Feb 5, 2016 Friday Fictioneers
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Realistic Fiction
Forbidden
©February 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I waited for him, lost in regret.
Twenty years ago, we’d parted friends, but frosty. We had, however, agreed that we would meet on this day, on the banks of the water-hyacinth-clogged river where we’d learned to swim together, spin fantasies about our future, and study for exams.
It had taken me a while to find the spot, but I was here.
I heard a footstep.
“Manush?”
“Preetham?”
He came forward. We embraced.
“I’m sorry for rejecting you, causing you such pain.”
“I didn’t mean to misunderstand you.”
“Friends?”
I looked at the man I still loved.
“Forever,” I replied.
______________________________________________
P.S. Manush is a male Indian name, meaning “Man” and “Preetham” is another male Indian name, meaning “Love,” or “Beloved.”
Thanks, for the fourth time (and why AM I in this crazed story-spinning state this week?) to our Fairy Blog-Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and to Erin Leary for this haunting photo-prompt.
Tags: #Love, forbidden love, Friendship, Original 100-word short story based on a photo-prompt
Apr 24, 2014 Uncategorized
Handwritings
©April 17th 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
There was a time
When my friends’ rounded,
Precise, neat handwritings carried
A sunlit, sea-magic –
All of them.
There were pearls within,
Each word a pearl
Holding meaning, light
Glowing in them.
I loved their handwritings
Loved the slant or the straightness
The dark or the lightness
The pressure or its lack —
All of that.
Everything spelled beautifully
Thought laid bare,
A revelation of self,
All of it.
And I looked with pleasure
At words that flowed
Across ruled paper
And down the page
Erasing emptiness,
Lapping at the shores
Of silence, their ebb and flow,
Filled with music,
Rich with it.
All those
Careful, controlled
Pearl-handwritings.
Caught carefully in time
Strung together,
Making meaning –
It was all magic,
Pendant with it.
And all I wanted
Was to wade in,
Gather those pearls,
Crunch them up,
And eat them all,
All of them.
___________________________________________________
Tags: #Handwriting, #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poetry, Eating words, Friendship, Words and pearls
Apr 11, 2013 Character Vignettes for Possible Novels, Original Poetry
The Enemy
Or: To a Non-Friend
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 11th, 2013
This is the day I was surprised.
It’s not my skin-tingling recoil
That surprised me when I saw you.
It’s not my memory of all
The little jabs and major stabs
That you aimed so casually and
So shamelessly at my open
Heart through all these years that we had
Passed each other grim, unsmiling.
It’s not your mockery and your
Usual barely suppressed malice
Which made me stop in my tracks and
Caused me almost to forget
Forget the injuries, insults …
Incalculable pain that you’ve
Caused me, making me want to die,
Washing the rocks on some hillside.
No, it’s not any of those things.
It’s that today, you were not well.
And, in sickness, your laughter bloomed.
You were vulnerable, you were
Shorn of bluster, you were truly
There, truly true, truly open.
You were without defense, or hate.
And you were giddy, funny, good.
And I felt for you a great rush
Of affection, of empathy,
Which bore me away on fair winds
Which made me laugh with you today.
Which made me feel for you, for you,
Of all people, you, who have hurt,
Insulted, derided, questioned,
Rumored, destroyed, rebuilt, torn down.
You altered your face. No longer
Bitter nor hateful, no longer
Jealous nor spiteful. You were real.
You were funny. You were open.
Laughing, you changed all you had been
For one moment, in the blessing
Of the spring, the sunshine pouring
Down on us, through ceilings and roof.
This is what surprised me today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, altered, empathy, Friendship, Hurt, Laughter, mockery, Pain, sunshine, surprise
Feb 22, 2013 Original Short Stories
Dreams from Snow – A Short Story
© By Vijaya Sundaram
Dec. 19th, 2008
The snow drifted down like a dream about to dissolve.
Kevin wandered out of his apartment in the tenement building, in search of his friend. He knocked on the door, and heard shouts inside, shouts and a smack, as of a hand connecting with a face.
