Sreesha Divakaran's Blog, page 18
July 5, 2015
Mommy Knows Best, They Say!
A while ago, I had written a poem that described my thoughts and fears about becoming a mother. I shared the poem recently on my blog, and it soon became the post with the highest number of hits on the blog. Each word of that poem is true, and I think a lot of mothers could relate to it.
The truth is, we all look at our mothers like this huge encyclopedia, this omniscient entity, this kindest soul, this epitome of all things right with the world. But maybe, just maybe, every mother started out like me – scared and clueless. Perhaps mine did too, though it is hard to imagine it! Perhaps yours did too.
My cluelessness caused me to fret about everything in the beginning. My son was the very first baby I had ever held. When I looked at his oh-so-tiny fingers, I freaked out seeing his skin was peeling a little bit. My doctor told me that was nothing to worry about, and most newborns are born with skin like that. Interestingly, every time I freaked out over something trivial, I only learnt it was something that “happens to all babies”. But still, like all mothers, my baby was the apple of my eye, the perfect little angel, and I fretted a lot and fretted some more.
Seeing my ridiculously sorry and clueless state, the doctor reiterated, that I needn’t worry about the skin, that I should apply some natural oils, like coconut or olive or almond and give the baby regular massages. I asked her if I could use any of the baby oils available in the market (as a new mom, obviously I had received several bottles of baby oil, baby powder, baby lotion, baby wipes, whatnot as presents from friends and family). She said a firm “No”. I didn’t question her, but I didn’t believe her either. I thought if a product was available exclusively in the market for babies, then that would definitely be better than any other “natural” oil, right? But just like my doctor, elderly relatives also advised me to use natural oils. I still didn’t believe them, dismissing their advice as old wives’ tales (yup, that’s what I thought of my doctor too, believe it or not!) But then my brother showed me several articles online about the harmful effects of the oils I was planning to use. Read this one for instance; it’s more recent than the ones my brother showed me.
Of course, it is the curse of my generation to believe all things online but nothing that an elderly person tells you. How coolly I disregarded the words of my DOCTOR but believed the same things when SOMEONE online said it. But either way, fretful mother that I was, switched immediately to olive oil.
The first thing I noticed was how much cooler and soothing it felt while massaging it onto my son’s skin. It seemed lighter, less “artificial” (well, duh!) somehow. There were people who taught me the right ways to massage a baby’s skin, to strengthen the bones and straighten the limbs. Do it right, and the baby enjoys it too. I remember the earliest days, when he yet hadn’t learnt how to laugh, but had a serene, pleasant expression on his face every time we gave him an oil massage. What could make a mother happier?
Of course, as a new mother, you get lots of advice - from everyone. And I do mean, a ton of advice! Suddenly, everyone considers themselves an expert. This will annoy you, for sure. But don’t dismiss all of it because you think the person’s advice is outdated for this day and age. There’s a reason they know the things they do, and it has worked superbly for them in the past. And you don’t really have to be a rocket scientist, or blindly depend so much on the internet (as I have admitted I did) to know that natural is, any given day, better than artificial.
I am participating in the #FirstLove activity at BlogAdda in association with Dabur Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
July 2, 2015
What Is Wrong With This Post?
The number of hours one spends grooming or admiring one's own self is not the only measure of one's narcissism. Nor is an individual's speech, wherein he or she may wax eloquent for hours, irrespective of and disrespecting the audience' tolerance level. Some people simply have more than one autobiography to present, because their level of greatness goes beyond a single publication.
However that may be, it seems unfair to say that only one subset of the population behaves this way, for if one does, then he or she has clearly not observed the way he or she speaks on a daily basis. It often goes unnoticed by the individual, but not always by backbiting, gossiping listeners, who are keen to make note of such faults as narcissism only to present the same with similar narcissism at every social gathering they chance upon.
It is becoming increasingly difficult to write this post without making an error, and thereby prove the point of this post, but this post is not over yet. Observations of linguistic narcissism include, not only speaking excessively about oneself but also interrupting another speaker with references to oneself. To find anecdotes startlingly similar to that of the original speaker, but rushing in with one's story before the original speaker is done is not only rude but downright assholeish behaviour. Sooner or later, someone will punch the interrupter where he or she deserves.
As it has been mentioned above, this is not conscious behaviour. Admittedly the letter "I" appears only once in the English alphabet; but it is probably the most used, most over-used, most abused letter in even a minute's speech or conversation. While guilty of the same, I just thought...
