Vijaya Sundaram

Poet, Musician, Teacher, and Amateur Visual Artist

Ill-Met by Rain-Light!

PHOTO PROMPT - © Emmy L Gant


Photo-Credit
: Emmy L. Gant
Genre:  Shakespearian Fantasy / Grim humor
Word Count:  100 words of text, exactly

 

Ill-Met by Rain-Light!
©March 9th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

The King stepped into the urban jungle, followed by his retinue.  He stared at his Queen, who emerged from behind a trash can, with her attendants.

“Ill met by rain-light, proud Titania!”  His voice fell like rain, cold and stinging.

“What?  Jealous Oberon, maker of ill-winds and trash-bins, here?!  Fairies, skip away.  He causes floods and Climate Change!”*

He looked around, and paled.  “I take it all back!  Come home to  me!”

“What’s done cannot be undone.  It’s ALL your fault.  You wrangled with me over a mortal child who was mine to foster.  Fairies, hence!”

And Planet Earth died.

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*I’ve always thought that Shakespeare must have experienced some glimmering of Climate Change, but in a fairy-world sort of way.  In Act 2, Scene 1, when Titania meets Oberon, she tells him that the strangeness of the seasons (everything being topsy-turvy, as it is today in our world) is due to their fighting:

Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound:
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which:
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.

(Open Source Shakespeare)

 And thanks, as always, to Rochelle, our generous and talented Fairy Blog-Mother, and to Emmy L. Gant, for that beautiful photo-prompt!

Electric Sleep

Copyright-Sean Fallon

Genre: Science Fiction/Horror
Word Count:  100 words of text, exactly

Electric Sleep*
©March 3rd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

So many batteries, so little time!

I taste success, despite setbacks, and despite my school-mates laughing at me.  He can’t move himself without huffing and puffing!  Check out those batteries he’s collecting.  What’s he going to make with those?  A robot?

They don’t know what I’m capable of.

Time to get to work.

News Flash:  Parks Middle School was thrown into terror, when Andy Sheppard, an obese student entered school, trailing wires attached to him.  He was dead, but hovered.  School is closed for the week.  Interestingly, the morgue reports fluctuating power.  The strapped-down body still twitches, as if dreaming.

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*I’ve always loved science-fiction, and Philip K. Dick’s story, “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” is one of my all-time favorite titles (along with Harlan Ellison’s “I have No Mouth, and I Must Scream”).  My story has nothing to do with that story, except that I couldn’t resist calling my protagonist Andy (for Android, in case you were wondering  🙂 ), and give him a last name relating to sheep.

Thanks, as always, to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for being, as I’ve dubbed her, the Fairy Blog-Mother of Friday Fictioneers, graciously presiding over our creative output, and being generous with her comments to all.  Thanks, also, to Sean Fallon, for that seemingly innocent photo-prompt!

 

Hello, Goodbye! OR: Pride comes before the Plucking

PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman
Word Count:
100 words of text, exactly
Genre:  Fanciful Fiction

Hello, Goodbye!  Or, Pride Comes Before a Plucking
©February 10th, 2016

By Vijaya Sundaram

The tulip, emerging from the ground, encountered a tall daffodil.

“Hello?” she said, nervously.

The daffodil looked around, well aware of his flamboyant good looks, and spoke in a slow, languid drawl, “Who addresses me?” 

He couldn’t care less who it was; he stood leaf and stem over the rest of the little bulbs around him.

The tulip stuttered, “It-it is I, Ms. Tulip Red-Cheeks.”

The daffodil looked her over.  Hmmm … not bad looking for such a little bulblet, he thought.

Those were his last thoughts. 

Within minutes, he was in a vase inside a house. 

“Goodbye!” whispered the tulip.

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My second story on the same prompt.  (I want to see if I can do it from time to time!)  Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our Fairy Blog-Mother, for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and thanks to The Reclining Gentleman for the lovely photograph-prompt.

Forbidden

PHOTO PROMPT © Erin Leary

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.

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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.

Among the Water-Hyacinths

PHOTO PROMPT © Erin Leary

Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Fantasy Fiction

Among the Water-Hyacinths
©February 4th, 2016By Vijaya Sundaram

The King lay in the arms of his best friend, bleeding to death.

“I wish it hadn’t ended like this,” he rasped, eyes filming, a shroud of regret settling on him.

“It’ll be all right, Sire, you’ll see,” said the First Adviser, his best friend, whose hands and clothes were blood-bespattered.  “The kingdom won’t fall.  I promise.  I’ll see to it.  And I’m sorry.”

Twilight trod the land.  The water-hyacinth-choked river shone strangely bright.

“Will you tell them I did my best, although I failed?  Will you bury me with the knife you plunged into me?

