Past or Present?

"I have only loved YOU".
"I trust you", my weak smile didn't reach my eyes.
He hugged me as I secretly slipped his diary into my jacket.
She exists in the diary though.
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This post is in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge - Week Sixty-Nine. The challenge is to put in the best of your confession in exact 33 words (fiction or non-fiction). 

The Prized Possession

As he would lay his ink-pen to rest everyday, at dusk, he would watch them all with great amusement. 

 

Nowadays, the old man would often grumble about his tail which was slowly growing and which, he was finding increasingly difficult to hide from his wife. The old woman, on the other hand, was getting mysteriously younger by the day, as though she'd acquired the 'magic potion of youth' from some forbidden place. And their son, who once possessed princely handsomeness, would remain locked-up in his room all day, since the past few weeks. He couldn't bear what was happening to him -- rapidly growing sharp claws, devilish canines, dense growth of thick, pointed scales all over his body and an overwhelming desire to feel the texture of raw flesh, freshly torn apart.

The pen was his prized possession and though his pedantic writing didn't amuse many, yet he wrote. It brought him a kind of solace that he couldn't find elsewhere, for reasons best known to him. 

Today, however, was different.

He woke up with a startle in the middle of the night. Close to his feet, he saw the old couple's son, sitting with face buried in his hands. He froze at this sight. His pulse started racing, and suddenly he felt as if there was too much blood for his chest to hold. His mouth parched, voice choked in his own larynx and a paralyzing surge of weakness rapidly incapacitated him, totally. The eerie numbness creeping up his legs, arms and sadly, his brain, prevented him from breaking into a sprint.

The monster jolted towards him like a thunderbolt just as he recollected some words he'd forgotten to pay heed to.

'Be careful of what you write, for this ink shall bring every creation of your mind to life'.

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This post is in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge - Week Seventy-Eight. The challenge is to write a 33-333 word piece that includes the word pedantic in its third definition i.e. unimaginative.

Birth of the Phoenix

              Burnt to death
    Ashes rising into the clouds.
    The undying nerve isn't lost
Underneath the empty vastness
               Of the skies.
         I will be born again
     For union with my Love
                  Sweet
                     as
                  Honey!

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This post is in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge - Week Sixty-Eight.

Celebrating International Day of Families

“You don’t want to see my ugly side”, she scowled at him.

“Now don’t you take-off on that again”, cold words emanated as he packed his clothes at a deliberate pace that made her blood boil as she watched each piece of clothing fall slowly into the suitcase.

 “I told you I’m coming back”, his failed attempt at trying to console her was evident in the stream of tears that was beginning to wash-off the remains of her make-up that evening. She had so lovingly planned something special for this day – International Day of Families.

“I don’t want you to go. This argument has been done to death,” she was screaming at the top of her lungs by now, her heart pounding furiously, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her clenched fists.

“And so is this relation. I should have known this side of you before,” a marked indifference encased his voice today.

She was terrified of what was about to happen, yet, with all the strength that she could muster at this unfortunate moment, she uttered those words that were tucked away in a dark corner of her heart for years, “Today, you have to make your choice. It’s either her or me.”

Deathly silence enveloped their being. Picking up his suitcase, he walked out the front door.

Her mind wandered to the day he had first walked into her office cabin – bright eyes, ruffled hair and a perky smile adorning his handsome, young face.

In the end, you start thinking about the beginning...

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This post is in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge – Week Seventy-Seven. The prompt for this week is to write a piece between 33-333 words using the third definition of the following word (the prompt must include the word)

DELIBERATE

1: characterized by or resulting from careful and thorough consideration

2: characterized by awareness of the consequences

3: slow, unhurried, and steady as though allowing time for decision on each individual action involved

Basic Instinct

Gurgling in stomach
As he ripped open her abdomen,
Eyes greedily savoring its contents.
Blop went into jars
Liver, kidneys, pancreas.
His tongue ached to get in.
"Congratulations on your first autopsy doc!"

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This post is in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge - Week Sixty-Seven. The prompt is to write 33 words (exactly) that include among them at least one example of onomatopoeia.

Mind-bender

Raghav found him piled up at his doorstep, as he stepped out to pick up milk one chilly morning. He slammed the door shut in half an instant. A hundred thoughts started racing through his mind as randomly as the bees that have been forced out of a broken beehive.

Standing with his back still glued the door, he sensed a queasy feeling creeping up to his chest. His heart was thumping right into his throat, his mouth dry, breathing heavily, his arms trembling and knees suddenly gone weak. He barely managed to hold himself up as he stumbled onto the cold floor below his bare feet. 

A quick glance into the peephole and he was sure it was Arya. There was no mistaking those same tiny hands that clenched tight at the slightest exposure to cold, lovely long eyelashes – a tad too big for his small face, cheeks flushed with the redness of a dozen roses and pink lips that pursed while he slept – just like now. And wait. Wasn’t he wearing his favorite shirt – the plain white one with tiny blue and red checks only at the collar and cuffs? 

Raghav panicked. He could not understand this. How could Arya be here? Tears streamed down his cheeks as his mind raced to the day Arya was born – as he lifted into his arms the fruit of his loin, his own blood. Glimpses of Arya’s childhood flashed in front of his eyes – one after another in an endless current that he couldn’t interrupt. It all ended in a sudden, frightening shriek. The listless body of a drowned child floated on the surface of the pool. Raghav shuddered as he opened the door once again. A lonely bottle of milk was all that stood there.

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This post is in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge - Week Seventy-Six.

Of Abysmal Powers

A deep, dark recess beckoned the 10-year-old's hand.

"Arya, NO!" 

Groping for the ball, excruciating pain suddenly clutched his hand.

Black-out!

Oblivious of his powers, the bride admired 'SuperArya' etched on his wrist.

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This post is in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge - Week Sixty-Six.

The prompt is to write the origin story to the superhero of our choice (Mine is 'SuperArya' :d ) in exactly 33 words.