I mean,
That is, I
..shit..Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
However that may be, it seems unfair to say that only one subset of the population behaves this way, for if one does, then he or she has clearly not observed the way he or she speaks on a daily basis. It often goes unnoticed by the individual, but not always by backbiting, gossiping listeners, who are keen to make note of such faults as narcissism only to present the same with similar narcissism at every social gathering they chance upon.
It is becoming increasingly difficult to write this post without making an error, and thereby prove the point of this post, but this post is not over yet. Observations of linguistic narcissism include, not only speaking excessively about oneself but also interrupting another speaker with references to oneself. To find anecdotes startlingly similar to that of the original speaker, but rushing in with one's story before the original speaker is done is not only rude but downright assholeish behaviour. Sooner or later, someone will punch the interrupter where he or she deserves.
As it has been mentioned above, this is not conscious behaviour. Admittedly the letter "I" appears only once in the English alphabet; but it is probably the most used, most over-used, most abused letter in even a minute's speech or conversation. While guilty of the same, I just thought...
I mean,
That is, I
..shit..Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
July 1, 2015
The Grey Building With The Grey Flag Against The Grey Sky (Part 2)
Read Part 1 here
Every instinct of mine was forcing me to turn away from the wall that had sprung up in the middle of the road. Turn around and walk in the other direction, turn towards the stench and find what it was, turn anywhere, but not towards the menacing looking wall. But my feet didn’t listen. Through the searing pain, they seemed to mindlessly disobey what my instincts were telling them. I wanted to scream, as walking hurt so much. But it was a pain in my lower back that drew my fingers to it. I rubbed the spot, touching the skin drenched from the rain. But the moisture I felt was more than that – it felt like pulp.
How badly was I bleeding? I looked at my fingers. Yes, it was a bloody pulp, but it was not just blood. There was dirt in it, brown, green dirt, mixed with my blood. I smelled it, to check if that was what was causing the stench. It was not.
The urge to cry increased with each passing moment, but I refused. It was not possible that I was alone. Everyone must be there, somewhere. I just had to keep looking. No way was I completely alone in this grey world.
I kept walking towards the wall ahead. The road in front of me held chaos on its narrow strip – signs of an explosion, but not one caused by arms or bombs. There were pieces of what looked like human flesh, but it looked like they were torn apart by savages. Crushed glass, broken bottles, shattered mobile phones, it was all there, scattered like feathers from a pillow pulled violently apart. The taste of mud still lingered in my mouth; more than the taste of mud, I believe it was the taste of knowledge, that there was mud, and probably worse in my mouth, but this was no time to worry about that.
I reached the wall. The wall extended, endlessly it seemed, to my right and to my left. It was high, with bricks laid haphazardly all the way up. When I touched the wall, I was pushed back. I had a vision of myself scratching the surface of the very same walls until my fingers bled. I shook my head to get rid of the vision and saw, I hadn’t been pushed. I was still standing in front of the wall, arm extended, palm raised to touch it.
What had I seen?
--To be continued--Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
Every instinct of mine was forcing me to turn away from the wall that had sprung up in the middle of the road. Turn around and walk in the other direction, turn towards the stench and find what it was, turn anywhere, but not towards the menacing looking wall. But my feet didn’t listen. Through the searing pain, they seemed to mindlessly disobey what my instincts were telling them. I wanted to scream, as walking hurt so much. But it was a pain in my lower back that drew my fingers to it. I rubbed the spot, touching the skin drenched from the rain. But the moisture I felt was more than that – it felt like pulp.
How badly was I bleeding? I looked at my fingers. Yes, it was a bloody pulp, but it was not just blood. There was dirt in it, brown, green dirt, mixed with my blood. I smelled it, to check if that was what was causing the stench. It was not.
The urge to cry increased with each passing moment, but I refused. It was not possible that I was alone. Everyone must be there, somewhere. I just had to keep looking. No way was I completely alone in this grey world.
I kept walking towards the wall ahead. The road in front of me held chaos on its narrow strip – signs of an explosion, but not one caused by arms or bombs. There were pieces of what looked like human flesh, but it looked like they were torn apart by savages. Crushed glass, broken bottles, shattered mobile phones, it was all there, scattered like feathers from a pillow pulled violently apart. The taste of mud still lingered in my mouth; more than the taste of mud, I believe it was the taste of knowledge, that there was mud, and probably worse in my mouth, but this was no time to worry about that.
