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 Birthday Bash Relay. Excited on Second Place! Now for various WDC contests and activities |
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| Words: 299 Nirmala peered into the mirror hanging on her bedroom wall. She went so close, her nose touched the glass. The surface fogged where she exhaled. “Stop lying to me.” There. She had said it. It had taken every ounce of energy she possessed, but the words were out. “Stop lying to me.” She stood up straight and squared her shoulders. No more lies. But then came the next step, which was even more frightening. Facing the truth. She glanced at the mirror. Was she ready for this? No, she wasn't. Surely it could wait ... ? Surely to stop lying was enough for the first step? "Nirmala! Do it, now." She returned to the mirror. This time, she didn't bend. She looked at her reflection squarely in the eye. "Tell me the truth," she ordered herself. She was surprised at how strongly her voice came out. It sounded like an almost-shout. "Tell me the truth." She blinked, once, twice. Then she spoke again, and her voice was steady. "You are beautiful only on the outside, Nirmala. Yes, you won Miss City, but what's the point of that, when you weren't grateful to the people who helped you do it?" She gulped, but forced herself to go on. "You are ugly on the inside, Nirmala. You use people, you backbite. Your so-called beauty is only skin deep." Then she threw back her head and laughed. A high pitched laugh that ricocheted off the walls. When she looked back at her reflection, the fogging was not on the glass, it was in her eyes. The tears fell freely. As she wiped them away, she said, "But you can change your truth, Nirmala, and you're going to start today. You'll be beautiful both inside and outside and then there'll be no need for lies." |
| Words: 295 "Why do you laugh, damsel? I seek to steal a smile from your lips, but you vanish in the blink of an eye!" Matilda sat on the sofa, tears of laughter pouring down her cheeks. "That was the funniest thing," she said. "I wasn't trying to be funny, big sister" Tim retorted. "I'm trying to get your help." Matilda suddenly became serious. "You're not joking?" "Finally ..." "Okay," she said. "Cut the Shakespeare. You want to ask herl to the movies, just say 'hello whatever her name is do you like musicals? Will you come for The Sound of Music on Friday night?" "What if she says no?" "Try Westerns and The Good the Bad and the Ugly." "I mean, what if she doesn't want to go out with me?" "You really like this one. So I have a future sister-in-law." "Heck, I'm not going to marry her, I just want to go for a movie." "You don't like her enough to marry her?" "Sis, I'm in school. Now help me." "I've already helped you. I told you, you want her to come for a movie, ask her to come for a movie. Who is at the door? Go get it!" Matilda heard the door open, and then slam shut. She heard running footsteps and Tim was back in the living room, panting. "She's at the door. She wants to me to go with her to the Jazz concert." "And ..." "And I got so flustered, I slammed the door on her." Matilda strode to the front door and opened it. A redheaded girl stood on the step, blinking. "So you are the damsel I've heard so much about. Fair maiden, fear not, your wooing hasn't gone amiss. Your knight shall escort you to your heart's desire." |
| Words: 251 For "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" Once upon a time, there was a seed. The seed felt some fingers hold it, and then push it deep into the ground. It was buried! The seed began to cry. A crow, who had alighted just there to rest his wings heard the little sound. "Is there someone crying?" the crow asked. "Me," replied the seed in a muffled voice. "I'm buried and I'm not even dead!" The crow cawed with laughter. "My dear little seed! Seeds aren't buried for death, they're buried for life! You've been buried so that you'll grow and have strong green leaves and pretty yellow flowers with delightful perfume to attract the butterflies!" "Oh, that sounds like a dream! It can't be true!" "Believe me! Wait just a few days, little seed, and you'll know!" Sure enough, the seed soon felt something stirring deep within it. Then, it felt something poking out - first on one side, then the other. Something green poked through the soil and turned to the sun. The little seed now had strong roots to hold it and a stem and leaves to feel the touch of the breeze. The crow was visiting again. "What did I tell you?" he asked. "You're so pretty and so fragrant - look at the butterflies hovering around!" Why do we bury anything? Our feelings, our thoughts, our hopes and our ideals? Is it to acknowledge their death, or is it to nurture them to life? It's a choice all of us make each day. Choose well! |
