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A Story Left Behind

When I was shifting home two years back, I had to leave some wonderful memories behind. Spun in those memories were both people and places.

My neighbours were an old couple. Aunty was my favourite.

We had spent years talking together. A very wise, kind and a sensible lady she was. I didn’t want to part away without a token of love and appreciation to our wonderful bond that was created over time. There was only one question — what should I gift her?

I prepared a list of things that I could buy. They didn’t please me much.

Then I thought, why not gift a piece of art. I wanted to make something… some kind of painting.

One part of me strongly supported the idea while the other thought it was stupid. It opposed by saying, “What if she throws it in the dustbin.”

Amidst the chaos of packing my negative thoughts were trying to supress the positive ones. Finally the positive gathered courage and made a declaration: I don’t care even if she throws it in the dustbin. Peace prevailed. I got to work. Time was limited — just a week.

My subject was decided – a rose. I wanted it to be different, so I decided to paint it on a sheet of black sandpaper.

The end result was this

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To tell the truth I was nervous about making it on the sandpaper. I had never tried that before. It was just an idea and I worked on that.

How strange it was when I had given myself to the process. The process is always a mystery as you don’t know what the result would be. Will it be good or bad? success or failure? But when you let your love and passion for something lead your path of creativity — you get something. You get — a result, failed attempt or attempts and satisfaction of some kind — in the end . The result cannot be a security or guaranteed but in the end you know you have walked a journey and taken some steps.

My art was slowly taking its form. I was skeptical but I continued and drew strength from my own lines. I had given myself into the process so there were — no questions in my mind, no ego in my heart or expectations from the universe or the process. I saw what my mind showed.

They say that the best way to gain knowledge is by sharing your own. I have always believed this and have found it to be true because when you share you become better with your own concepts. After that incident, I feel that if you want to polish your skill(s) of some kind — the best is to gift it away. Share it. Give it for free.

What’s the worst? The person might not like it or throw it in the dustbin. At least they’ll not tell you, “I threw your gift because I didn’t like it.” And if some day someone does say so then you know it would be best to give it a break, try sometime later or let it be a feedback to work on.

Anyways, coming back to my gift, I walked into aunty’s home. Very shyly I held the frame and told her, “Aunty, this is for you. I don’t know if you’ll like it or not.” I held the frame extending my hands to her. She looked at it. With a smile she said,“It’s very beautiful.”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/story/

 

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The Guardian

Rochelle shares a photo prompt every Friday. She encourages us to write a story of hundred words (more or less) based on the prompt. If you’d want to join the wagon click at  FRIDAY FICTIONEERS to know more and add your story to the blue frog icon.

Copyright –   Dawn Q. Landau

Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

I was left here by the train tracks. Reasons were unknown to me. However, having survived a whole year makes me feel like this is my new home.

I’m the new tough guy around the place.

I was standing behind the tree watching her being bullied by some other kids. I made my way out of the tree. With saliva drooling from my mouth and a roar larger than my size I stood in front of them. They ran… away. I got to admit – it was fun. But no one messes around the place when I’m there.

Who am I, again?

I’m Toby – the guardian of the tracks.

Gibber-Jabber of a Story

She was holding a red watering can. The water from the can fell on the green leaves like tiny colourless bullets.

“Momme,” said a sweet voice and she turned to look at her little girl. “Yes, sugar,” said the mom.

“Flas, no flas… why no flas?” asked the five year old. The sentence – a broken speech – still, made sense to the mom. The small little fingers were now pointing towards a marigold plant.

“Sugar, momme needs to water them and take care of them.”

“Likes flas…want flas,” the little girl’s voice said with a little bit of sadness.

“Oh! My baby, come here,” said the mother and took her in her arms. “Now look, momme loves sugar and so….momme kisses her, reads stories for her, plays with her and then gives cookies to her. Yes.”

“Yes!” shouted her darling daughter.

“So, if you want flowers you’ll need to help momme.”

“How,” said the curious one.

“You’ll have to water the plant…” “…like momme,” interrupted the sweet voice.“Yes, but that’s momme’s job you are a big girl and you get a bigger job. Do you want to help momme?”

“Yes,” said the little girl.

“Then…first give momme a big kiss and then give a flying kiss to the plant.” The little girl obediently kissed her mom and then gave a flying kiss to the plant. The little girl now on her feet, started wandering in the garden. Her mom took the watering can and continued with her work.

The next day she could hear the sweet voice coming from the garden. She was a bit concerned as to whom her daughter was talking to. She ran in the direction of the voice. She was satisfied to see that her daughter was alone and not with any stranger.

“Sugar, what are you doing here? Mom was worried,” she said in a concerned voice. On approaching near she saw what her little girl was doing. Her daughter was holding a story book. It seemed, she was reading a story to the plant.

The mom leaned to kiss the daughter’s soft silky hair. She sat by the steps and watched her little girl read the story to the plant in her own gibber jabber language.