I reached the wall. The wall extended, endlessly it seemed, to my right and to my left. It was high, with bricks laid haphazardly all the way up. When I touched the wall, I was pushed back. I had a vision of myself scratching the surface of the very same walls until my fingers bled. I shook my head to get rid of the vision and saw, I hadn’t been pushed. I was still standing in front of the wall, arm extended, palm raised to touch it.
What had I seen?
--To be continued--Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
June 30, 2015
Neither Hinted Nor Denied
Antara’s mother was overworked and stressed out. A daughter’s wedding, no matter how joyous an occasion it is, is taxing on the mind and health of her parents. But Antara’s mother was thankful that Geeta was there to help her. Geeta and Antara had been best friends since childhood. She made sure that Antara’s mother got the chance to rest her feet whenever possible. Right from welcoming the guests to supervising the decorators and caterers, Geeta was there.
Yes, Antara’s mother was grateful for Geeta’s presence. In fact, it was she who convinced Antara’s father about Namit, the groom. Antara was overjoyed, as all her efforts to convince her dad had been futile, and resulted in a lot of tears that later settled as a silent gloom over the house. But Geeta, Geeta knew Namit well enough to know he was the right man for Antara, and she knew the words to convince the father of the future bride.
Geeta and Antara grew up together. Although they went to college in different cities, as luck would have had it, both got placed in the same company through the placement cells in their respective colleges. A coincidence, that, and a happy one too. It was at work that they met Namit, a cheerful member of the team, always up to friendly pranks. He seemed to have an unending supply of funny anecdotes to share, ones that everyone gathered to listen to, and ones that made everyone slap their knees in laughter. A favorite of both the team members and the boss (yes, he was terrific at his work too), this tall man with his boyish smile and deliberately messy hair (he called it his out-of-bed look) was quite irresistible.
Out of the two girls, Antara was the extrovert. She made friends easily, and people instantly liked her. Geeta remained more-or-less, but rather comfortably, in Antara’s shadow. She spoke when spoken to, and laughed easily, but not as markedly as Antara did. Yet, when Antara shouted out these words to Namit, the whole team gasped collectively, “Namit, would you like to go for a movie with me tomorrow evening?” The cheerful Namit seemed momentarily speechless, his jaw had dropped slightly, but quite visibly. He glanced at Geeta, who was sitting at the desk next to Antara, then back, and stammered, “Uhhh. Yeah… I mean, sure… yeah, yeah.” Great!” Antara shot back and returned to her laptop screen.
Geeta turned to look at Antara, who was now smiling to herself. Geeta couldn’t help smiling too, seeing her friend so happy. She turned to look at Namit, who caught her glance, and smiled brightly at him. He smiled back, though she felt a tinge of reserve in it. She looked back at the laptop screen for a moment before she got up and walked to the restroom.
It was only then that she let the tears flow. But these are the sacrifices we make for our friends. These are the little things we do to show them how much they mean to us. These are the little things we do, that they will never even know about.
She consoled herself that it was just a date. It may never work out. But she was wrong. The movie had been the first date, followed by numerous others. It hurt her to see them together, her best friend, and the man she had fallen in love with but never confessed to. And here they were, four years later, getting married.
On the day of the wedding, while Antara was getting ready, a cousin rushed in to say the groom’s party had almost arrived. As per custom, the girls in the family went in a file to welcome them with plates decorated with mirrors and glitter. Geeta was asked to join them. As she stepped up with her plate, she did not have the courage to look at Namit in the eye. She knew, her pretenses of the past four years would crumble if she did. Namit placed the customary gift on her plate, and she walked away.
She went back to Antara’s room and told her Namit looked very handsome in the groom’s attire. She infused as much enthusiasm in her voice as she could muster. She had tried not to think about it by keeping herself as busy with the wedding preparations as she possibly could. She could not keep up that façade anymore.
Downstairs, Namit sat in front of the holy fire, waiting for Antara to arrive. As he did, he thought of Geeta’s downcast eyes. He also thought of the first time Antara had asked him out. He had been meaning to ask Geeta out for a few weeks, but courage simply did not find him. She seemed so shy at times. And then suddenly Antara asked him out for a movie, right in front of everyone. He looked at Geeta, but all she did was smile. He was in a spot, and didn’t know how to say no.
He had gotten used to Antara’s presence after a while. And yet, here he was, on his wedding day, wondering if things would have been different had he been with Geeta.
