Apr 28, 2016 Friday Fictioneers, Original Short Story
PHOTO PROMPT © Mary Shipman
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Realistic fiction
Parallel-Life
©April 28th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I’d travelled many miles. Bandits had taken all I had. My only child had died when they attacked. I had to bury him in the forest, my heart a stone.
Grief and hunger assailed me. I hadn’t eaten for five days. I’d walked for miles. The berries I’d found had made me sick.
I reached a shop. Incongruous things hung there.
“Please,” I croaked, collapsing at the door, “Some food …”
A boy came out of the shadows. “Come in. My father went out five days ago, and never returned. My mother’s in shock.”
He seemed strangely familiar. I crawled in.
___________________________________________________________
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, Fairy Blog-Mother Extraordinaire for hosting Friday Fictioneers, where we get to meet and mingle with some of the finest story-tellers in the blogging world. Thanks, as well, to Mary Shipman for that photo-prompt!
Tags: #Coincidence?, #Original 100-word Flash Fiction based on a photo-prompt, #RealisticFiction
Apr 28, 2016 Friday Fictioneers, Original Flash Fiction, Original Short Story
PHOTO PROMPT © Mary Shipman
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Fairy tale? Demon-Tale! (Alas, I seem to not have much realistic fiction left in me – I’ll give it another try!)
Shopping Trap
©April 28th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It was a curious shop. Rolling pins, lamps and chemises hung down. At the far end, wearing a long, dirty nightgown, sat a man, with wispy white hair on his head. His teeth were yellow-stained, his fingernails dirty.
As far as Nina knew, he’d never sold anything. Day after day, she passed his shop; the same things hung down, or sat on the shelf.
Passing one day, she looked straight into his eyes.
His returned gaze rattled her. Despite herself, she entered.
In seconds, the shop, the man, and Nina vanished, before the mournful words, “Another one gone” echoed everywhere.
______________________________________________________________
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, Fairy Blog-Mother Extraordinaire for hosting Friday Fictioneers, where we get to meet and mingle with some of the finest story-tellers in the blogging world. Thanks, as well, to Mary Shipman for that photo-prompt!
Tags: #Fantasy-FairyTale-Mystery, #Original 100-word Flash Fiction based on a photo-prompt, #Shopping
Apr 28, 2016 #Couplets, Original Poetry, Rhymed couplets
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Solitude
Haunted by Solitude
©April 28th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
And where I go, she goes
And everything she knows.
And when I sing, she sings
The song of beginnings
And when I play, she plays
She never goes away
And when I smile, she smiles
(Please leave me for a while!)
And when I cry, she cries
She’ll be silent when I die.
She’s always by my side
She stamps out all my pride
My muscles knot and twist
And dreams I can’t resist.
And she, my shadow-self
Stares from her shadow-shelf
Wills me to stay awake
Bids me my thirst to slake
Somewhere within, she lurks
And I, her puppet, jerk.
So, why am I alone
Holding sadness like a stone?
_______________________________________________________
Tags: #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #RhymedCouplets, #Solitude, #TheDailyPost, #TheDailyPrompt
Apr 28, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo
Song of Freedom (A Read-Backwards Poem)
©April28th, 2016
Singing a song of freedom.
Or, perhaps, it was her blood
Mermaids singing to her.
Somewhere, she could hear
The water stung like hornets.
Burning with borrowed heat.
A comet with icy heart,
Hurtling through the air,
She took a deep breath, and flew,
As her blood moved slowly in her veins.
She moved slowly to the rocky cliff.
Sing a song of freedom to her feet.
She threw off her heels, felt the grass
She climbed down a beautiful yew tree.
Hand over foot, over hand over foot,
Leaning over, she saw her escape.
Desperate, she found the open French window.
Made smiles and talk, made promises, broke them.
People on the dance-floor, people in the library.
People in the kitchen, people in the bathrooms,
People near the door, people near the balcony,
Escape routes were closed off.
But turned away, lips aching.
Automatically, she smiled back,
Drink in hand, his lips speaking.
A man approached her, smiling,
Something like sadness.
Something sharp cut inside her throat,
And to her right, a trapped deer
She looked to her left, wildly,
Nor did she care – empty, like her cup.
What they discussed, she did not know,
Deep in a dance beyond her ken.
Arms gesticulating, lips moving,
She moved, where people talked.
Slowly, slowly through the throngs,
Was this real, a dream, imagined?
_________________________________________________
This was in response to the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 28:
And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). Today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning. Now, the story doesn’t have to be complicated (it’s probably better if it isn’t)!