An Experiment With Loss

She closed the front door firmly, but not before a "Come a little earlier tomorrow, we have to go out." She walked towards the guest room that doubled as the computer room. The small house did not offer much in walking as an exercise. She turned on the computer, ambled to the window, stood watching the street below while it fired up. It was just 10 am and the summer sun was glaring back at her in all his glory. She squinted painfully, before closing the lace curtains.

Sitting on the slide back chair, she was soon lost to the world around her. As she opened her inbox to check the mails, thought she heard a soft voice whispering. Dismissing it as the by product of an over active imagination, turned her attention to a forwarded joke mail and chuckled quietly as she read through it. There was the voice again. It was steadily yet softly humming in a rhythm. She recognised the faint echoes of her name. Someone was calling out to her, but an unfamiliar voice, not one you could identify at first hearing. 

'Sounds like the noise is coming from the front door, maybe, the bell isn't working...but why didn't they knock on the wood?'

Grumpily got up, as she neared a particular doorway, it become obvious that the sound emanated from in there. She peeped in cautiously, 'What if it was a stalker?'

 The scene before her was a stuff of dreams. The table was occupied and looked inviting. She stepped in the room and glanced at them all. They looked back at her, bright and attractive.

 Running her fingers through her unkempt hair, her eyes and heart aglow, she silently argued,

"One more day wouldn't make that much of a difference, would it?

"It will not, but that is not the issue here!'

'What is?'

'Accountability!'

'Go away, won't you?'

'Not this time, not for a long time. Get over yourself. I am here to stay.'

Sighing, she made to move, when the soft voice from before hummed again. It came from the left side of the table, she noted absently. The voice suddenly went quiet as newer ones that had been silent were now gaining momentum, whispering pleasant entreaties. Enticing words that appealed to a particular emotion far more than to the others were being uttered from all corners. The whispers soon grew louder, now clamouring for her undivided attention.

Some solicited her presence openly displaying their best qualities. They preened and pouted, reminding her of her latest zoo visit. He had been strutting around, showing off his colourful feathers much like these. They were obviously for ones with expensive tastes with snobby airs.

 Two of the group watched the commotion with detachment bordering on amusement. They needed no extra charms or marketing skills to attract, secure in the knowledge of her servitude.

"She is addicted to us, all right." the creamy tones remarked, catching his reflection.

"Quite right, if the perky eyes are anything to go by. But, admit it brother, she prefers me to you.” retorted the powdery voice cracking his knuckles in boredom.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Honestly you make me laugh. Not a day goes by without her wistful glances at me, where you are ignored for weeks together." whistling in contentment.

"Only glances" smirking, "It's this dude she reaches for with her delicate fingers, when she needs a shoulder to cry on...'" before immersing himself in pleasant day dreams.

She was bemused, unsure when someone else who had been watching this banter with growing irritation, butted right in. 

"Stop your vain glory, insolent fools! One of these, I am going too..." the fourth, much older voice was interrupted as a fight broke out.

She stood shell shocked, unable to react, amazed that all this drama was for her humble self.

"Move over, you greasy son of a cow!" ordered the dark one with a fragrance to die for...

'He tasted heavenly too.' 

The greasy son not to be outdone pitched himself firmly in the way. In a voice dripping with disdain "Mister Greasy keeps her breezy on those lonely nights, you leave her by."

The round bellied said wisely, "Meet her comforter on all days of the year. No one else is dearer to her."

"Why don't we just ask her?" the soft voice from earlier spoke, now seated rather uncomfortably on the table top.

"Not a bright idea, this new one of yours." the rest sneered.

The gentle one retreated, beaten again, a score of zero to six. 

She felt a stab of pity for him, for he was one of her favourites. She rubbed her eyes repeatedly, that had the ones at the table mighty concerned.

'Was she ill? That would spell disaster.'

'Was she in a bad mood?’ the dark one sure hoped so, for he would become the chosen one for today.

'If she is unhappy, I stand a chance' the beaten one's face perked up with this happy thought.

She looked at them all for what seemed like eternity, clenching and unclenching her fists.

'This can't be happening'

'It is and will get worse' smug tones proclaimed.

'Make them leave!' she begged.

'Only you can. Use your power of discretion.'  then faded away.

The internal conflict resolved, she gave them an accusatory look. There was guilt and longing mixed in too.

Poking through the wooden cabinet by the table yielded the usual suspects. She picked up the manual from the seat and sat down near them. Adding a glass of skim milk to the bowl of muesli, sprinkling it generously with pomegranates, she ate in silence and mild frustration, reading the instructions.

The soft voice, hurt and thus emboldened, openly cried 

"What went wrong in our friendship? I stood by you..." rudely interrupted by

"We all did, for over a decade, through thick and thin, and this is the thanks we get?"

She munched on, head down, struggling to articulate her thoughts. She flipped through the manual in her hand and finally decided to end the game once and for all.

"Yes, I appreciate what you did for me. The highs and feeling of being loved you fostered in me."

Pausing, 'Had she finally lost her mind' then continuing,

"But I hate, really do, the other gifts you have bestowed on me."

"What other gifts? All our gifts are good!" they screamed in unison.

"These tyres on my stomach which had me resembling a bleached whale at last week’s party. Not forgetting the scary proximity of my David and that flirty, size four Kim."

 Then with wishful moaning, “He has promised me a solitaire if I lay off ...”

