Friday, October 14, 2011

Who is the king?


image: Michael Sowa, from The Little King

as shared at Magpie Tales

It was 2 in the morning. Robin’s prey flinched once again. Going in and out of consciousness for the past three hours, hands tied by thick barbed fence wires from across the field, the body slumped and hit the floor face down.
A malicious smile spread on Robin’s face.

Bloody bugger! Thought he could have me behind bars .In your dreams, pal-

A bolt of lightning whizzed through the gray night interrupting him. Something clicked in his mind. Aaah!
He now knew how he wanted to kill this one.

Grabbing the curtain rod he hauled it out of its holders. Its sharpness was still not up to his liking. He picked his coffee mug & took a sip of the steaming hot black coffee while deliberating over his weapon. He did not drink when he was on a mission and this was important.
Taking out his machete from his shining leather belt, tongue pulled between his front teeth, he started honing the rod ends. Minutes later he kicked the body in front of him. It trembled and stilled again.
Still not dead? You got guts, man. Good, you will need them.

He kneeled down in front of it and grazed the rod on a battered cheek. He took a deep breath, smell of fresh blood oozing out of the gash filling his nostrils. Ach! This red slimy stuff always brought him dizzy joy. And they say only liquor could make you euphoric. Liquor was damn expensive these days, but this…this was cheap, very cheap…and nasty. He gave a vicious roar of laughter.
Who’s the king? once again? And spat with all his vigor. In your face, loser!

Cocking his head to one side he appraised his prey. Suddenly the body stirred somehow sensing the inevitable. Becoming serious, Robin returned back to business. He wanted this body alive when he did what he was about to do. He stood and raised his hands griping the rod. He was about to pierce it through the body but he gasped. The rod slipped from trembling hands as Robin clutched his heart. Writhing in pain he fell on the body. Both the bodies squirmed and twisted around each other, their torrid breaths mingling. Spitting and panting their eyes locked on each other. Hearing the impatient huffing, one would think that a full-on make-out session was in progress.
It started raining outside and an hour later the cottage went silent.

Morning’s Daily read: “Underworld King-Robin died with a massive cardiac arrest after torturing the corrupt Coffee King to death”

The unknown shrugged.
Confused souls! At least now they should know who the king is, mused the Divine being.
Raising His coffee mug He offered a toast to flatter Himself. Any wonder the coffee mug read “Try me”?

***Check out other entries written for Magpie Tales #86 here .***

Monday, September 19, 2011

The Snake Charmer


The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907


Among the jasmine blooms
where woods are deep
my flute calls for surrender
to my four snakes
hope, love, joy and prosper
From the green lake
and murmuring hollows
twisting and turning
they come to me, helpless
at the lure of my tunes
But I have no venom
I’m a silky maiden
merely playing my pipe
on a cold night
when the moon whispers
fiery lust in the bushes
My words blush
so I play my flute
to swathe my naked desire
I turn into a snake charmer
not silently wooing
serpentine beings
but naively enticing
virile senses


~ET 19/09/2011



Written for Magpie tales #83.
Look out for write ups from other charmers here :)

Monday, September 5, 2011

A dry spell...


abandoned farm, Dublin, Ohio

Raking the stillness
I leant on hope
watching memory gravels
clogging my rusty desires
and I fell on a lost trail
wounding my pride.
I yearn for warmth
of a woolen caress
to smooth wrinkled needs.
I search sunshine
in the blazing wet spirits
burning my feisty soul
I hear a cough
from mislaid wishes
mowing at wry silence
I believe it is
a momentary interlude
trespassing my life
I trust it will pass
with the rolling wheel of time
into a new dawn
bringing shimmer of faith.

~ET 06/09/2011



Written for Magpie tales #81.I tampered with the brightness of the pic,my apologies! Do visit other takes on this prompt:)

Monday, August 22, 2011

Do people really change with time?


unidentified photo, found in a Missouri antique shop


as shared by Tess at Magpie tales


It was a hot July afternoon. Hitting the 3rd bottle of Heineken from ice box, he wiped sweat from his forehead on his upturned sleeve. What is it with summers? First you wait for them to come by and when they do, you can’t seem to wait for them to get over.

Okay Jeff! Just one more plank and the deal is over. Stop grumbling! He cuffed himself mentally.

Keeping the bottle aside, as he was working on the last plank he remembered summers weren’t always so grumpy. In fact, as a child he never felt the heat of it. Along with three of his friends he used to have a lot of fun in summers. They had their own Fantastic Four version, scooping around the small town looking for trouble. He grinned at the things they sometimes found out. Folks here were scared of them especially during summers when schools were off and the fantastic four were let loose. Moreover, July was a special month to him because it was his birthday month. He used to rule their group for an entire day with no school, no studies, lots of cake, many surprise gifts & just pure fun.

