Dossing around every which way remains pleasurable. The first flush of youth has passed inconsolably for good measure. The need for appeasement gets the better of her. For what? They must pay heed to her glib gibe and turn up to appreciate it. For one thing, it’s the only thing she’s gathered. What if her hope is dashed? Her stomach gives a backflip. Ok, let’s get cracking and collect every last scrap of ‘her brain’ from here and there and then… Call Tom, Dick and Harry to lend a hand. She ties her tousled mop of hair into a messy bun.
“Where’s the flipping doodad? This fucking thing strains my patience to the limit!”
She nabs her mobile and sinks into the couch with her brow wrinkled grimly.
PS : I appreciate your coming up with such a lovely prompt, Fandango. Thank you so much. 🙂 I was a tad bit unsure about putting words here. The photographs are enough and it seems that words may vitiate the beauty.
” I won’t be able to see you any longer, hope you understand.” She said calmly and matter-of-factly.
He gave a perfunctory nod and looked away. She left abruptly on a short notice, without a proper goodbye.
Slowly he trudged downtown. After wandering miles he was standing at the beach in the gloaming. He laid his hand, listlessly, on the beside rock and plopped down on the sand with his gaunt face facing the setting sun. He lightly propped his head against the rock and his hands on his knees, peered vacantly into the sky flushed with dappled shades of red, yellow and golden. As the sun went down people began to swarm away. A wild storm was still seething underneath his chest.
Saltmort hunkered down for a flat stone and skimmed it along the lake. On turning back he scrambled up to the grassy bank, plonked down casting a glance around. His old ramshackle orphanage stood right ahead of him. Its dilapidated doors, worn patches on the wall, weathered stone steps, etiolated creepers curling around the pergola evoked long lost memories, making allusions to numerous stories. A monument to all the happiness his childhood was forbidden. A mother in true sense. He did have his best days. The flood of nostalgia burst its bank.
This is the place where he learnt the most valuable lessons of life, where he learned to take challenges head-on. Where he made friends for life. On birthdays they sang and danced up a storm. Where he crashed into the most formidable competitor Rumbleroar, for the first time, who embezzled all his skimming stones. When they squared off, he sprung apart and pitched backward in the lake. … whatever. Scarcely did they toe the line. Sherry and Kimberly had collected a bagful of best stones for skimming and sometimes they lent him one of the them… A mixed feeling of great joy and pride devoured him.
loved by stars kissed by moon cuddling up sun dreaming impossible
But there are traces of other impossibilities that make my toes curl, and somehow it appears to be so non-fictional and real.. It’s about the mask that we carry since we became aware of our vulnerabilities during our growth journey. Think of those raised eyebrows, those mouths curled in disdain, those we despised and those we held in our loving embrace, there’s one thing common in their midst – they have real struggles in their lives. Are we just what meets the eye? They struggle with their own failures, their own insecurities, the ordeals of life. It’s just the way we seek solace in something. Some indulge in art, some bury themselves in their work, some prop up the bar, some get hurt by watching what someone is, some encourage others to find their best self-expression rather than becoming a B-grade version of someone else. Some put another down and some uplift others, help them through their journey. It’s just the mask. It’s about what we are made of. Blessed are those who are aware of the beauty of malleability and are guided by their own divine curiosity.
The truth of the matter is we all have real struggles, gut-wrenching experiences of life beyond this trivia. More than who wears what, writes, sings, dances and a million things we allow to affect our lives – merely to gossip away our days. Shaming another person points out where you feel vulnerable. What was your experience? It’s about your agony, your trauma, your insecurities, the fear of vulnerability. It’s not about keeping a lookout for what’s wrong with others but the contrary. Never forget the devil makes work for the idle hands.
We can choose better options whenever we decide. It entails a complete change of perspective. We turn a blind eye when our brothers, sons make mistakes, towards our own character flaws. We are compassionate and generous by nature. We can do better things. Let’s hope for everyone – those who hurt us and those who were hurt by us, find an easier way out of their struggles. Let’s hope they believe in themselves, are more focused on their own gifts. Let’s hope they find the light through their own darkness. Amen.