 The breakfast over, she dumped the deadly seven, one by one into the garbage can... apologising over and over again.

She had passed the first test, the one set by the Food Addicts Anonymous. Heaving sigh of relief...if only, she didn't suffer a relapse the third time!

wc 1163

Journey's end

Lightning flashed in the distance. They sans one huddled closer drawing comfort from each other. The swirling black clouds were visible indicating that their journey was at its end. Yet, darkness would arrive before them. The winding road seemingly friendly an hour ago was at its treacherous best. The trees lining both sides were gnarled in places, hideous stumps at others, the roots spreading out onto the pathway like greedy fingers. The leafless branches rustled and bent towards them. This is an illusion. The shaman’s dying warning echoed. Icy hands trailed through their limbs. Fear, the warriors accepted, welcomed, but this unseen entity chilled their hearts, dulled their instincts, made them cower like the villagers they were bound to protect.

Ashan, the self appointed leader, twirled his blood stained scimitar. Basher balked at the other’s impatience, then nudged the unsure group forward. He waited for the one tagging behind. She moved with firm, alert steps belying her tender age. She had impressed Bashir by offering to be the bait. The council had happily agreed.

 He had sworn then to protect her with his life.  

A flash of light revealed the looming grey castle. Thunder made its presence felt. Then. Utter silence. They stopped a few feet away from the gates. Ashan turned to Bashir. “Take the girl and walk ahead. We follow close behind.”

Why single me out? “Come. It’s time.” in the kindest tone he could manage.

One of the gates unbolted, wide enough for a person to pass through.

 He stopped her as she moved forward. “I go first.”

The iron door closed behind them. Bashir rushed back trying in vain to wrench it open.

His reward was bloodied fingers.

Yasmin watched him, the slow hunger now a raging need. The warrior’s blood smelled sweet. A feast tonight.

Wc 300 Exact.

The Prick

It had been a good 30 minutes since they had exited. Not an easy pick, this one. The indecisive ones were the worst. Wouldn't have spared her a second thought any other time. But afternoon's were the dullest part of the day. And Tuesday’'s meant that the other three in the lane were closed to business. The fierce competition motivated him, though he wished his parents hadn't been dirt poor.

He watched as she entered with trepidation, tugging at her companion's arm. He looked on bemused, as she hesitated at the door before being pulled in rather forcibly ....

Nervously she muttered "I have decided." and asked cautiously "will it hurt?"

His eyes seemed to twinkle in the harsh lights as he replied "hardly, trust me..you are in capable hands."

"But they say its painful..."

"This isn't your first time, I presume..."

She shook her head, barely remembering the event.....It was so long ago and she had been too young to comprehend. She looked at her friend for moral support.

Her friend encouraged her with "We have discussed this enough times already....just go ahead and get it over with."

"I don't have all day" he said, clearly put off. 

She stood frozen, uncertain....

Her friend spoke again, with a hint of impatience "He knows what he is doing...you are worrying without cause..."

He added, sensing a thaw in her "One shot and it will be over .... you won't even register the prick....and you will not be disappointed with the result..."

Sighing, she got on the couch.....sure enough, it was over before she could collect her thoughts.

She was feeling better already....when he interrupted her musings "My reward, Madam...."

She flushed, apologised and handed him a few notes.....

As she stepped out, she couldn't help but catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror at the entrance.

There it nestled, glistening in the sunlight, tiny silver loops, her second ear piercing.....

 cwc 321

Heavenly Matches

‘Matches under the stars’ the message had coded a dozen times. She debated the futility of it, desire overriding her fears, slithered her awkward way to the booth. The bored looking assistant looked her once over, before leading her in. Strapped to the ‘Biosync’, Zooawoong made her specific request.

“Outcome not possible,” the machine replied.

She eyes would have watered, but for the lack of tear ducts. As the assistant waited, she sought ‘his’ help.

His rolling gait, meant, a reprimand was to be expected. His thoughts filtered through. “The Boh-ring are better suited, child.”

She remained unmoved, looking in disgust at the appendages that served for limbs. Two legged was so graceful!

He glanced at his lovelorn spawn. Being the Emperor of ‘Piles Star Systems’ wasn’t easy.

The Solians were shrewd, driving a hard bargain. The young male she fancied was no match, lacking the tentacles - their power source.

“Appearances don’t matter to him. I hear him say, all the time.”

Surely not, he wasn’t the one losing precious assets. An icy moon and a moon base hadn’t been enough. Maybe, the smallest of the ‘Diamond’ planets their captain fancied would clinch the deal, get her the mate.

was the search over?

‘Magnolia virginiana’...was his search over? He twirled the dried flower in his hand, its whiteness showing signs of fading. The collection was strikingly similar to Rachel’s arrangement. His childhood memories were hazy at best, but some retained their clarity. The vanilla scent had soothed him through those difficult years and now seemed to waft around. Three years of devoted research had brought him to their doorstep. Their initial reluctance had faded under his passionate plea; he wasn’t one to give up easily. The foster parents had been kind enough to leave him alone, in, what might be his playmate’s room.

Compromises

'She wears my ring', the lingering smile on his face announced to all the attendees at the wedding reception.

His fidgety movements betrayed his impatience over her delayed appearance.

"Relax. These ladies always turn up late, must be busy with her makeover," said his cousin shrugging his shoulders casually.