--Unedited. Please excuse typos, if any--Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
Yes, Antara’s mother was grateful for Geeta’s presence. In fact, it was she who convinced Antara’s father about Namit, the groom. Antara was overjoyed, as all her efforts to convince her dad had been futile, and resulted in a lot of tears that later settled as a silent gloom over the house. But Geeta, Geeta knew Namit well enough to know he was the right man for Antara, and she knew the words to convince the father of the future bride.
Geeta and Antara grew up together. Although they went to college in different cities, as luck would have had it, both got placed in the same company through the placement cells in their respective colleges. A coincidence, that, and a happy one too. It was at work that they met Namit, a cheerful member of the team, always up to friendly pranks. He seemed to have an unending supply of funny anecdotes to share, ones that everyone gathered to listen to, and ones that made everyone slap their knees in laughter. A favorite of both the team members and the boss (yes, he was terrific at his work too), this tall man with his boyish smile and deliberately messy hair (he called it his out-of-bed look) was quite irresistible.
Out of the two girls, Antara was the extrovert. She made friends easily, and people instantly liked her. Geeta remained more-or-less, but rather comfortably, in Antara’s shadow. She spoke when spoken to, and laughed easily, but not as markedly as Antara did. Yet, when Antara shouted out these words to Namit, the whole team gasped collectively, “Namit, would you like to go for a movie with me tomorrow evening?” The cheerful Namit seemed momentarily speechless, his jaw had dropped slightly, but quite visibly. He glanced at Geeta, who was sitting at the desk next to Antara, then back, and stammered, “Uhhh. Yeah… I mean, sure… yeah, yeah.” Great!” Antara shot back and returned to her laptop screen.
Geeta turned to look at Antara, who was now smiling to herself. Geeta couldn’t help smiling too, seeing her friend so happy. She turned to look at Namit, who caught her glance, and smiled brightly at him. He smiled back, though she felt a tinge of reserve in it. She looked back at the laptop screen for a moment before she got up and walked to the restroom.
It was only then that she let the tears flow. But these are the sacrifices we make for our friends. These are the little things we do to show them how much they mean to us. These are the little things we do, that they will never even know about.
She consoled herself that it was just a date. It may never work out. But she was wrong. The movie had been the first date, followed by numerous others. It hurt her to see them together, her best friend, and the man she had fallen in love with but never confessed to. And here they were, four years later, getting married.
On the day of the wedding, while Antara was getting ready, a cousin rushed in to say the groom’s party had almost arrived. As per custom, the girls in the family went in a file to welcome them with plates decorated with mirrors and glitter. Geeta was asked to join them. As she stepped up with her plate, she did not have the courage to look at Namit in the eye. She knew, her pretenses of the past four years would crumble if she did. Namit placed the customary gift on her plate, and she walked away.
She went back to Antara’s room and told her Namit looked very handsome in the groom’s attire. She infused as much enthusiasm in her voice as she could muster. She had tried not to think about it by keeping herself as busy with the wedding preparations as she possibly could. She could not keep up that façade anymore.
Downstairs, Namit sat in front of the holy fire, waiting for Antara to arrive. As he did, he thought of Geeta’s downcast eyes. He also thought of the first time Antara had asked him out. He had been meaning to ask Geeta out for a few weeks, but courage simply did not find him. She seemed so shy at times. And then suddenly Antara asked him out for a movie, right in front of everyone. He looked at Geeta, but all she did was smile. He was in a spot, and didn’t know how to say no.
He had gotten used to Antara’s presence after a while. And yet, here he was, on his wedding day, wondering if things would have been different had he been with Geeta.
--Unedited. Please excuse typos, if any--Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
June 17, 2015
The Deliverance
"Thank you so much for taking the time to show me around the city! It means a lot!" she said.
"Hey, no problem! It's nice to catch up. What's it been, like, nine years since we last met?" her old classmate responded.
Bringing her cup of cappuccino to her lips, she nodded, almost absentmindedly. Yes, it must have nine years. Yes, she did appreciate RK showing her the sights and sounds of Bengaluru. But she couldn’t think of a single thing to say!
As she sipped, she thought about how much she hated cappuccino. Damn! I should have ordered the green apple soda, like I used to, but it’s been so long since I entered a Café Coffee Day! I should probably talk about that.
No, that’s a terrible conversation opener!
Oh well, better keep quiet and sip your coffee.
“Are you okay?” he gave her a quizzical look
“Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing, you were making faces. Playing with your eyebrows and all.”
Oops, she was thinking with her face again! Embarrassed, she told him she was fine.
