The Corner Guy

(Written for #FWF Free Write Friday)

walmart-man

I am John. Also known as ‘The corner guy’.

If you’ve been here long enough, you know who I am.

And if you don’t know me, let me clarify that I am not in-sane. I am in-love.

I still remember that day, 21 autumns back, when my dear Jenny turned around this very corner and never came back. I yelled after her despite my sore throat,

“I’ll wait for you forever”.

I’m still here as promised, but she never came back. There hasn’t been a day when I haven’t sat on this very piece of concrete waiting for her. My apartment window sits facing me grimly, but I have no intention of going back home, lest she comes back looking for me and I miss seeing her.

I regret giving her no choice other than leaving me. I was a broken man then. I am a shattered man now. With every breath I try to piece together my heart which broke into a million pieces, with the hope that when she sees me again, I shall be whole.

Maybe they’ll write a book about me someday. Maybe they’ll make a movie. Maybe they laugh at me for being the weird guy who writes and sings love songs on his guitar. Maybe they think I am an epitome of true love.

There are a lot of maybes. But just one you.  

Jen darling, if you are out there, you know where to find me. Just around our favourite corner.

Let’s give love another chance.

.

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If wishes were horses…

(Written for #FWF: Free Write Friday)

This week’s FWF prompt is a word bank: blanket – falsetto – cumbersome – cinema – coins

~~~~~~~~~~

mother-and-daughter

They returned from the cinema house to their shabby home,

Dreaming of London, Paris, New York and Rome.

“Mama why can’t we live in bungalow like the movie stars”, asked young Jill

“Instead of this rundown down place on a lonely hill”

“But we live in such a lovely house,” argued Mary

With a wide open playground and trees full of cherry”

“But this rain taps annoyingly on the tin roof all night”

Oh but the wonderful rhythm it gives to our songs is just perfectly right.

“Mama why can’t we eat cheese and pasta and the delicious risotto?”

“But that doesn’t beat the taste of our garden veggies, eh?”, Mary asked, acutely aware of her own falsetto

“I too want to be rich movie star and wear pretty frocks”

“Dream high pretty girl”, said Mary, counting the pennies stashed in some torn socks.

“Why can’t I come with you Mama, it scares me to be alone when all is dark outside”

“Honey the stars will give you company tonight, I’ll soon be back by your side”

It was not an easy job to have these cumbersome conversations all day long

Life would have been so nice if it was just one happy song

How Mary wished she could be like the other mothers and not live a life of lies

And tuck her baby under the blanket each night and sing her lullabies

She put on her fishnet stockings and corset and whipped a brush through her hair

“Life is unfortunately not a movie, little one”, her tear whispered in the air.

~~~~~~

Life on the Ebb

(Written for #FWF: Free Write Friday)

birds-in-field

Photo credit – Tumblr

Situation: It’s high noon. Sun blazing. You awake in a field and birds are pecking your skin… GO!

Prick prick prick. Peck peck peck.

I squint in the afternoon blaze. The birds relentlessly stick their beaks into my wasted body.

Hah!, I think sarcastically, do I even have enough left in me to feed you?

Happiness lasted till two week ago, before the mad guy with the wispy hair and stinking white coat decided to subject me to this torture. In one of his fanciful mood swings, he decided to test my resilience against attacking foreign beings.

Though I never understood how that would help his research in discovering the first ever bulletproof vest and startle the world with his invention.

But hey, I’m no scientist. I’m just a rat. But not your ever day grubby rat, mind you. I was born in a lab.

I was fed well and taken care of. My grey coat shone as silver and my bright eyes twinkled like diamonds. The only grouse I had with my upbringing was the daily exposure to those blinding red rays which made me itch for a good hour or two. But it was all for the high purpose that my life had to serve.

I should have known that life is not a comfortable bed of fresh bread. However irrational it sounded to my ears – I was reared to meet a painful, agonizing and humiliating death at the hands (beaks) of this brainless flying duds.

I lie here, helplessly waiting for the last drop of blood to be sucked out, the last piece of skin to be torn and the last heartbeat to be heard. Don’t be fooled my friends, you never know who is using you for what purpose.

Prick prick prick. Peck peck peck.