His movements eased, but barely so. His relatives had echoed similar sentiments using different words at various stages of the wedding.

"Stop asking these silly questions. Brides are nervous on their wedding day."

His nosy aunt had stated, overhearing the words exchanged by him and the best mate.

"We, girls, are expected to be shy and modest, at least on such days." The sister had butted in with her wise tuppence patting his arm for added effect.

Maybe they were right, they were experienced after all. Her quiet, solemn look, her rare glancing his way could be explained thus, couldn't it?

His heartache lessened, and he went back to standing at the entrance to the lobby.

***

Through the final touches of makeup, she twirled the diamond engagement ring on her hand. As she glanced at the mirror in front of her, the black and gold beads among other jewellery on her neck glinted back, signalling her married status.

She touched them gingerly with her finger tips eliciting a gentle admonishing from the beautician.

"Madam, please keep your hands down, the nail paint will get blotchy."

Inspecting her fingernails, the young girl sighed, “See, I have to redo it.", looking around for a bottle of remover.

She apologised with a smile, and stared at the ring instead. Little joy rather the feel of it on her finger felt like a heavy weight on her soul. Her heart still beating for another. For the charming boy with the impish grin, who had wound his way around, only to break it into countless pieces years later.

Her husband was a good man, deserving more than she could offer. They were family friends, her parents adored him as his loved her. He had always encouraged her, made her laugh.

*** 

Her transfer would take time. This year of separation would turn out to be a blessing. Looking into his adoring eyes as he took her hand in his, she promised herself, he would never know that their marriage had begun as a compromise for her.

cwc 391 need 109 more

The Wee people

You glided in, in your emerald studded golden glass slippers. The swishing of the grass gown's train; a deliberate attempt at distraction.

 "Too much green." grumbled one the members seated on the semi circular table. Untrained eyes often mistook its multi coloured embellishment for a rainbow. He secretly wished he wasn't dating.

"Energetic, not our trait." the wee woman in a nasal snarl.

The wizened, hated head chuckled happily, gathering ominous stares from the others. He ignored them as was wont to, thrilled at the prospect of a female assistant. He had tired of the bushy eyebrows and matching beards that tortured his daily vision.

"Oh my! Exquisite shoes!"  the secretary with her hand on her heart.

You leaned closer and mouthed in her ear, "Like them?  My boyfriend's gift for St.George's day." .

"English!! Ya codding me? Wind your neck in, Colleen." the older woman cautioned.

You laughed happily, throwing back your blonde hair, and showing off your perfect square gold teeth.

You moved to where the impatient trio waited, pulled out a chair, and passed your green leather across the table.

Pale hands went through the embellished cards neatly stacked in chronological order. Accompanied by sighs and eyebrows lifted in disbelief, it was passed on to the older man .

He winked at you; you winked back with a conspiratorial smile.

"Impressive accomplishments, a talented family indeed." he added with a smug look. "King Midas?" barely with holding a snuffle.

"That would have been my great-great-great grandfather. Tricking him to touch his favourite daughter was so devious." 

The snarl turned into a smirk.

"Explain Julius Caesar." the soon to be single man.

"That would have been the sister, talented duo. As Cleopatra's bosom friend, she taught her all the womanly viles."

"Who is Silas Marner?" 

"Oh...that would be my morai...can I tell a secret?"

Wizened eyes sparkled, "She never told us."

You looked at your uncle with a warningly, "She was in love with him, Espie foiled her plans."

"Dubai shopping festival? 

"That would be Patrick, he loves his gold even the black one."

"What do you bring on board?"

"The Federal Reserve vaults. Three bars for every three plus three we give them."

A few minutes of hushed conversation,

"Let's inform the President of our newest portfolio manag..."

The secretary interrupted with an "It’s Lucifer on line..."

"Tell him, the 'Leprechaun Gold Inc' are greed investors not soul collectors."

wc 400

Future perfect

The memory of that day, so many years ago was crystal clear. Her friends were seated at her home, nervously facing an irate middle aged man, whose traditional world they sought to upset. He was clutching a bunch of papers as though it was his arrest warrant, her college admission papers precisely. He was lecturing them on the role of women, which in those days meant stay at home mother and wives. The basic schooling was given simply because most grooms demanded it. He lectured on how, too much knowledge and independence in a woman was asking for trouble.

   She and her younger sister, whose own dreams hinged on his current reaction watched sadly...they had hoped for, but expected nothing different in their father's behaviour. Their elder sister had, had a similar battle in her time before losing it. Her older sisters had accepted their roles in a traditional society and household and gone on to marry. They spent their days doing what many other unlucky friends did...waiting on their husbands, in-laws and kids hand and foot.

   The young teenagers looked at the sad duo, as though silently saying ‘We are doing this for you two, why don't you speak up for yourselves?’  If only they knew how much his six children feared him? The grim remainder of sharp hits of the cane on tender hands and legs for every perceived act of disobedience and stinging pain effectively sealed their lips at crucial junctures. He was a loving, caring man but not to be bested...

  His lecture over, the papers tossed carelessly into the dustbin, he walked away for his evening prayers. The friends slunk off, not before giving them 'Sorry, we tried' embraces. She retrieved the forms when no one was looking and put them among her books as a keepsake till it was time to fulfil her fate.

