The soul of the tribe

Nights in our desert were clear and cold. As was customary from the days of our forefathers, once a week the tribe would gather around the fire to discuss all matters of interest and concern. There was no real concept of privacy and the problems of one were the problems of all.

Every so often we would be reminded – if the tribe is our home then each denizen is a pillar of that home. The falling of one pillar would eventually lead to the collapse of all.

But the times had changed and the law had reached the tribe. The tribe elders had no real legal authority anymore. Nonetheless, the tags remained and due respect was given. Most meetings merely produced bromides. It was where achievements and excellence could be lauded and failures reprimanded, marital disputes mediated, interventions undertaken. The custom morphed but endured.       

Like most of my peers I moved to the city many years back. It is only for the festivals that I return. I am an alien yet I am not. There is a comfort in sitting around the elders, listening to the stillness, the aroma of the sands and roasting meats reminiscent of the smells of my childhood. Some might find it frightening to hear the sand move in the silence of the night, but I could still read the shifts. Nothing to fear, just a harmless critter.

I run my fingers through the soft sands. It feels like meeting an old and dear friend. It almost feels like meeting my young self again. A self that I had relegated to some remote corner of my mind. The coarse sand sifts through my fingers clearing all the cobwebs of my mind. There is a cleansing that I feel.

I realize now that no matter where I go, I will always carry the tribe and this desert within me.


Written in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s First Line Friday prompt: Nights in our desert were clear and cold…; Written using words from the daily prompts Fandango’s One Word Challenge (falling), Word of the Day Challenge (excellence), Ragtag Daily Prompt (bromide), The Daily Spur (problem), Your Daily Word Prompt (denizen) and My Vivid Blog (tags, privacy)

Sweltering Evenings

“August approached in a golden sweltering haze. Samson lifted the edge of his shirt to wipe his brow. She could see the sweat glistening on his perfectly chiselled abdomen”

I could not bear to read any more.

As ridiculous as it may sound, I shared a lovehate relationship with the heroine of my novella.

She was curvaceous and it was raining men on her; I was chubby and facing an eternal drought! She had spent the last three chapters taking one tumble in the hay after another, while the closest that I was getting to any sort of dalliance was taking matters into my own hands. That buxom, brainless Jezebel. I had coined over a dozen hateful names for her. Oh my God… I was actually jealous of a fictional character. Had I no minimum standards left for myself?

I needed to stop, curtail my obsession, get over this phase, and get a real life. This relationship was becoming insidious… Relationship? Did I actually call it a relationship? I was completely losing my mind.

I stared at the book. It kept calling out to me. One more measly chapter, I though. Yes, I was a masochist.

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Image: Pinterest

Written in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s First Line Friday and Saturday Opposing Forces (love/hate, rain/drought) challenges, using word prompts from Fandango’s One Word Challenge (insidious, coin), Word of the Day (dalliance, curvaceous), Your Daily Word Prompt (measly, curtail), The Daily Spur (read, minimum), Ragtag Daily Prompt (tumble, over)

Tired

I am the monster of every story.

I am the monster who is tearing apart the intricate venation that is family.

It was my fault. For years I kept quiet. I honestly believed that I should not be panhandling for what was mine by right. On the few occasions when I tried to express my displeasure, I was shut down by aggressive accusations. The head of the family was not to be questioned. As the good wife it was my duty to always place the desires of the family before my own. Surely, I was not attempting to disunite the family. When he raised his voice, it was boisterous expression. When I raised my voice, it was poor upbringing.  

Slowly but surely, he brought me to a point where peace and quiet became my only need. Keep quiet and do not rock the boat. Smile and maintain a façade of a happy family.

But with age came change. The fake smile began to hurt. And then one day I gave up. I took the mask off and walked away.

Frantic negotiations started. Symbolic concessions were offered. Religion was quoted. Social stigma was cited. Expressions of alleged love were made.

But it was too little too late. There was no turning back for me.

And then the stories started. Of course, I am the monster of every story.

But this monster is too tired to care.

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Walking Girl Sketch by ClairCaprice on Deviant Art

Written in response to Mindlovemiser’s Menagerie’s First Line Friday prompt of 2 July 2021 which challenges us to start with the line: I am the monster of every story.

Written using word prompts from FOWC (symbolic), Word of the Day (frantic, boisterous), Your Daily Word Prompt (disunite), The Daily Spur (rock), Ragtag Daily Prompt (venation, off), MMA Storytime’s Word of the Day (change, panhandle).

That Unknown feeling

The café began to feel like her only real home.

The blended aroma of freshly baked bread and freshly brewed coffee and the banter with familiar patrons, had become her comfort and bliss.

That would end soon.

She had her diploma and didn’t need the job any more.

Why then was the thought of going back to the place of her birth feeling so wrong?

wk 214 unknown

Written in response to two challenges:

  1. Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s First Line Friday that challenges us to start with the line ” The café began to feel like her only real home.”
  2. Sammi Cox’s Weekend writing prompt #214 that challenges us to use the theme “Unknown” and write in exactly 65 words.