He knocked again, louder. The door opened a crack, and a scared face peeped out. It was his friend, Drew. “They’re fighting again, Kev,” he said, his eyes big and scared, “I’m scared.”
“Come out with me. It’s snowing. Come on!” whispered the little boy.
“Okay. Wait. I’ll be out – I’m not telling them,” said Drew, and withdrew, shutting the door. The voices within continued shouting.
In a few minutes, when the door opened quietly again, Drew was dressed in his outer layers, his snow jacket and boots, hand-me-downs, clearly, but still warm enough. There were tears in his eyes. There was a red mark on his cheek, as if a hand had landed there. He had a bruise on his forehead. There were still shouts and noises inside, and the sound of flung objects.
“You okay? What’s goin’ on?” asked Kev.
“The same. I don’t want to be at home,” said Drew.
Kev put his arms around Drew. “I’m your friend,” he said, and together they walked into the snow.
They played in the snow, making snowmen in the front of their apartment building, while a few older kids wandered about throwing snowballs at each other, shrieking with laughter.
The snow drifted down all afternoon, and the dream deepened, didn’t dissolve. They built snow-forts, and made believe that they were polar-bear warriors in the land of snow and ice.
Evening fell. They were cold and hungry now.
Drew’s eyes grew round and scared again. “I don’t want to go back,” he said, “I’m scared.”
“Don’t go. I’ll ask my mom if you can stay with us,” said Kev.
They went to Kev’s house, where his mother took in everything at a glance, and didn’t ask too many questions. She’d seen enough in her life to know what she saw, and while she was gentle, she was also tough. She made them hot cocoa, and fixed them a large cheese-grilled sandwich each. They sat companionably together on pillows on the floor, eating their sandwiches, drinking their hot cocoa, watching Sesame Street on the little television in the living room. Kev’s mother sat, her ample frame taking up a lot of the couch, book in hand, occasionally looking over at the boys, her large brown eyes filled with worry and tenderness.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at their door, and a voice, shouted, “Open up!”
Kev’s mother opened the door a crack, and looked out.
“Drew’s in there, isn’t he? Send him out, or I’m calling the police,” came the angry voice of Drew’s mother.
“I’m not coming with you! I don’t want to go home,” cried Drew, holding on to his friend’s hand. “I want to stay here forever! I hate you and I hate my father!”
Drew’s mother pushed the door open, walked right in and grabbed hold of her trembling son. “You’d better come home right now, or else,” she yelled. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was a tangled mess. Her dress was stained as if food might have been flung at her.
Kev’s mother said in a steady voice, “Calm yourself, Miz Wright! Take a breath. Do you see your son’s bruises? I should report you! Take a breath. Why bother to come for him? Do you really want him home?”
Mercy Wright took a deep, shuddering breath, and suddenly looked defeated. “I have no one. He’s mine.”
“Then take care of him!” said Kev’s mother. She folded her arms across her chest. Her voice was stern, but her eyes were kind.
Mercy Wright looked at Drew, let go of his hand, and said simply, “Do you want to come home now? I’m sorry. I won’t let your Dad hit you. I won’t let him come near us. We can go away, if you like. I promise.”
Drew said, timidly, “Will we really go away? Why do you want me, momma?”
She burst into tears. “You’re my son.”
Drew understood. He went up to her, and put his little arms around her tired, worn-out frame. “I love you, Momma,” he said. He took her hand, suddenly grown-up, all of six years of age.
He turned to Kev and Kev’s mother, who said, “Will you be okay? We’re always here, if you need us.
Drew nodded and said, “Yes, thank you for everything, Mrs. Armstrong. Thanks, Kev.”
Kev gave Drew a hug. Patti Armstrong pulled him into a warm embrace, her eyes bright.
Drew left, with his hand still in his mother’s hand. Outside, the snow drifted down still, like a dream about to dissolve.
Kevin looked out the window and watched his friend and Mrs. Armstrong make their way through the snowy path. He hoped his friend would stay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Hope, #Original Short Story, Friendship, parental neglect and abuse, reconciliation, Snow