  She tried again, a couple of years later to change the life path set up for her. This time with a job application in a telephone company and the alibi, a maternal uncle who cared for them. It was an opening specifically for high school graduates. But as before, her efforts come to naught. Her uncle was given permission, in a very rude and scathing manner,

"Go ahead, your sister's daughter after all. Recommend her for the job by all means."

 Every one was shocked to react, as he continued

"I wash my hands of her henceforth. Arrange for her marriage too, if you are so inclined. Just remember, no daughter of mine works and stays here."   

 The uncle hesitated, his sister shrinking in the corner, close to tears. With three daughters of his own, a measly salary the government job provided, a small house with far too many people to fit in, there was no way he could support her even if she was gainfully employed. Besides who was he to break up a family especially his sister's? He was gone too, the encounter humiliating enough in his opinion to not warrant future visits and with passing time, grew distant.

  Years later, when she held her daughter's hands as she took her first baby steps, she vowed that her child's life would be very different. She would be a friend, guide, and a supporter of all her children's dreams. As the front door opened and her daughter enveloped her in a huge hug, she knew she had kept her promise. A newer, positive chapter in her family history was being created....

cwc 582 need 131 words more

A memory

The quaint cafe had become my second home for a while now. Nothing much happens in this small town with people numbering few hundreds. And what does happen must pass this way. Sometimes a good thing, at other times not so nice for the individuals concerned. Everyone knows everyone else, the news travelling faster than those tweets I am now addicted to. At least when the ancient piece left behind by my cousin, whimpers to life.

"Hi, Sofia, how are you feeling today?" Dona never tires of asking me the same question.

"As good as ever."

My standard response never fails to elicit a warm smile from her and her friends, regulars who haunt the cozy corner just as often. Most ladies in the group lives by this side of the stream that divides this place into two...both parts of the town bearing distinct, diverse characters.

No longer look around for the owner's son Marco or the red haired girl to take my order. The food arrives at the table within ten minutes of my arrival, Cecelia's pastry for the day and milky tea. He personally serves my order every time, returning my smile with a sad grin of his. Savoring the food, wonder why an attractive guy like him is never seen with a girl.

I voiced my piqued interest to Aunt who doubles up as the land lady at my insistence, left me with unsatisfactory answers.

A cryptic reply, “He is waiting." leaves me irritated and a bit frustrated of late.

'This wait, for whom or what?' I ask the mirror which stares back.

 A glance at the worn watch tells me of the extended tea break. Need to buy a new one soon.

'Back to the shop then lest she explodes in her anxiety.'

 Temporarily, going through a slump in sale is our shop down the street, where we create bridal wear. The orders from the nearby towns have been steadily declining, blame the recession or in reality, the girls wanted designer ones. She is worried, this aunt of mine but pretends all is well and I do likewise. I been trying to get to her to explore other markets, maybe create our own online portfolio but she is strangely rigid and adamant. Not giving up yet, it’s time to pull in Roberto, her son who makes a decent living in Venice selling his photographs.

 Have learned not to leave a tip as I leave, it finds a way back into my pockets with a matching reprimand from Ceci. Wave my goodbyes to the other patrons, shuffle to the exit, when my attention is drawn to the two sets of red diner tables lying unoccupied. They remain empty even on those few evenings we come back here for dinner. Another puzzle that begs unraveling.

Walking down the cobbled square, think back to the conversation the other day. From the snatches overheard and persistently pestering Rob, gathered that the occupants of the tables were a group of teenagers from the village. A freak accident took away four of the lives while two girls survived. So badly traumatized by the incident, one has been in an institution ever since, the other having no memory of it. Agonize over the anguished families, being an orphan myself when the pain in the head starts. Funny it always occurs when I wonder about the girls.

Wc 565

foiled

She giggled...Neeta struggled to keep a straight face lest they draw attention to themselves.

Zack frowned, his irritation increasing with every passing minute. He could barely wait for the demo session to end.

Cathy, awaiting her turn, tried to catch their attention, her efforts only drawing puzzled looks from the twins seated behind them.

"Is something wrong with your eyes?" one asked 

When she didn’t respond “Trying to seduce my little brother, are we?"

'Little?' sizing up the boy who needed an entire bench to stretch his never ending limbs.

"That must be understatement of the century" with a quiet chuckle.

"Shut up jokers!" the other one hissed,

"I'll turn you both into bats if I get pulled up this time."

They glared at him, about to resort when she giggled again.

Zack got up in a huff only to freeze in place. Her warm hands pulling him back never failed to elicit the familiar response. Small, almost black eyes reprimanded him for breaking their contact abruptly.

Master had ignored them for a time, but was now forced to acknowledge the distraction from the eastern end of the chamber. He was aware of every thought, hushed whispers or otherwise. Faced with no other viable option,quashing the rumours that questioned his authority was a priority. The first step towards the goal demanded that they be punished.

Pity, the girls were his best friend's nieces. Reluctantly, he called the three of them over.

Zack wasn't sure he could keep himself from casting the 'bent back' hex on the girls, seeing their calm, detached expressions. He didn't want to, not her anyway. He was pleasantly surprised when Master handed them the after session chores.

Planting seeds, magical ones at that was boring but not hard.

The sulking part of him did not share in his relief. This is not we had planned. The reminder was dampener on his spirits. He had volunteered to be the telepathic medium for the girls with an ulterior motive...a desperate need to find a clue, a confirmation of her interest in him. And here they were, digging up the soil with dancing hands, where he could have been plotting his next move with the guys. He didn't find his love for the 'flying ducks' night suit funny, she obviously did.

