A Song Or Two

 (Written for Friday Fictioneers)

Photograph by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Photograph by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

My dearest pink cheeked lady

You make me go Boom! Bang! Pow!

My heart drum rolls every time I behold you

You are an inspiration to my musical chow.

~~

If you are the pluck, I am the string

If you are the rhythm, I am the tune

If you are the piano’s white, I am the black

For you my love, I’ll even jam on the moon.

~~

You complete the harmony of my unmelodious life

I wonder if you would like to be my wife

We’ll make songs of love and despair

If the neighbours complain, we just wouldn’t care.

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The Knife Story

(Written for Alastair’s Photo Fiction)

It was late when I got home.

The first thing I heard were ominous whispers emanating through the door.

Take the big knife, and cut the thigh here.

O god an evil sadist has got Grandma! , I panicked.

Then take the medium knife to separate the shoulder joint.

My feet seemed to have fallen asleep and wouldn’t accompany my upper body in the sudden dash towards the door. The inertia made me fall. I expected the hacker to lunge towards me at any moment but the whispering continued.

And use the smallest knife for better precision.

22-08-august-25th-2013

Photograph by Alastair Forbes

Large, medium, small!

HE WAS USING THE SAMURAI SWORDS MOM GOT LAST YEAR FROM CHINA AND WAS CALLING THEM KNIVES!

Shushing the ‘English teacher’ in me, I decided to take matters into my (horribly jittery and sweaty) hands.

I could barely hear the whispers now, because my heart was beating in my ears.

 ‘..and then grill the meat..’

I couldn’t bear to hear anymore and rushed to rescue (what remained of) Grandma.

.

.

.

Grandma slept on the couch peacefully and a chef on TV was sharing his recipe for making Chicken Tandoori.

Not everything is a murder mystery.

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.

.

Building A Dream

(Written for Alastair’s Photo Fiction)

18-07-july-28th-2013

Photograph by Alastair Forbes

“Steady now!”, Jacob whispered – his voice hoarse from all the hollering in the previous hour.

The first plank hung in the air precariously. The crane proceeded to sever its ties with the plank. One by one. Each snap of the connecting ropes cut across like a sharp whiplash. THWACK!

Just as planned.

After what seemed like an eternity (but was just a few minutes), all the ropes gave way.

Everyone looked at the plank, half expecting it to plunge into the water like every earlier attempt. Five minutes later (and after most of the onlookers had turned blue from holding their breaths), the plank stood still.

After years of planning, experiments, rejections and failures, Jacob had been successful in suspending the first plank without any support.

Jacob let out a war cry to every person who had ridiculed his idea – Who said you couldn’t build castles in the air?

The Return

(Written for Alastair’s Photo Fiction)

“It’s been seven years but that vile woman STILL won’t leave your mind. Get out of my house!”, Erica screamed furiously, spit fountains flying around unabashedly.

Two strong forces occupied the room. She, the erupting volcano. I, the calm sea.

I didn’t want to lie to myself again.

Photograph by Alastair Forbes

Photograph by Alastair Forbes

I walked, then jogged and finally ended up running – excited like an eager teenager on his first date.

Our favourite lane. It felt like home. Every leaf and stone seemed familiar. This bend was where we first met, that tree we shared our first kiss under, and those steps led to the church where we…

I felt her presence before she called out. Her perfume made me go weak in the knees, even after all these years. She still looked exactly like the photograph in my wallet.

Lauren – my wife. If only she would have me back.