| Words: 295 FOR "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" Hon. Mention - "Winner for 7/19 and prompt for 7/20" The Principal's word was law, and the Principal had decreed that every student in the school must learn to cook. The timetable was rearranged and Grades 7 and 8 now had 'Cookery' once a week. There were 36 students in each batch, and 9 cooking 'stations', hence, students divided into groups of four. Malini's group quickly learnt not to trust her with anything except wiping the 'station' clean once they were done with the dish of the day. Malini could not chop vegetables, she could not stir, she could not add pinches of salt or masala. So, class after class, she held the pink checked napkin for 55 minutes and spent 5 minutes wiping down. The grade was awarded to the group, so Malini got her 'A' throughout. Thus, she didn't feel the necessity to learn, though her friend Gunjan tried to teach her. Then it came. The announcement. The Principal would herself be conducting the Cookery exam, and it was to be individual this time. “I told you this would happen.” Gunjan tried to sound sympathetic and triumphant at the same time. "No you didn't," Malini ranted. "Anyway, what am I going to do?" The Cookery mistress was equally worried. It wouldn't do - to have one failure in class. It would mar the record. In her desperation, she solved the problem. She rigged the room so Gunjan could hide behind a screen next to Malini's station. When the Principal's back was turned, Gunjan would do Malini's work for her. All seemed to go smoothly, though both girls were trembling. Soon, the paneer curry was bubbling deliciously in its sauce pan. "Delicious," the Principal declared. She smiled at Malini. Then, she lifted her voice. "Gunjan, you can come out now. You've done a great job." |
| For "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 263 Words She felt alone, visiting this great big city for the first time. She had the letter of reference and kept looking at the address she was to go to, though she knew it by heart. She turned left at a corner and was on the correct street. Her pulse quickened. She almost forgot to breathe, and now, she tiptoed instead of walking. She peered at the house numbers, and found herself in front of a bright pink door. It took her a few seconds to work up the courage to ring the doorbell. The door opened instantly. "I've been waiting for you," said a high voice. "The mistress is very particular about first impressions. Here's a comb. There's the room, there's the bathroom. You have ten minutes, then I'll take you to her." Shakily, she washed her face and hands and combed her hair. Then the owner of the high voice returned and led her through an ornate living room down a passage to another pink door. "Knock and go in, I'm not coming with you." She knocked, and was ordered to enter. She opened the door and peeped around it. "Come right in," came a voice. She entered. The mistress was sitting in a high-backed wooden chair. The newcomer trembled as she felt a gaze pierce her - look her over from top to bottom, taking in the humble dress, the frayed footwear, the hatless mop of curls. "Why are you trembling? Don't you know this is your destiny? It has to be this way. Are you that scared of your future self?" |
| My cousin, who is a Pulmonologist, is also a poet and musician. His wife and he host an event called Souls Connect at their home, as and when they are able to - usually once in two or three months. There was an event on Sunday which sixteen people attended. People shared their poetry, sang songs and talked. There were samosas and chai. |
| Words: 368 For "We Want Peace Contest" Mother Teresa said What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and love your family. This is so true. Our characters are formed at home - which means, to start with, we must have a home. A steady home, a safe home. Physically, intellectually, spiritually and emotionally safe. A home where hard work, creativity and kindness are rewarded, mistakes, while forgiven, are gently and firmly corrected, and ethics and integrity are modeled and expected. The unfortunate thing is, we live in a world of short-cuts, and this includes short-cuts in parenting. Don't want to spend time with your child? Get an electronic babysitter, or compensate with material things. Don't want to hold the child accountable? Blame the teacher, the neighbor, society ... everyone else. Make excuses. Hence entitlement and the inability to see another point of view. Hence