383 cwc need 121 words more

Waiting?

 The interview had held a lot of promise, one of the better ones she had given in recent times. Nevertheless, waiting for the elusive call was unnerving. She went about the everyday chores, no longer languorous. The meals were planned especially their calorie content checked, examined her closet, deeming most of the clothes as good enough for office wear. She checked her inbox a dozen times a day. The phone went everywhere she went. At lunch, a beep. Unlocked the screen in nervous excitement. The message read, “It’s our pleasure to invite you to Exhale holiday homes, nature awaits you.”

time to change

She sat there sweating profusely, her temper matching the heat outside. Would this too turn out to be a failed attempt? The pressure from the officials had been mounting. New mouths to feed arrived at a steady pace every month, eating into her share of the allocated funds. Being the head of the orphanage was not a lucrative business any more. She was tired of pandering to the egos of higher ups and soliciting new clients for her husband's floundering real estate business at the same time. The dingy room saw less and less of her as days passed by.


 Rama Shankar* pushed his way through the wooden saloon doors, he didn't bother to knock. 
 If she hadn't been preoccupied, would have noticed the smug look that permeated his features these days. "The Pandeys called, Madamji."
"Again? Bringing her...Munni back?" Desperation reducing her voice to a hoarse croak.
"Who tells this poor man anything?" His voice always reminded her of grease scrapped from a steel plate.
 Must want to wash their hands off her. These religious, middle class ones are all the same, just empty talk. "What did you tell them?"
 "The usual, busy with inspection work." He seemed pleased with his lies. His eyes had a hazy quality to them. Had he been...? "How many times have I told you to stay off bhang during working hours?
"Do you want to lose this job too?"
With watering eyes, he quickly prostrated before her, "Have mercy on me, family man, my kids will starve to death." adding, "These kids are like my children, they need me."


He managed to convince her every time; she needed him to cover up her absence. She was about to give him another last warning when the noise outside distracted her. There was a flurry of running feet followed by steadier ones. Snippets of conversation in loud and soft voices could be heard. The rushing feet stopped at her door. Utter silence. The door swung wildly as burly policemen swooped into her space. 
 Two scared looking attendants along with a dozen children of different ages waited just outside the threshold. The Pandeys and a few other parents stood next to an important looking official. The collector and here? 
Munni? Why does she have a glum face?  Looking at the cowering ten year old who stood between her adoptive parents, a familiar sense of something amiss hit her. Something had happened, she was the one scared now. Putting on a brave face, hiding the tremor in her tone and turning to Baldev Singh, the inspector she recognised, "What is the meaning of this, Baldevji?"


Baldev turned to the collector who gave him an impatient nod.  He looked at her sadly. She was a decent woman and yet it had to be done. "Arrest warrants for you and this man here." pointing to the peon who was staring at Munni with a dazed look. 
"Arrest Warrant?" she repeated, bewildered.
"For the rape of Munni and four other minor girls adopted from the orphanage. There are also charges by some of the attendants," looking towards the door, "of being molested." 
"There must some mistake, surely, I would be aware of such happenings." 


"If you had been around and had bothered to notice the obvious signs." Pandeyji spoke for the first time. "We found blood stains on our daughter's clothes. She would't eat properly, woke up screaming every night, woudn't even let my brother hug her.
"One of my neighbours who is a child specialist felt that she had undergone recent trauma. A physical examination by an expert left us with no doubt. My daughter found the courage to tell us everything that happened to her here. So did the other girls." affectionately patting his daughter on her head. "Can we go home, daddy?" Munni asked softly.
"Come on, Baldev, take them into custody. We have to move the remaining children to a safer place, we haven't all day." The collector shook hands with the team and the parents before walking towards the other children.

lost dreams

Decadent thoughts blight

the once beautiful

Life's rewards for 

 the faithful's watch.

Floating on dark, gloomy

 waters of humanity

A constant struggle 

against the inevitable sinking.

Pressures, now stilled

rechanneled to naively targets

This bloated carnival

awaits the recycling order.

The Morning After

The blare of the horn sounded repeatedly, every fresh one making his ears ache. He heard voices; the nightmare has ceased he found himself muttering. The stings of cold water all over followed a rough jostle of the arms. He opened his left eye, the glare of the sun momentarily blinding him. A frowning face stared back, and yet the tiny pair of eyes sparkled with unmistakable humour as they travelled over his body. A high pitched chatter to his left and a wave of pain coursed through his head.

His thoughts were dimly focusing on the something poking into his back, rather his skin. He sat up straight scaring the old lady who almost fell on her back. “Sorry, ma’am” the apology came naturally. What puzzled him were the hoots of laughter from the pavement. Pavement? What was he doing there? Looking down at himself, he wished he had never woken up.