It was then that she saw him. Outside, on the street, walking briskly. Approaching. Walking right into the CCD.
Oh no!
She spat out her coffee, and spilt quite a bit on her jeans. RK ran to her aid with some tissues.
By then, the man she had seen on the street approached their table, slapped RK’s back and said, “Hey, man! What’s up? Is she okay?”
Before RK could respond, she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock, “You!”
He shrugged in his oh-I-own-this-world manner that she remembered so well and said, “Yeah, me.”
RK looked from one to the other and asked, “Do you guys know each other?”
“We used to. A few years ago. How do you two know each other?” she asked.
“He’s my roommate. Small world, huh!” he said, “Hey, will you guys excuse me for a minute.”
As soon as RK was out of earshot, he gave her his Cheshire smile and drawled, “So… What’s new?”
She smirked and responded, “Came looking for you, I guess!”
“Then why were you so surprised to see me?”
“Cos I didn’t expect to find you so quickly.”
“You didn’t. But I knew you were searching. I heard your voice all the time, in my head, calling out to me, seeking. I heard everything you said. I wished you could hear my thoughts too, but I was lost for too long. I wandered around the wrong places, wondering where I was. Looking for deliverance, I guess”
“Did you ever see your mother after… you know…?”
“No,” he said simply.
“I did. I was there for both. I shouldn't have. It was terrible seeing our families like that. Sobbing, screaming, and then the silence. I shouldn't have seen all that.”
“You attended both our funerals?”
“Yes, I did,” she said, tears collecting in her dead eyes.
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
"Hey, no problem! It's nice to catch up. What's it been, like, nine years since we last met?" her old classmate responded.
Bringing her cup of cappuccino to her lips, she nodded, almost absentmindedly. Yes, it must have nine years. Yes, she did appreciate RK showing her the sights and sounds of Bengaluru. But she couldn’t think of a single thing to say!
As she sipped, she thought about how much she hated cappuccino. Damn! I should have ordered the green apple soda, like I used to, but it’s been so long since I entered a Café Coffee Day! I should probably talk about that.
No, that’s a terrible conversation opener!
Oh well, better keep quiet and sip your coffee.
“Are you okay?” he gave her a quizzical look
“Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing, you were making faces. Playing with your eyebrows and all.”
Oops, she was thinking with her face again! Embarrassed, she told him she was fine.
It was then that she saw him. Outside, on the street, walking briskly. Approaching. Walking right into the CCD.
Oh no!
She spat out her coffee, and spilt quite a bit on her jeans. RK ran to her aid with some tissues.
By then, the man she had seen on the street approached their table, slapped RK’s back and said, “Hey, man! What’s up? Is she okay?”
Before RK could respond, she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock, “You!”
He shrugged in his oh-I-own-this-world manner that she remembered so well and said, “Yeah, me.”
RK looked from one to the other and asked, “Do you guys know each other?”
“We used to. A few years ago. How do you two know each other?” she asked.
“He’s my roommate. Small world, huh!” he said, “Hey, will you guys excuse me for a minute.”
As soon as RK was out of earshot, he gave her his Cheshire smile and drawled, “So… What’s new?”
She smirked and responded, “Came looking for you, I guess!”
“Then why were you so surprised to see me?”
“Cos I didn’t expect to find you so quickly.”
“You didn’t. But I knew you were searching. I heard your voice all the time, in my head, calling out to me, seeking. I heard everything you said. I wished you could hear my thoughts too, but I was lost for too long. I wandered around the wrong places, wondering where I was. Looking for deliverance, I guess”
“Did you ever see your mother after… you know…?”
“No,” he said simply.
“I did. I was there for both. I shouldn't have. It was terrible seeing our families like that. Sobbing, screaming, and then the silence. I shouldn't have seen all that.”
“You attended both our funerals?”
“Yes, I did,” she said, tears collecting in her dead eyes.
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
June 16, 2015
The Burden Of Sorrow
"It's hard for me grasp how any mother could be so callous!" the nurses' quarter was uncharacteristically abuzz with gossip. The woman in Private Room # 301 on the third floor had just been informed her baby, born prematurely at 23 weeks, had died in the incubator.
Mia nodded in acknowledgement of the news.
She drifted off to sleep. No tears. No screams. The paediatrician looked hesitantly at the nurse beside him. The nurse shrugged and walked out of the room. The doctor followed.
