Friday, February 24, 2017

Special Snowflake

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

Every snowflake is different. Yet they are crafted from the same elements:  ice crystals, water vapour and dust.  Ice crystals in hexagonal formations that morph into different shapes and sizes. 

To my family my brother’s birth meant the arrival of a much-awaited male heir.  Though we were crafted from the same cloth I was just a maid in waiting till the day he arrived.  The snowfall blanketing the earth in its white embrace that day added a magical moment to the family folklore.

Every snowflake is different.  In the end it was the addiction to ice that did him in.

Written for 
Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Wow a Friday Fictioneers post on a Friday, now thats something that doesn't happen all the time. 
 To get snowed in by other writers this week click here.  
Also a thanks in advance to the non-blogspot users who leave a comment.  Much appreciated.  And to those who don't, come on over to the dark side  ;-)

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Lunar Tick


Hollow brains said the old man and coughed.

He sat there in front of me drooling.  I’ve been chasing him for decades hitting jackpot before my retirement.

If you could cast your mind back sir to the day your partner went missing.  

That day! He spits the words out with venom. 

New evidence has traced your DNA on the bottle found at the site.   We know you did it.

Evidence! She kept going on about the man on the moon.  Dem flags don’t ripple in space.  Gave me a bottle to celebrate and I cracked it open on her head.

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

It's Monday today and my flight is late.  Time to quickly throw in a Friday Fictioneers entry and be the lucky last :-)   To read the timely entries by other writers this week click here.  

Wednesday, February 08, 2017


In his sleep he dreams that he is by the water’s edge.  The cool breeze fans his face and he hears the gentle gurgling sound of the water lapping by the shore.

But why does his head feel so hot and his feet damp?

His eyes open groggily adjusting to the bright light.

He is on a chair strapped by a rope in a python like embrace.  The feet are submerged in water and his shoes soaked.

Distant laughter echoes in his ears.  As his eyes scan the shore he sees them waving.

"Bastards,” he swears, "I’ll get you too".

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Lately I have been missing the FF's deadline due to travel and work.   So this is a relatively early bird entry for me.   While fictional it does draw from pranks that may have occurred in boarding school and school camps.   I would never do anything like this ;-) To wade in and read the other writers this week click here.  

Friday, January 13, 2017

Tracking Your Heart


To go on a journey you have to leave a place behind.

Hark back to the station at the start of a trip.  Hands held, promises made, bound by common memories and yet you have to go.

Fly away said the bird to the chick, flap your wings hard, soar and succeed.   The eyes that watched you grow, the hands that moulded you, are now setting you free.

You embrace that freedom.  You follow the tracks, find new paths, the tracks diverge, merge, cross bridges and you hang on for the ride.

Yet you return.  Love always brings you back.

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Our parents guide us, show us the way and then once we have grown they let us go.  I am beginning to slowly realise how that works.  In memory of my father-in-law who passed away in this week.  To read the other writers this week click here.  

Thursday, January 05, 2017

The Gift

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

The child gazed at the reclusive prince sitting under the Peepul tree. The villagers washed his feet and offered him food.

They sat mesmerised as the enlightened one spoke in a tranquil voice explaining Dharmachakra or the Wheel of Righteous Duty. 

The child fell asleep and on waking, he saw the grown-ups offering bhiksha to the departing Buddha. He had nothing yet consumed by love he gathered dust in his two little hands as an offering.

Smiling serenely Buddha accepted the child’s offering and blessed him.

He never saw the master again but the fragrance of his memory stayed forever.


Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

I start this year with the recount of a legend around the ancient Indian emperor Ashoka.

The story was told in the Ashokavadana ("Narrative of Ashoka"). It is believed that Buddha prophesied about the birth of Ashoka, in the story of the 'Gift of Dust'.

Baroness Helen Giskra, Baltimore [date and mode of acquisition unknown]; Walters Art Museum, 1949, by gift. 

To read how the wheel turned for the the other writers this week click here.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Farewell Princess

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

I am hiding in the shadows when she taps my back.

"You're a jittery little thing, aren't you?"

Palpitating I respond, “The last thing I need is getting caught by Jabba the Hutt”.

We snicker at the thought.

“What next Princess? They are going to skin us alive if they catch us”.

She looks at me disdainfully.

“I don’t know where you get your delusions laser brain, just make a run for it.”

She is gone now but I still remember that time when we broke the rules to watch a movie.

Farewell Princess may the force be with you.


Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Some of the words in this story come from the Princess Leia quotes from the Star War movies.

Another year of Friday Fictioneers comes to an end.  A year where life and work got into the way a little more than usual.   But I am glad for the escape that the Fictioneers provides and the chance to write.

 To read the other writers this week click here.  

Stay safe, have a great new year and may the force be with you.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Heart Burn

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

That’s my uncle, mouth full and mid way through his meal. 

It’s also the day the diner has its legendary all you can eat buffet.  From a mound of meat to homemade pastas, ceviche, soups; and soufflés baked to order. 

This was supposed be a relationship advice session but all I hear is the sound of mastication.

I haven’t had a proper meal since she walked out.   The smell is irresistible and I find myself savouring every bite.

He nods approvingly, “it’s your own heart that needs to heal first”.

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

A story about food and love? Surely it needs a song by Bread

 To savour what the other writers have been cooking up this week click here.