The hoots grew louder until the old lady raised her palm. She was questioning him pointing to the other comatose body. Eddie! He found himself smiling. The tall, lanky boy looked downright silly in his boxers and socks. They hadn’t even spared them their shoes. Was that dried blood on his face? “No Chinese, someone around speak English?” The lady turned to a girl, pointing out to the adjacent door. In the ensuing silence, he tried to recollect the events of last night. They had had a light dinner, a few drinks when their new found friend had suggested hitting some of the moderate hotspots along Clarke Quay. The waitresses at Hooter had been a welcome sight. But man, expensive for a student like me. The food was different. Eddie was devouring it like no tomorrow, that yankee. Next stop had been some nightclub, nice spot, and those girls with that weird, coloured hair. Wigs. Come to think of it, they seemed less like girls and more like…

“Hello.” the accent hadn’t lost its British touch. He felt better despite the loss of his I.D and wallet, even his I phone.

“Nice pickle you’re in. Indian?”

“No, British-Pakistani” he bristled.

“That attitude isn’t going to help you. You guys look the same.” As an afterthought, “Maybe, I should let the local police handle this. No one here wants trouble.”

Abbas’s blood ran cold. Police meant questioning, calls to his relatives, the embassy, embarrassment even jailed for lack of papers …His elder brother would kill him if his uncle did not. How would he explain his drinking and hangouts?

“I apologise, wasn’t thinking straight. Please help us. We are good boys, international exchange students at the SMU.”

“Better get in unless you want to get toasted.”

He felt like punching the white guy’s face at his insolence but needed him for now. In what he hoped was a meek voice, he asked, “What about my friend?”

“Get him inside or leave him here, not my concern.”

 Abbas looked around. The crowd seemed to be drifting off. The old lady smiled at him kindly. He nodded, put his hands under Eddie’s shoulders, and dragged him along carefully. A couple of teens came to his aid. The three of them managed to pull his friend over the threshold of what seemed a reception area of a home office. They lay him across the nearest chair. Abbas turned to thank the boys. He had nothing to give them except words. They ran away laughing, no doubt eager to share the tale amongst their friends.

“Here, put these on.” handing over a set of clothes too long for his 5’8’’ frame. It was better than being half naked around that pretty looking girl from earlier who lingered around. Must work here, jumping in the pants in haste.

“What’s the deal? “

The deal. Going home with a believable story or tracking down the orange haired muggers. One night out and disaster struck, small mercy he had forgotten his passport in the dorm.

660 cwc   need to make it 713

My part of the tale

Silencing the beeper, Stewart stood undecided, his current state of mind not ideal for any form of surgery and he knew it.

The bodies had disappeared… Damn these visions! 

 He took a valium to calm his nerves. He needed to get his act together, retain some semblance of normalcy. Else the repercussions could prove fatal. He could not allow anyone to visit home till he had cleaned up the place. The staff from the agency was due for the maintenance visit in the weekend, which gave him just two days.

Angela…he missed her so much.

The investigation had begun, now that they had found Jake’s body; the attention had swung back to him. The detective, blast his name, had already called him twice as had the reporters. It had taken all his strength to answer the questions with composure, regret and anger in the right places.

He changed into fresh clothes while calling Malcolm, his friend from medical school. Malcolm had seen his share of emergencies, being a visiting surgeon at St.Vincent’s with a thriving practice of his own a few blocks away.

Luck on his side, Malcolm had already been contacted by the hospital staff. He was aware of the strain Stewart was under and promised to watch his back.

Next was Brendan, his loyal assistant whom he acknowledged with a “You will be joining Dr.Malcolm and Dr.Bakshi. I will be there as soon as I can.”

A nervous, agitated voice responded, “It seems like a routine accident case, drunken driving…but…”

The hesitancy prompted Stewart to ask “Did you ID the patient?”

“Nothing on him, detectives are swarming the floor and a couple of government officials have turned up.”

‘Must be a local politician or high ranking official, a potential cause of embarrassment’ mused Stewart as Brendan’s voice came back on line.

“I only got a look at him; they are keeping things pretty hush hush…” “Doc, Gotta go…”

He hurriedly parked his car and took the basement elevator to the second floor. The scene that greeted him was one straight from the movies…what caught his eye however, were the two officials standing apart from the others. There was something familiar about the muscular men.

  Nurse Lee, ever competently helped him sterilise, as he tried to keep him mind alert and focused. As he pushed his body through the side door, his colleagues greeted him with somber looks. As they updated him, it was obvious that with a head injury and a puncture to his left lung, the patient’s chances of survival were rather slim. They worked in silence, in perfect tandem for the next three hours till they were relieved by a newer set of surgeons brought in.

One of the muscular men stopped them outside the sterilising room with a curt “We need him alive.”

“Who is he?” queried Malcolm.

“What we say stays here, is that understand?”

The three nodded…“He is ex CIA agent, Alex Sonneberg.”

Stewart collapsed on the floor…

mine was the 15th episode of a 22 episode story on a website

My hidden view

The rod barely missed my shoulder. We stood still like the dead rocks scattered on the grounds below. I sense much hatred and anger, through the constricting alcove, suffocating me. I long for the fresh, pure air of our homeland.

‘Fiaz’, wonder what they have in store for him?

 ‘A true warrior never denies his adversaries a chance at peace,’ he often said. Despite the respect and admiration we bestow, I don’t quite agree with him.

Some are not meant to be forgiven, those that have betrayed him to this dungeon. Our minds may be powerful, but our bodies no match for these vampire guards.

Eliza tugs at my arms, signaling our need to leave. My leaden feet refuse to cross the distance that takes us away from my brother and friends held hostage in the stinking chamber. The spiked chair to the right makes the devious intentions obvious. ‘Stand together but live to fight another day.’ If only, he hadn’t made us swear the blood oath before the journey commenced, I would be sharing the iron chains that bound them or dead by his feet.