---------Click here to read the rest of the story-------
This story has been written for 200 Word Tuesdays (#200WT). The themes for June are Indifference and In The Stars
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
Mia nodded in acknowledgement of the news.
She drifted off to sleep. No tears. No screams. The paediatrician looked hesitantly at the nurse beside him. The nurse shrugged and walked out of the room. The doctor followed.
---------Click here to read the rest of the story-------
This story has been written for 200 Word Tuesdays (#200WT). The themes for June are Indifference and In The Stars
The 200WordTuesdays #200WT themes for June are: IN THE STARS and INDIFFERENCE http://t.co/qFqAQUAoFn— 200WordTuesdays (@200WordTuesdays) May 30, 2015
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
Micro-Fiction - 11
None of the keys fit into the lock. The house had been abandoned for years. As they tried another, a voice called out from inside, "Hello?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Last cell on the left," the orderly said. She saw the human test subject - half a frayed wing on his back and compound eyes on his face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Daddy'll be home soon," he told her every time over the phone. When he went back, there was no house,no daughter. It had all burned down.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
He'd been on the phone with me when his car crashed. It threw us into a time loop, with me having to make that call every day and hear him die.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She disappeared without a trace. Her journal entry mentioned a call about aliens (?) but that's just conspiracy theorists making stuff up.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She saw red when his new girlfriend insulted her. Wild with rage, she pinned the girl down and pushed the chopstick into her eye.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a lovely day for a swim. But without a warning, she was torn apart. All she saw was blood.
They thought it was a shark.
It wasn't.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
All serial killers have quirks. This one had one too - he sliced off the eyelids of all his victims, leaving their eyes open and bloodied.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
For years they searched for the missing plane. The little boy, now grown up, never spoke a word about the brief flash of fire he'd seen.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was time. Humans had finally rendered the devil redundant. Unemployed and furious, he raised hell's fire to the skies.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The endless night had sucked all their hope. They were thankful when they finally saw the fog clearing. Then they saw the flaming sky.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She insisted she saw eyes in the dark They called her schizophrenic One by one, she killed them all And then, she scooped their eyes out
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The lake - its cold waters called out to me. Curiosity overrode fear & I peered in. In the dark, my reflection had red, smoldering eyes.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The cracks in the road should have been the first warning. But by the time the bloodsucking creatures flew out, it was too late.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
For many nights she wondered why he screamed "I am here!" One night, he was so close that she finally asked,"Who are you?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Why!" He choked out in agony as she twisted the knife in his ear "You spread a lot of hate against me. Now I am giving you a reason."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
They watched fascinated as the shoots rose from the cracks in the parched earth. But they penetrated people's heels, killing them slowly.Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Last cell on the left," the orderly said. She saw the human test subject - half a frayed wing on his back and compound eyes on his face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Daddy'll be home soon," he told her every time over the phone. When he went back, there was no house,no daughter. It had all burned down.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
He'd been on the phone with me when his car crashed. It threw us into a time loop, with me having to make that call every day and hear him die.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She disappeared without a trace. Her journal entry mentioned a call about aliens (?) but that's just conspiracy theorists making stuff up.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She saw red when his new girlfriend insulted her. Wild with rage, she pinned the girl down and pushed the chopstick into her eye.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a lovely day for a swim. But without a warning, she was torn apart. All she saw was blood.
They thought it was a shark.
It wasn't.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
All serial killers have quirks. This one had one too - he sliced off the eyelids of all his victims, leaving their eyes open and bloodied.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
For years they searched for the missing plane. The little boy, now grown up, never spoke a word about the brief flash of fire he'd seen.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was time. Humans had finally rendered the devil redundant. Unemployed and furious, he raised hell's fire to the skies.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The endless night had sucked all their hope. They were thankful when they finally saw the fog clearing. Then they saw the flaming sky.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She insisted she saw eyes in the dark They called her schizophrenic One by one, she killed them all And then, she scooped their eyes out
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The lake - its cold waters called out to me. Curiosity overrode fear & I peered in. In the dark, my reflection had red, smoldering eyes.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The cracks in the road should have been the first warning. But by the time the bloodsucking creatures flew out, it was too late.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
For many nights she wondered why he screamed "I am here!" One night, he was so close that she finally asked,"Who are you?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Why!" He choked out in agony as she twisted the knife in his ear "You spread a lot of hate against me. Now I am giving you a reason."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
They watched fascinated as the shoots rose from the cracks in the parched earth. But they penetrated people's heels, killing them slowly.Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.
