Passages
This post includes writings that are too short to be published as separate blog posts. Instead, each fitted the size of a tweet. I'm posting those from Twitter on my blog to keep them saved over reliability. This post would also include those passages that were not published on Twitter. Any piece exceeding 100 words may be published as separate blog posts.
Each new passage starts from the section breaks.
This page will remain a living document, and will keep getting updated with more writings.
Note: This post is for writers and authors. Bloggers and brands, kindly ignore this post and the tab "Flash Fiction" altogether, and refer to lifestyle niches tabs in the Menu button. Commenting is disabled for all posts under the mentioned tab.
***
Easel:
"How
much longer did you say it would take?" Rubbing my back while sitting on
the bed, I asked him again.
"As
long as it takes for me to get it right." He said while painting on the
easel.
I
collapsed into bed.
He
turned around. Frowning, he walked up to me.
"Hey,
you are still not what I want you to be." He said.
I
kept my eyes closed.
He
put a colored paint brush on the side of my face.
"Hey!"
I said, startled.
"There!
You're a better canvas. Exactly how I wanted it." A triumphant smile on
his face.
I
got up, and looked in the mirror. I became another being.
I
wasn't me.
____________
Tradition:
Distant screams. Music. Creaking rides. Thumping machines. Carnival food.
Seven year old stuffing his pockets with candy, and pushing a few in mine for later.
7: Mom, do you want one?
Me: Not the hard candy, but I'd have a candy floss.
7: I'll go find it.
He runs away looking for the candy floss vendor.
I usually buy for him, but now he's doing that for me. Is there a tradition where kids buy for their parents?
Well! As I wait and watch him getting one fluffed up, I open one of his candies and put it in my mouth.
____________
I
sit down to write about my life.
Where
do I start
I
look at the white wall in front
Beyond
that, it turns monochrome.
Outlined
in black. Smeared with oil. Corners soften to form curves...
Door
opens behind me, and I'm brought back to reality. I turn around.
"They
are calling for you." the boy says
He
departs a small, soot black opaque silhouette.
I
look at my notebook again, the paper has no lines.
My
pen is vulnerable to bleeding ink.
Snap!
The nib breaks. I have pressed down hard when writing.
Brows
furrow, lips tense, hands tremble.
I
put the pen down, get up, and leave.
The
calling.
I
let go
Of
something I clung to
In
despair, in desperation
In
the void. Fiery.
I
look up, eyes mirroring the sky.
Becoming.
In
deceit I confront
I
will conquer you!
Flashbacks.
The impossible. Past. Moonless hindrances dressed as white ghosts. I awake in
the present, holding my sketch book. A nice view. Did I just paint my future?
On
my left and ahead, he sits, contemplating. I smile, put down the tools and bend
forth. I kiss him on the ear.
Going
towards perpetually fated
Voice
a vapor, swirling away misty
And
body rigid, face turned towards oblivion
Roaring
waves refuse to carry me away
I
remain black against the blue.
Seeing
a pigeon tending to its squab; something about it irks me.
But
then I look out the window. Weather is haze and calm. And I wonder, what do I
want...
I'll
just smoke it out!
Driving,
I dread a thunderstorm coming,
sensing
my fear, rain and the winds
allow
me a calm retreat.
An
apple in hand,
And
rain in the background,
I'm
walled up.
How
learnt the magnetic current was, it flowed from your brain.
Vision
so immersed, it is surreal.
The
horizon spoke, gazing in the eye.
"You
have arrived at your destiny!"
