing.

Phew, saved by the bell!

Superstitious I am not, but I’ll admit the dream freaked me out. My first instinct was to start muttering all the prayers I knew, seeking the Almighty’s protection, seeking protection against the jinn. I mean, what else could he be?
Once I had calmed down, the next step was obviously to analyse the dream. Miss Freud much! What did the dream represent? Am I about to do something that is likely to become a bigger problem for me? Does he represent someone who could possibly do me harm? Was he good looking, I mean was he someone I was crushing on and this was a divine intervention warning me to keep it in my lady pants?

After considerable introspection I have come to only one conclusion – gouging down a heavy snack before going to bed is probably not a very good idea!


Written for The Stream of Consciousness Saturday’s prompt whether/weather.

The Parenting Game

You’re being silly!

But moms are allowed to be silly.
It’s the first time that my baby has been away from home and that too for three whole days. He’s gone with his school and there are teachers, but still…

He’s ten. High time you cut the umbilical cord.

I understand. At least my logical mind does. But a mother’s heart is beyond logic and reasoning. A million scenarios have plagued my mind. What if he gets hurt? Is he eating properly? He’s going to start his shower and then realise he has forgotten to take a towel!

So I arrive at the school, well before the bus is due, and what do you know, I’m not the only over-anxious parent waiting.

Inspired by Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday, Week 20 photo prompt

In a Tizzy!


When I started they said graduation was the goal.

At graduation they tell me this is just the beginning.

If the end is also the beginning then… bloody hell I’ve been going in circles!!!

In response to Three Line Tales, Week 68’s photo prompt by Faustin Tuyambaze via Unsplash

As knowledge increases, wonder deepens.” – Charles Morgan

Writer’s Block

The aim was to respond to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge based on a photo prompt by A Mixed Bag 2012.
It turned out to be one of those days when the words kept eluding me. What eventually came together was a children’s poem.

I am cheating a little bit here with a 200 word preamble and a 320 words poem, but its a genre that I have never tried, so I am going ahead and including the poem as a link.

Writer’s Block

A house fly on a keypad – I’m tempted to reach for the duster. Who sees a fly and picks up a camera rather than a squatter? A creative eye, that’s who, I tell myself. There is much beauty in the mundane.


I need to write a 200 words story.

I put different hats on my protagonist – a bug, a spy, a shape shifter, a fly in a dirty room. Beyond a few lines, nothing takes shape. I make him the antagonist. Think Jeff Goldblum. Why did he have to die? If vampires and werewolves can make sexy boyfriends, why not a fly? They could have ended with him wrapping his wings around his girl as they have their moment. But we associate flies with dirt and disease. No one wants a filthy boyfriend. Then I wonder… We humans occupy all the best places and chase God’s other creatures away, forcing them to seek refuge in squalor. We deprive them of options yet they get the disrepute.

OK. I was getting nowhere with this prompt. I decide to sleep on it.

It was when I was almost dozing off, that Inzy the Fly suddenly came to life.


Please read Inzy Saves the Day here.

A nose for mystery

I enjoy Frank’s Photo Challenges, primarily because it gives me an excuse to rifle through my archive of memories, and also because it offers me the privilege of peeking into other wonderful people’s archives.

This week’s topic is Mystery, and my response has been inspired by Judith Reid’s response, where she quotes a really cute T. S. Eliot poem “Macavity – the Mystery Cat”.
So thank you to both Frank and Judith.

Now T.S. Eliot also wrote about “Rum Tum Tugger, the Curious Cat” snippets of which I quote below.

‘Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat–
And there isn’t any use for you to doubt it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there’s no doing anything about it!
hidden cat

Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat–
And there isn’t any call for me to shout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there’s no doing anything about it!’

seen cat

To have and to hold…

Tiger Tail

Dude, I groan. I’ve caught the proverbial tiger’s tail, and you know how that goes. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

Hang on tight, buddy, he says. Just ride it to its logical conclusion.

Shit man, did you even hear what I said. It’s the damn tiger’s tail. The only logical conclusion is my untimely and certainly gory death. Seriously! Have you ever seen anyone pull a tiger’s tail and live to tell the tale?

Nice pun.

Get out you sicko. I’m desperate, I’m dying, I tell you my problem and all you see is the pun in it. Some friend you are.

Well there was this picture in the papers a while back of a monk grabbing a tiger’s tail. He survived.

You better not be referring to that tiger monastery article. God knows what shit they keep those tiger’s high on. And I’m no Buddha.

That was a Buddhist monk, not the Buddha. Chill. Just saying.

Man, the only Buddhism I know is the stuff we read in school. Come to think of it, what’s that Buddha said. ‘Life is suffering. Attachment is the origin of suffering.’ Yup. I’m attached to the damn tiger’s tail and I’m suffering.

The way I see it, you have two options. Stop fighting the tiger and just let him take you on the ride of your life, or be such a pain in the ass deadweight that the tiger decides to offload you.

Dude, that’s actually some solid advice right there.

Exactly. Take the bull by the horns.

Yo man. Just skip the animal idioms please. No tiger’s tails, no bull’s horns. I’m already in the dog house. Feels like I’m about to have a cow. So just hold your horses.


In response to: Michelle’s Photo-Fiction #84 challenge

The perils of growing up!

“Bleet Bleet”, exclaimed Sunny, “and to think that I envied their long coats!”
“At least no one is grabbing us by our tresses and dragging us away, only to be brought back naked and hairless.”

“I don’t think I want to grow up fast anymore,” added Shiny.


In response to: Three Line Tales, Week 63
Image by: Gemma Evans via Unsplash