the disregard of one's own responsibility in creating a given situation. You can't value others if you haven't been taught to value yourself. It is when you consider yourself worthy that you'll hold yourself up to high standards, and admit it when you've disappointed yourself. If, on the other hand, you consider yourself to be worthless, you won't see the worth of anything - and hence won't care if it is destroyed. Be it an object, a living being, an idea or a value, you won't be able to cherish it. When people are hungry for power because they don't feel fulfilled in other ways, they think that power is gained by tearing down instead of building up. Hence the lack of peace. At all levels in the hierarchy, those who order or indulge in violence are most likely those who haven't felt loved as children. I think this is changing. I think the current generation is growing up to realize some things their forebears didn't, and I hope this means more love in the world, and more peace. Young children now show awareness for the environment. They overlook differences in race, religion and social class. Hopefully, when they become parents, they'll pass these values on. Then we'll have a world in which building up is valued, not tearing down. Yes, dearest Mother. You are wise. I only hope everyone listens. |
| Words: 290 For "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" "Be careful, my dear," Evelyn drawled. "Make sure you polish each nail evenly. Last time you didn't put the second coat on the pinkie, and that just won't do you know." "I'm sorry," Helen murmured. She would've liked to tell Evelyn exactly where she could put her pinkie, but didn't dare to speak her mind. She had landed this beauty-parlour job with difficulty and didn't want to get the sack for offending a rich customer. She had to prove to the world, and to her parents, and to herself, that she could hold a job - that she was capable and independent. Ironic that being capable and independent involved being subservient and meek sometimes. She continued with the manicure, filing the dainty nails on the smooth fingers. Evelyn was telling her something. From the tone, it was something she was proud of. "That's nice," Helen responded, hoping it would do. "Nice? Why my Christopher is heading the branch. That's why I have to look perfect for this party, you know. Two hundred employees and their spouses, and I'm the chief's wife. Now you be careful with that pinkie, dearie." "Helen?" came a voice from the reception. "Have you put your mobile off?" "Yes, I always do when I'm manicuring," she called back. "Why?" "Your Dad called on the landline. He said be home early, he's decided you and your Mom are going to the office party with him." "Oh, you're going to an office party too?" Evelyn cooed. "It's marvellous, but do you have a good enough dress? And where does your Dad work, dearie?" Helen looked her in the eye and replied, "He founded the Mega Company, and he owns it, Ma'am. I believe your husband heads the local branch." |
| Had a good Harry potter meet today. Discussed 'poetry' in the Potter books. Mainly the Sorting Hat songs, but also the 'love' songs, the mocking rhymes of Peeves, the riddles and puzzles and 'Weasley is Our King'. Was fun! |
 Little Goldie was excited. She had her new outfit on and was all ready to go and see the fireworks. She was going with her Dad and her brother, Ben. "Mom, I wish you'd come too," she said. "I wish I could, dear, but someone has to stay with Snoopy." "Let's take Snoopy along," Ben suggested. "Now you know dogs are scared of fireworks and besides he's just had his vaccination. Snoopy needs to rest at home and I'll be quite all right with him." The three of them got in the car. Mom waved goodbye and Snoopy barked after them. "Dad, what does Independence mean?" Goldie asked suddenly. "It means Freedom," Dad replied. "When we are not ruled by anyone else." "But Mom is ruled by Snoopy," Goldie protested. "Otherwise she would've come with us." "Not like that, silly," Ben scoffed. "You're too little to understand." "You explain, then," Dad said to Ben. "Well, it means like the Statue of Liberty," Ben said. "You can breathe free." "Statues don't breathe," Goldie retorted. They reached their destination. There were hundreds of people there, carrying flags and balloons. People of all ages, of all races. Little babies sat on adult shoulders, great-grandparents in wheelchairs cheered like everyone else. Goldie felt something stir in her heart. "Happy Independence Day!" she cried out, with sudden understsnding. Words: 223 "The Bard's Hall Contest" StephBee  ⱲєbⱲitϚћ is 18  |
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