Lost in his thoughts, he hammered the nail by mistake on his thumb.
With an Ouch! and serious cursing he was brought back from flash back.
Silently appraising his work he jumped down the last tree step he just plugged in.

There! It looks good. It could use one more coat of paint.

He had been working on the tree house which the four of them had built and battered. All his friends long gone their separate ways were coming in town a week later and he wanted to give them a big surprise by bringing back some of their memories. He was considering about that paint job, rubbing at the back of his neck, when a car honked from behind him. It didn’t register him instantly that the honking was for him as he was spaced out again with his mind imagining the dumbfounded faces of his friends when they see their tree house again. Screeching tootle of the car then pierced through his thoughts and he winced as he turned around.

Surprise. Surprise. Surprise.

Three voices screamed simultaneously from the car.

Holy shit! What are you guys doing here? Jeff yelled as he ran towards the car.

Emma all but shrieked

Hap Hap Happy Birthday Jeffie boy!

Just the way she always used to wish him. Behind her Erick was smiling widely.
From the front seat, Ella whistled wolfishly.

Speechless as he saw his three friends beaming at him, he wondered did anybody ever get over their childhood?


***Written for Magpie Tales #79. Have a look and enjoy some refreshingly nice takes on the prompt!

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Such is life....


Image by Tess as

shared at Magpie tales

Jane stepped on the front porch of her little cottage. She hadn’t seen Robin all day, but she was too tired to think about her 5year old. Juggling her newborn, Kierra, from one hip to other she searched for the keys in her purse.

If only her husband was still alive, he would have been there with her all along.
In a moment of helplessness, soothing her restless baby, she dropped the keys on the door mat. Cursing under her breath, with every ounce of her strength she retrieved them.
Three bloody stitches, big ones all paining at the same time. How is somebody expected to manage them singlehandedly all at once was getting beyond her.
But she got Kierra out of it, she smiled.

She opened the door and stood for a whole minute to look around.
Where are you Robin? What are you up to?

Placing her bags by the door, trying to ignore her empty stomach, she went straight to Robin’s room. As expected he was not there.
She dragged herself to the adjacent room, once a parlor, was now turning into a store room. It was locked from inside. She knocked and called out.

Robin, are you in there? Mama’s home, sweetie.

Coming said a muffled voice.
The door slowly opened and she was spellbound.

All messed up, Robin was standing there and beaming at them. The room was painted with a big welcome note in wobbly words, for his kid sister. Sparkles on every free surface and a small table in the middle of the room with small candles and clumsily put together peanut-butter-lettuce sandwiches and baby bottle of milk and whole jug of lemonade.

Tears in her eyes, her faith in God rekindled!



Written for Magpie tales #78. Have a look at other lovely takes on the prompt.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Cold Summer Evening…


Summer Evening, Edward Hopper, 1947


It was happening, after months of waiting, it was happening.
She thought of the time she had patiently wasted. On him.
To adjust and to adapt to his whims and ways.
10 years, 2 months and 14 days, but who was counting?
And she was weak in math, but she managed the counting.

She could have been anywhere at this moment, enjoying a drink at
the pub down the street or having her shop in the countryside.
For crying out loud, she could have been happily married and would
have been enjoying a mid summer make out on the portico on a quiet farm.

But she was here, she had to be here.
How couldn’t she be here after spending so much time scheming to get to him?
She almost choked at her resentment.

Any minute, and she knew, he will kneel down and say it.
He will give her that warm knowing smile, waiting for her obvious yes.

But did she want this? Want him? After all this time?
After all her sacrifices?
She had to make a quick decision before he said those words.
And she made her choice, love for him overwhelmed her.

A hand on his heart, he said those words. Some words.
She was dumbstruck.

I am getting married. Waiting a beat. To your sister.
I finally asked her, today.
And he smiled.
She shivered.



Blind-folded or blind-fooled in love, she still remembered that mid-summer night.
******
Written for Magpie Tales #77. Thank you Tess, for that excellent prompt.


Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Hidden secrets

This one is for Magpie Tales. Have a look at the amazing takes on this prompt from fellow bloggers.





Image by Skip Hunt
as shared at
Magpie Tales



It was getting quite dark outside; she couldn’t see clearly through the mess.
She reached out for the last box and gave up. It was too dark to make out its contents.
With a grunt she stood up and searched for the switch.

It had to be somewhere around here.

Cursing a little, she started feeling her way through the clutter in her basement. Finally her hand hit the switch and light poured in the damp and dirty basement.

That’s when she saw the discarded rusty fan lying in the far corner of the room, on the floor. Along with the rust she saw the fan tinted with lot of yellow patches.
She went closer to get a better look at it.
Squinting, she picked it up. Scraping the little patch, she tried to smell it.

Hmm.
So this is where her jelly beans and orange gumdrops went. Her missing candies have been coming down here, been devoured by sticky-hands. She was sure the culprits were her 4 year old twins.

Boxes forgotten, she stomped her way up to the nursery.