The screams were unnerving, voices from the inner cell assaulting us. Inhuman moans, the incessant muttering of the slowly drained. One look at her and I knew, we would have to sneak out soon. For a novice mage, she was holding up well, but it wouldn’t be long before she lost control. The spell weakens, even as I touch her shoulder, careful not to betray my fears as our eyes meet.

The Ghals’s magic is simpler and limited. They can’t sense the invisibility shield. It protects and keeps our presence secret as we seek the point of entry. We had hardly walked a few paces when an agonised scream pierced through our tense thoughts.

My blood runs cold, her eyes water. Now, it’s me who pulls her along. We need reinforcements, and fast, lest our men end up as the next meal.

Wc 328

The Dance - New beginnings

"Dya*, hurry. They are coming." I panted through the half open door. My ribs ached with every short breath taken.  

Had never run so fast, doing 5 miles without a pause. The silence from within caused strange sensations in my stomach. The hinges creaked in annoyance as I pushed the obstruction away. The room was in disarray, everything upturned. From the centre of the hall I could see that none of the adjoining areas had been spared. There were wet, muddy shoe and foot prints overlapping as though jostling for valuable space. Three clear sets led me to the bottom of the stairs, to the bedrooms above. I crept up slowly unsure of what lay in wait, the pocket knife transferred from the back pocket to my trembling hands.  

I wouldn't wish the scene before my eyes on Stefanek, the village bully. The four bodies lay in crumbled and heaped postures, unsuccessful in fending off the killers, now gone. I vomited my morning meal on the dirtied carpet under my feet. A low moan from the nearest figure brought to life my fledging courage. Wiping away the hot, furious tears I stumbled forward, she was breathing still. The book was safely hidden for now. I covered the shredded remains of her dress with a blanket, lifted her as tenderly as I could in my arms and fled through the back door.

***

I have been standing for more than an hour on the hillock watching with tired eyes and limbs, the devastation below. Half glad Aishe* wasn't with me, conjured a mental image of the agonised screams of the dying. Her kind heart would have never permitted this. The other half of me was willing to give up the world to see her awake and smiling. The swirling, blackish grey waters mirrored the stain on my soul. Large carcasses of their livestock and pieces of wood, the remnants of their mighty houses and boats floated idly along. Pity, a couple of young trees had to give way.

The flood waters would take at least a week to recede, competently destroying whatever stood in their way including the fresh harvest.

This had been the most exhilarating dance I have ever attempted. The river, my companion and slave mimicked my movements as she spread over the accursed village. I played the Kristora* sparing the villages that didn't harm us. The memories gushed back, uninvited. My father's pleas of innocence falling on deaf, hateful ears. His last words before they staked him. "Make them pay."

They stole our land, our home, murdered my mother, and violated the older sister beyond human endurance. She sleeps the sleep of the living dead. 

A tiny hand tugs at my shirt sleeve, whining, “Let's go. It’s cold here."

I pull him into the warmth of my arms reluctantly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins screaming 'Enemy'. We control the elements, a gift passed from mother to her daughters and first born son. Grandma refused to let him die, so he lives to see the death of his unknown fathers with his eyes. My father had been the youngest of six, as powerless as the ones who accused him of black magic.

I stood silent for a few minutes more before trudging back to the trees, the tall pines already casting their needles on the floor.

Harman* loves the rustling sounds around. He turns back and forth in jerky movements causing my shoulders to ache some more. The clan believes that the winter winds are less harsh since his birth. We live deep in the forest. The ignorant folks in the valley below think it is enchanted and evil and refuse to enter. Sometimes, blind faith can be a blessing. We planted the stories.

The ancient book says that our ancestors came from the East, from the land of seven rivers. One day, we will journey back, beyond the narrow confines of our adopted homeland. Harman and me.

We live in tents now, easier to assemble and dismantle in times of danger. Grandma is waiting by ours with a scowling face. She knows, always does. 

"Where have you been wandering about at this hour?"

"Nowhere. Just attending to some unfinished business." as he jumps out of my hold and scampers off to the dinner fires.

Wc 718


*Dya - Mother, Kristora - the judges.
* The words used are Romani - the language of the Romas, the gypsies of Europe whose ancestors are said to have migrated  from northern and central India around 1000 years ago.
Linguistic and genetic studies prove with reasonable accuracy that they belong to existing Indian tribes of travelling musicians.
* I wanted to give the dancing aspect a magical touch.

A stinker

She followed after him into the lobby, the report held firmly in her hands. The company’s fortunes were on the upswing and yet her job hadn’t been made permanent. The day couldn’t end soon enough for her to tackle him again. He would be off on a foreign trip in a week’s time. This time it would be for an entire month.

Was he trying to avoid her? Need to find out if Susie is going to accompany him. So far, no one had a clue, nothing unusual rather his style of working.

 Last night he had come to her apartment after nearly a month. An argument had ensued.

“Is there something going on between you and Susan?”

 He got up to the small drink bar she had set up just for him. Pouring himself a glass of scotch, barely able to contain his irritation in his voice, “She is my assistant, a new hand, you know that very well.”

Taking a swig, gestured wildly at her” Stop your nagging woman, what are you? My wife?”

 Wouldn’t want to open a can of worms, not would we? “That doesn’t answer my question?”

