FFfAW: The Pick-me-up

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The Pick-me-up

Words 175

“Come for a walk?” Reema was at the door. “Please! I need to vent.”

“Sure.” Dia shut the door behind her. “Yikes it is hot!” she gasped.

“I know,” Reema agreed, “But I simply had to get out.”

“What happened?”

“It’s every damn thing,” Reema groaned, “and the weather isn’t helping. I have an office deadline, college cut offs and admissions are giving us sleepless nights and on top of it, my father-in-law.”

“What’s he done?”

“He has begun to invite random people home.” Reema groaned. “We’ve guests for dinner and lunch.”

“Just make twice the amount.”

“One batch is pure vegetarian.”

“Oops!”

“Exactly.” Reema sighed. “But there’s one good thing.”

“What?” Dia wiped her brow.

“I don’t dread Hell anymore.”

“Right. It couldn’t be hotter than the kitchen.”

They laughed.

“I guess I better get back.” They traced their steps back. “I can see another crisis looming.”

“What?”

“The husband has a cold.”

“Oh no!” Dia commiserated. “Poor you.”

“Thanks for the shoulder.” Reema grinned.

“Anytime.” Dia winked. “But remember, it’s my turn tomorrow.”

***

Written for the FFfAW challenge – a story in 175 words or less. Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting the challenge and I am happy to have managed to rise to the challenge this week. Successfully or not, is up to you to decide! To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.

Why the Caged Bird Doesn’t Sing

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Photo (c) Liz Young

Why the Caged Bird Doesn’t Sing

Words 100

“Once upon a time, I was young, happy and carefree.” He said addressing gathered guests on their gala anniversary celebrations. “Until I met her.”

Laughter.

“But,” he raised a hand; “I experienced true happiness only after marriage.”

“Awww.” They nudged her and giggled.

Whenever your demands were met, she smiled at them.

“Thank you for the greatest joy of my life,” he pointed, “my darling Jaya.”

Whom you wanted me to abort, she swallowed.

“I am now the proud husband of a Bank Manager.”

Cheers and claps.

One who is not allowed to manage her own account. Her father beamed.

***

Written (with apologies to Maya Angelou) for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and Liz for the intriguing photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.

Monitoring the Monitor

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Photo (c) J Hardy Carroll

Monitoring the Monitor

Words 100

“I hate these senseless wars! Why can’t people be more empathetic, have more compassion? Can’t you do something?”

“We’re building a repository of all vibrations emitted by living beings.”

“Vibrations!? But why?”

“Don’t you know it all began with Om which is the vibration of the universe? Our bodies are a container of vibrations made of thoughts and emotions.”

“Hmm. So?”

“The repository will synchronize the vibrations of people, enable them feel the pain of others and stop them from hurting them. There will be no wars, no destruction, no power games.”

“But who will harmonize the vibrations?”

“I will.”

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and J Hardy Carroll for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here

 

 

 

Whimsical Notes

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Photo (c) Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Whimsical Notes

Words 100

“Do your homework.” She told her seven-year-old, who was sprawled on the bed, his nose buried in a book. “I’m going to the market.”

He scrabbled up. “Market? I’m coming with you.” He hunted for his shoes.

“What?! No!” She was taken aback. “It’s only vegetable shopping. You hate that…”

“Bad things happen to girls in parking lots.” He said darkly. “I can’t do anything,” he admitted, “but I can shout for help.”

My baby, my knight!

“Would you like to learn to play the guitar?” Perhaps that would distract him.

“Does he have a mustache?”

“The teacher? Yes.”

“Okay.”

***

A true account written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and the photo prompt. To read the other stories click here

 

 

WPS: (Not) Made for Each Other

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From Google Maps Coniston Water Lake District England

(Not) Made for Each Other

Words 150

“How was it?!” They crowded her.

“The weather was awesome!” She sighed dreamily. “Rolling clouds, the light drizzle…”

“How was he?”

“A bear with a sore head.” She giggled. “Poor thing was starving. We forgot the biryani.”

Poor thing! They nudged each other. “How did you appease him?”

“I shared the chocolates he had got me.” She giggled.

“A romantic!”

“A romantic stick in the mud.”

“Meaning?”

“He made such a fuss about a few drops of water! Anyone would think he was made of salt.”

 

“How was the picnic?” It was his debriefing time.

“She insisted we walk in the downpour.” He sneezed. “Romantic nonsense on an empty stomach.”

“What happened to the biryani?”

“She forgot it in the car.” He scowled. “Then she hogged up most of it.”

“You two are so meant for each other!”

He glared at his sister.

“You are already blaming her.” She giggled.

***

 

Written for What Pegman Saw – a story in 150 words or less. Thanks to K Rawson for hosting the challenge. To read the other stories inspired by this challenge click here

This one is another take on the same theme as here.  Returning to flash fiction after quite some time and am feeling rusty. Do let me know what you thought about it and if you read both which one you prefer. Thanks for reading. Have a good day!

 

A New Breed of Terrorists

Photo (c) Fatima Fakier

A New Breed of Terrorists

Words 100

“Mamma!” A scream of pure terror rent the lazy afternoon silence.

David.

Carol’s heart stopped.

She dropped the casserole and ran out into the backyard.

She stopped short in horror.

An unkempt dark skinned man held a knife at her son’s throat.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Please!” Carol begged falling to her knees. “What do you want? Take it. Take everything anything just leave him. Please.” She sobbed.

“I want,” His eyes were crazed, “to make you feel my pain.”

She struggled to her feet.

“A child for a child.” He waved his knife.

“No! Please!”

“Tell the President.” He vanished.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and Fatima for the photo prompt. To read and participate in the challenge click here.

The link to the picture? I am sorry but I cannot ‘see’ anything else….

Feet of Clay

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Photo (c) Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Feet of Clay

Words 200

“Mom!” Shilpa wailed, “Look at the cake.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Reema consoled, “Layer it with cream and fruits. Your Dad will love it.” She looked at the clock. “Why isn’t Vishal back with the ice cream yet?”

“Won’t Daddy be surprised!?” Shilpa rubbed her hands in glee.

“I was surprised when so many congratulated me!” Reema bustled about. “I felt like a celebrity!”

“He’s the bestest smartest Daddy in the whole world!” Shilpa twirled.

“Vishal!” Reema gasped. “What happened?”

Shirt torn, hair askew, Vishal tottered in.

“Liars!” he spat.

“Who?”

“Everyone! They’re accusing Daddy…”

“…Of…?

“…Sexual misconduct at the workplace.”

***

PS. Not Morgan Freeman! Are there no good men?

Written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and the beautiful photo prompt. To read the other stories (and participate in the challenge) click here.