Spin your tapestry

Lonely people
walking down grey cobbled streets
huddled within themselves
on a cold dreary day
small fragile finite
insignificant before the ode they built to themselves
where creation superceded creator.

A brief crossing
accidental meeting of eyes
quick hellos
look away before you start to see
secure in space bubbles
with impenetrable masks.

What brings them out
to these cold lonely streets
buying striving acquiring
achieving milestones
collecting trinkets
to leave behind.

Life starts with an inhale
and ends with an exhale
Each breath between a lifeline.
Fill your tapestry with colour
make it intertwined
revel in the chaos
Be the butterfly
whose flap affects the world.


Inspired by a photo by Marie Gail Stratford posted by Rochelle for her Friday Fictioneers challenge of 10th November 2017.

What matters

Tringgg…

Visibly irritated, I answer the door. My show starts in fifteen minutes. I’ve been itching to know who killed Littlefinger.

A beaming young man thrusts a box of sweets at me. No sooner do I take them than he’s attempting to touch my feet. Stop! No!

“Thank you, aunty. All your blessings.”

Whose aunty? What blessings?…

And suddenly the cobwebs clear.

My maid Kamala frantically arriving last night. (Yes, right before primetime!) “Madam, my son has interview in big company. College says he must wear shoes. Please madam.” The frantic hunt through my son’s old shoes…

“You got the job?” I squeal.

“Yes.”

“Come, come,” I call him in. Littlefinger can wait.

In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 22 September, based on the photo by Sarah Potter.

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.

x8cqmsk
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.

The charming Dish

“Here, let me bring those bags in for you.”
She had seen him around the neighborhood a few times, talking to some of the other people, but had never really taken a close look, or even noticed where he lived. His boyish bronzed face boasted of keen grey eyes, pouty lips over perfect white teeth and a charming smile. Her daughter would have described him as ‘a dish’. Such a gentleman too, she thought. Not only did he hold the door open for her but he helped put everything away. When she offered him a drink, he accepted most graciously, glad for the opportunity to get to know a beautiful lady such as herself. Not many young men would take time out to chitchat with an old lady. “Old? Nonsense! You’re at your prime,” he kidded her. He swore that she baked the best cookies in the state. He even noticed that she had monogrammed all her napkins. She bathed in his attention and flattery. Soon she was telling him all about the grandchildren, showing him pictures and inviting him to share thanksgiving with them. The dear boy had been travelling and had not been home in so long; much like her own son, always busy, always on the move. They barely realised how much time had passed as he shared stories about the non-profit organization that he worked for, the wonderful work that they did to help poor impoverished children in third-world countries, and the deep satisfaction he felt when he could arrange sponsors for them. When she offered to adopt a child, he almost had tears in his eyes. He called in her credit card number, all the while squeezing her hand tightly in gratitude. Once the transaction cleared he dropped her hand and rubbed his own together in glee. Suddenly his smile vanished like a thief melting into the night. Tapping his watch he recalled a forgotten appointment. Declining her offer to stay for supper, he hastily swept out of the front door, without a backward look or even a goodbye. It was as if she had altogether ceased to exist.


Flattery

‘Never say No’ Sally

Silly Sally will never disagree, which could have been a most agreeable quality, if only Sally were not partially deaf. We are busy discussing plans for tomorrow when I notice her walk towards the door. “Sally”, I call out to her, and she replies, “Yes, yes, sure.”
“Do you even know what you just said yes to?”
“No. But I’m sure it’s a great idea.”

Sally was our cook and every meal was a surprise. “Yes, Yes, this is what you asked for. No?” she would ask, with the biggest cheeriest smile on the planet, and eyes that twinkled with such love, that you wouldn’t dare correct her for fear of seeing that twinkle fade.

“Sally I want fried chicken today”, says my son.
“OK baba”
“No Sally, we made chicken yesterday. Fry the fish today”, says mum.
“OK ma”
“Sally, my friend is coming home for lunch today. She’s a pure vegetarian. No meat to be cooked today please. Give us a traditional meal.”
“OK didi”
So I suppose you’re wondering what was finally cooked?
Fried rice with chicken, prawns (in lieu of fish) and lots of vegetables. Someone did not hear the ‘vegetarian’ bit.
We then went out for lunch.

“Sally, please put less oil in the food”, I say. “Yes didi”, she says. But we still continued fishing our veges out of the oil pool.
“Ma’s blood pressure is high. Less salt please”, I say. “Yes didi”, she says. Yet again I had to add water to the gravy to dilute the salt.
I call her up from work and tell her, “It’s trader’s day tomorrow. All the shops will be closed. Go to the marketing today”. “Yes didi”. The next morning she tells me we are out of rice! “Why didn’t you buy yesterday?” “I didn’t have money.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” “You already have so much office tension. You told me to go, so I simply said yes. I didn’t want to upset you.”
Huh!


OMG! OMG! OMG!
I’m back in an hour to update my blog.
So my uncle who has come into town for a day, visits the seaside, and brings home some fresh fish. Mum, overcome with sisterly love, tells Sally, “Just freeze the fish and send it with him when he leaves tomorrow”.
“OK ma”.
I just walked into the kitchen and Sally’s busy cleaning the fish. “What, he bought it for all of us to eat! I’ll fry it now. It will be very fresh.”
I’m waiting for mum to come to the table. I have my earplugs ready 😉


Disagree

For my boy

My heart thumps so loudly that it thunders in my ears, as my blood flows with the fury of a tempest. My palms sweat as my body gets hotter and hotter. What have I gotten myself into? An overpowering fear of impending doom makes my muscles tense up. The oxygen is depleted from my lungs and I can breath no more. A jolt and my life flashes before my eyes. And then I’m falling and falling, racing towards imminent death. My stomach has dropped off, my intestines are floating freely about and everything that was inside is about to hurl out. I try to call for help but nothing comes out. It’s too hard to inhale. Somewhere in the distance I hear my son scream my name. My baby needs me. I want to rush to him. I try to get away, but I am trapped. Restraints hold me firmly back, while someone is pulls down on my cheeks, stretching them. My own nails bite into my flesh as I clench my hands so tightly that the blood stops its flow. And then just as suddenly… the silence of the grave.

The shackles disappear. “Out”, I vaguely hear someone say. “Out”. I want to get away before he changes his mind, but my body simply won’t respond. I am weightless and numb. By sheer will I force my feet to move one by one, away from this narrow escape.

Suddenly a little body wrap itself tightly around me. “Mum…O mum”. I will my heart to slow down, my jitters to stop, and my lids to lift. I find myself looking into a pair of the most clear brown twinkling eyes.
“I love you. You are the best”, he says. I hug him back. My beautiful boy.
I smile and acknowledge to myself – I’ll ride that crazy roller coaster a hundred times, just to see that Twinkle in his eyes.