The First Adviser wept.

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Thanks, once again (for the third time today) to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our gracious Fairy Blog-Mother and host of Friday Fictioneers, and to Erin Leary, for that photograph which is so haunting!

Expedition Denial

PHOTO PROMPT © Erin Leary

Word Count:  100 words of text, exactly
Genre:  Quasi-historical fiction

Expedition Denial*
©February 4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Water-plants choked the river.  Below, lurked hungry crocodiles.  They’d already gone far enough.  Food on board was dwindling.  The natives they’d met on the shores, strange dark-skinned people (indubitably, cave-dwellers), looked unfriendly.  The soldiers on the ships were now close to mutiny.

Their leader sighed.  It was all going so wrong, when it had started so promisingly.  How was he to face everyone back home?

“We’ve no choice,” he said, announcing his intention to turn around and head home.  “Nero’s expedition has failed, because water-hyacinths blocked our passage to the Sudd of Nubia.”

Cheers erupted.  He permitted himself a smile.

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Thanks, again, to our benevolent Fairy Blog-Mother host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who runs Friday Fictioneers, and to Erin Leary for that evocative photograph-prompt.

Life is But A Dream

PHOTO PROMPT © Erin Leary

Word Count:  100 words of text, exactly
Genre:  Somewhat-Realistic Fiction

Life is But A Dream
©February 4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

The clouds loomed.  The air was still with expectation.  Water-hyacinths choked the river.

“Why this route?” I complained for the umpteenth time. 

“There isn’t any other route,” replied the boatman, sullenly.

Suddenly, the boat stopped.  Now, totally out of patience, I stormed at him.  “Why aren’t we moving? Row me ashore, you damned fool!”

He smiled tightly.  “Be patient, sir,” he replied.  Then, “Look!” he added, pointing.

I looked where he pointed.  The next moment, I was in the water, and the boatman pulled away, glee making his face a demon mask.

I tried to swim.

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Thanks, as always, to our host at Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (whom I have dubbed our Fairy Blog-Mother), and to Erin Leary for the photo-prompt.

House of Sand, House of Darkness

PHOTO PROMPT - © ceayr

House of Sand, House of Darkness
©January 27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Matthieu told me when I bought the house that it was a bad idea.  He warned me not to buy so close to the beach.

I bought it.   It was beautiful.  Old tiled roofs and stuccoed walls made it look charming.  Bamboo shoots tied together made a little enclosure on the balcony.  I spent my first morning there, sipping café, reading Le Monde.

My first inkling that something was wrong came when I felt a shift in my bones.

I stood up, looking out to sea.

Sand was advancing towards my house, which moved seawards.  Fate coalesced.

Darkness fell.

 

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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our Fairy Blog-Mother, for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and to CEAyr for the photograph.

 

Piano, piano

Piano, Piano
©January 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Word Count:  100 words of text, exactly
Genre:  Magic Realist Heartbreak Tale

Softly, you stole her heart, and drowned it.

You spoke of dreams, played songs, and promised … nothing.

Stepping unsuspectingly in the wake of your beauty, your tightly-lidded passion, she was swept away.

And as she gasped for air, waving frantically, her hair was grabbed by seaweeds.  Little fish nibbled at her feet.  Twisting to look for you, she saw nobody.

Her clothes caught on spikes and coral, as she descended, coming to rest softly on a drowned piano, an ancient thing.

Her hands moved.

Undersea music rippled.  A song bubbled to the surface like a sob.

Humming, you sailed on.

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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for being our beautiful Fairy Blog-Mother and warm, gracious host of Friday Fictioneers, and to her husband, Jan W. Fields, for that intriguing photograph!

Worshipper

PHOTO PROMPT © Amy Reese

Word Count:  100 words of text, exactly
Genre:  Magical Mystery Fiction

Worshipper
©January 13th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Nine steps was all it took … and Abida was lost.  Dimly, she remembered pushing a gate.  There was a railing, and some creepers.  The steps were cracked.  Spidery veins cut through the concrete.

When she found herself in a vast cave before a melancholy-faced crystal idol, she hoped it was a dream.

What are you? she asked it, as a mist swathed itself around her, touching her with ice-fingers.

In reply, she felt herself being pulled towards the crystal, felt herself being reshaped.

She couldn’t move.

And a carved supplicant took shape before the idol, hands outstretched.

The idol smiled.

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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our gracious Fairy Blog-Mother Host who makes Friday Fictioneers a great respite plumb-spang on Wednesdays, right in the middle of our week, and to Amy Reese for that wonderfully mysterious photograph!

 

P.S.  Abida is an Urdu Muslim girl name which means, “She who worships.”