“Does no answer it?”

“Why was she all over you at the party?”

“”Just harmless flirting, like Dev does with you.” winking at her “Do I scream and interrogate?”

“He is different, he knows I am taken.”

 “Taken?” his head shooting up from the lower shelf of the fridge, banging it against the open door in the process.

“Damn you woman, won’t let a man drink in peace.” He grunted, rubbing the tender spot.

“Let me see that, does it hurt? Could be a concussion”  “Go and sit down, I‘ll get the salad.”

“Get some ice too.”

“Where did you buy these?” looking at the two corked champagne bottles.

 “The usual, Uncle gifted them to Pa, you know, he can’t drink anymore after the heart attack.”

“Mom gave it to me to throw away.”

He eyed her speculatively, “And you brought them over. Smart girl.”

“Not smart as your Susie” she pouted, his one word question from earlier rankling her.

Was he trying to deny their two year relationship? Jealous and anger reared their ugly heads again.

He has a way with women and knew from her expression, the situation had to be salvaged,

Pulling her over, murmuring the usual trite words, she so loved to hear, he managed to improve her mood. It was enough to be allowed to spend the night on her bed.

She was easy to manipulate, that’s why he kept her around.

As he dressed up the next morning, Susan curvy body flashed before his eyes.

The thrill of a new conquest was what he lived for, but this one was shrewd and self confident to fall for his silken webs. He needed to plan; the trip would be the ideal way to connect. He had carefully kept everyone out of the loop except Susan. As he looked in the kitchen where Mouly was preparing their breakfast, he knew he had to keep her satisfied, just in case…

cwc 515 unfinished

Destiny foretold

Amir fidgeted.

The dwelling talks disturbed him, increasing with Sagina’s worried looks.

He was loath to leave their only home, the world outside baffled his simple mind.

‘Did he have a choice? He had sworn to the tree spirits to protect his sisters with his life.’

‘Go check on her. Keep your tongue coiled.”

Sagina frowned; silent words betrayed her open mouth. She was a Bora woman, never speaking their minds.

He was ashamed of the leaders, all save his father.

She had been a barter of risk for the expensive, useful gifts her father sent every full moon. Two such moons had passed. The gifts didn’t arrive nor word from the river clan. They debated sending her back or selling her off to another tribe.

 He unsheathed his new scimitar, slicing it through invisible enemies. They hadn’t made much headway with her lessons. Mastering the letters had seemed fair exchange for self defense techniques, sadly turning out as one way assimilation.

The sounds of running feet had him colliding with his sister and servant as he lifted the flap.

“Can’t find her anywhere…she’s gone.’

“Get a grip, search thoroughly.”

“No one's seen her at the breakfast langar, master.”

“Must be with the children.”

“Hasn’t visited them in the last three days.”

“Ready my horse. I leave immediately.”

“Where to?”

“The forest, she wanders into.”

“Pack our bags before we return, a long journey awaits us.”

“And mine, brother?”

“No, your place is here.”

The lonely figure trudged its way into the forest. The footfalls unwittingly leaving a trail behind. She had been abandoned twice. The memories of her biological family a blip, that of her foster home painfully fresh.

‘An orphan's life would have been better.’

The overhead words rebounded among the strange looking trees.

‘Was it true? It’s obvious; I am no tribeswoman but a clan member…’

Her curiosity had her following impressionable Sagina last night. Suspecting a lover’s tryst, she had chosen to gather proof Amir would need before he believed her. The soft, jingling steps ahead, falling on the gravel in front of the green columns of men’s tents intrigued and scared her.

 The poisonous sentences lent weight to her recurrent doubts. Her world turned on itself.

Born to the clan whose magic resided in the names of the children, the one written in the runes cast, made her dangerous. Her father and the seer had tried in vain to protect her secret. A betraying uncle, three raids on the outpost had the council scurrying to get rid of the abomination.

She was sent off to live as a six year old with the Boras, the warrior tribe that lived on the fringes of the old forest. They treated her better than their women. She had a tutor.

‘Must have been the gifts.’

The Boras never ventured into the forest, beyond defined limits. The tree spirits they worshipped lived deep inside. The feared Maitri, the mages of the wild made it their abode.

She began to catch the change in landscape; scarred, broken trees like her spirit filled her vision. Seductive voices whispered and pulled her to the clearing. Before her was a stone dwelling with three chairs in stone carved with human bones, a red stool near one.

“Turn back child.” a voice warned.

“Fear not, little one. Join us, embrace your destiny.” crooned one of the earlier ones.

She stood still, while the voices battled until one was silenced forever.

Amir galloping fast, reached, only to watch in horror as ghostly, gnarled hands nudged her forward.

“Stop, come with me.”

“Leave now; the Boras will live to see another day.”

“Not without her.”

 He rushed forward, to be thrown back by the magical barriers.

“Kali, listen to me. They are dangerous, they are the Maitri.”

She turned around, awakening from a dream. Stared at the grey figures, then at him. Sad eyes appealed to him.

“Go, brother, before they hurt you.”

“Before I truly become – Kali the destroyer.”

 He inched forward, unheeding, hacking at the invisible walls. Only to find; an empty square and earth scorched to the darkest black.

‘He wouldn’t rest. Would search the ends of the world till he found her.’

The clan would be the first stop. Despite his contempt, he needed them.