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Temporary Moments

Since it’s mid November it also means Christmas is coming. With the Christmas arriving, one cannot escape these beautiful red and green foliage of poinsettias. They automatically remind me of Christmas with there reds, greens and yellows.

The spirit of Christmas should be everlasting in one’s heart; however, the day is not. Similarly these red leaves too, are temporary.  I try to enjoy them till they last. I do get sad, when the leaves turn completely green and wait for them to change their colours during its season time. I enjoy the temporary colours in their temporary moments with an everlasting joy.

Inspired to write for weekly photo challenge: Temporary

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Shopping and happiness

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

Thanks to Marie Gail Stratford for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

Thanks to all the readers for their time, too.

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

“Mmmh!…blue…red… green. Which one?”

Amy’s fingers tapping hard on her chin. Her eyes are fixed on them, as they are hanging in the trial room.

“This one!” She picks up the green one.

“Mmmh…it suits my skin tone well.”

“Amy!” calls her friend, “time to go… closing time.”

“Yah! Coming.” Like a broken spell — her eyes move away from the mirror, and she starts folding them.

While travelling on the bus, posters of models stare at her. In the cell’s mild glow, her face looks content. A smile rests on her face. Order placed — her art products will arrive tomorrow.

Book Review: The Box Under The Bed

I just finished reading “The Box Under The Bed”.

The Book Cover

It is compiled and edited by Dan Alatorre. There are a total of 27 stories. The stories vary in word limit. Since they come from many authors you’ll surely be digging your eyes into a variety of stories.

I’m not a fan of scary stories and this was my first pick. I would say that the book was an entertaining read. It says scary and looking at the book cover I expected it to be some-what ghostly. Guess what? It proved to be more than scary and ghostly. If you love dark, disturbing, macabre, violent reads — this is, the book to read.

You could also easily fall prey to picking your favourites. I did! Each story was well crafted and had a unique story to tell. Some had twists that I wasn’t expecting. Some were creatively dark and gory. I would refrain myself from naming my favourites. To be honest, I had bookmarked them all…well, mostly all. Once I had finished reading the entire book, I saw myself going back for a quick reread. In addition to the stories; I also liked the book cover. It looks creepy with the eye and the paint. There’s something! pause… a long pause!

I would leave you all with excerpts from the book.

“But it isn’t the temperature that has dropped; it’s the atmosphere. The chill is not in the air but down my spine, something I choose to explain by the rain trickling down the back of my neck.”

Another …

“She could almost feel his longing and the surge of nervous energy coursing through his muscles. Seeing it in someone else sent an electric current of chills down her spine.”

Dancing

Who wouldn’t want to dance when they are happy? Who wouldn’t want to sing when they are joyous in their hearts? I would.

Looking at other people dance amazes me. Dancing to me is like you attain this fluidity and sync with the words that is either a song or music. I would love to do that, flow with the music.

I’ve tried it, I can’t deny that.

How hard could that be, right? Wrong! It was very hard for me. Years back I started to learn dancing. I was told by my teacher to let myself loose. I tried, but I was stiff as a stick.

I was sure of one other thing. I knew at that point in time, all the others were doing a secret job of watching me — dancing. Although I knew no body had that much time to invest on a dancer who couldn’t even spin gracefully. But I was sure of it — that all eyes were on me.

My teacher tried to prove me wrong. But nothing helped me or her to prove otherwise.

A good thing was I completed my dancing course.  But I still dance like a stiff stick.

Written for daily prompt: Dancing

Exquisite Objects

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

Thanks to Sarah Ann Hall for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

Thanks to all the readers for their time, too.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Ann Hall

 

A palace is a palace; therefore, exquisite beautifying objects adorned its space.

For the children, the rule was — Do not play near them.

For the others, the rule was — Do not touch or be close, as to scratch or break, anything.

For a cat, the rule was — Mind its business. So it did.

It skyrocketed towards a rat.

The final blow was deadly. Its sharp claws moved rapidly throwing fire. The rat escaped. Instead a vase accepted its fury. Intoxicated by the blow it danced drunk.  With adjoining friends, it toppled. Pieces rested in peace.

Meeewww! …. cause had sprinted away.

 

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Rounded Objects

How about a golden round mirror and a golden gramophone for some music?

A nice place to sit before it would have been standing.

Some pearls and crystals, for a lady to wear.

Delightful looking green gooseberries, always remind me of lemons. Very sour!

When I first saw this flower, I marveled at it as it held beauty, simplicity and attractiveness all together. I thought that the vibrant blue spikes in the center against the creamy background of the petals looked very striking.

Hydrangea to me is a round ball of tiny flowers. It’s a bouquet in itself.

This post is for the weekly photo challenge: Rounded

 

The Last Sunrise

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

Thanks to Roger Bultot for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

Thanks to all the readers for their time, too.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Amber sneaked out of the house.  Outside sat partially darkness. The shadows were rising in silky silhouettes.

She had walked on the gravel, mud path many a times. But today, she walked without any friends.

The scene looked perfect. The swollen grey clouds hung above, ready to cry, but something was stopping them from bursting out.

With a camera in her hand, she tried to capture the scene — the last sunrise….

Tring! Tring! Her singing cell phone shattered the silence of the place.

“Amber! Where are you? Come… before the movers… are here….”

“Yah…mom…comin. Just, saying goodbye to a friend.”