Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Paper Boat.

Image Credits: www.superbwallpapers.com






When I was smaller,
I would go out and play
In the rain, with a
Small boat of paper
I would make myself.
I still remember
How I used to call my friends out
Whenever we heard the tap
Of raindrops against the window;
"Make a wish," they would say,
So I would.
Then I would set my paper person
Inside my paper boat
And hope
That my paper person would go
To see far-off lands,
As I watched my paper boat
Sail away, past
The weeds and the rabbit-holes,
The rain and my troubles would melt,
With a beautiful paper rainbow taking their place.


~Vruta Gupte.

Wednesday, 15 April 2015

Wide Awake.




Corpuscles of light flying
From our laser guns
As we fire
At the invading aliens
Stuck in space
Gliding untethered
Towards a ball of rain
It looks like fire, red sand
Houston, there's still a problem
But it's not one we can fix
I realize as they cut off
Our communication systems
That they never meant
To keep us alive
We are
Just puppets
In their extraordinarily advanced
Hands
We have to save our oxygen tanks
And the spaceship
We have to save the ISS
Before they take it away
Forever
They stop us
They never meant to let us go
Houston, they are coming.
It is only when we are threatened
With the possibility of
Eternal sleep
That we are
Wide awake.




~Vruta Gupte.


Sunday, 12 April 2015

Strange.



Why 
Are we here
In this city
With its big, sparkly, neon
Artificiality
When we could be
Sleeping
Underneath the stars
And the quiet moon
Why
Do we measure
Time, if it only serves
To destroy us
It will deal cards of misery
If we do not use it
The way the others are
We are delusional, thinking watches
Are more important than our lives
Why
Must we ridicule
If we are imperfect
And if each
Is perfect within himself
To a fault
Why
Do we concentrate on what could
Have been
Instead of what is
But reality is too hurtful, too
Intense for our liking
Which is
Why
We live in our dream worlds,
Wondering when this world
Will take notice of us, which is
Why
It is strange 
That we have come so far
It is strange 
That we are not yet numb
It is strange
That we have still hope
It is strange
That we have been through
So much, even though it is
Insignificant in the scale of the universe
It is strange
How we believe the universe
Cannot exist without an observer
We are so naïve, and yet
So wise
It is strange
How our lives are so fraught with suffering
But when we die, we remember only the good parts
Why
Do we think we are strange
We are human.


~Vruta Gupte.





Thanks for reading!  If you like this, please check this out: My Own Writing.
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See y'all on the next post!

Sunday, 29 March 2015

Gold Rush!

I wrote this four days ago.  Hope y'all like it!


Image Credits: http://www.incrediblesnaps.com


GOLD RUSH!

The whistle blows, it blows, gun fire,
You run as fast as you can,
Looking not behind you,
But at the five runners in
Front of you;
You must beat them, beat them!
One fell -- luck favoured you.
The second -- you might not --
He looks back, grimaces,
Runs faster, losing breath, swears,
Bends down, adrenaline
In the air,
You can do it -- gaze fixated, you can, you will;
Crowds cheering, some jeering, lose not your nerve,
Four to go, hang in there -- run,
Run!
Second lap, whistle sounds, the crowd

On their feet
You cannot let them down, down
The third one goes.
"Look at that one fly!"
The second still fighting to be first,
He doesn't see you streak past him,
Until after;
First one looks behind him, a hint
Of panic; you see a chance -- seize it!
Nothing stops you -- faster!
Gold.

Tuesday, 24 March 2015

The Wall: Part Four

For Part One, click here.
For Part Two, click here
For Part Three, click here



She sat huddled in a corner. The day's events had drained the life out of her--she laughed sadly. How ironic, she thought, that this thought should occur to her mere hours after being told that she was immortal. 

The boys had asked her to stay with them, and she had agreed wholeheartedly. She couldn't see why she should not have.  She needed friends now that she knew she was going to be stuck here for the rest of her life anyway. 

“Rose," her father had said to her once, when she was smaller, “Be good to everyone you meet, because the countries of the world are taking up arms against each other, and might be at war with each other very soon. By then, it will be too late to apologize for past wrongs.  Be kind." The tears had dried on her cheeks.

And her brother, two years older than her, he was her rock, her guide, she would go to him when she wanted to talk about her troubles at school, or things she thought her parents would not enjoy hearing.  He humoured her even when she could tell he didn't find her words very interesting.  Where was he now? Was he even--no! She would not allow herself to think--she must be strong.

Now she allowed her thoughts to drift towards her present condition. Really, the High Council had no right to change them, much less this fundamentally. Then there was also the off chance that they were lying.

How was she to know? There was no way for her to find out stuck in this stupid bunker.  Of course, there was no other alternative really, now that the Earth was ridden with nuclear radiation from the--oh, yes, there'd been a war, too. She shook her head. After all these years of living peacefully--although they had seen the war coming, given the tension between certain countries--it was still very sad that humans had chosen to end this way.

But her mother had said that after a great fall, there was almost always a great triumph.
She'd been careful to remember the ‘almost'.

Was it possible, however remotely, that they would go home sometime?

Home.

The word stung.  She took a deep breath of the artificially purified air.  Everything was artificial here.  Except intelligence. Humans had learned not to mess with robots after the Fall of 2020, and that was enough to stop them from building advanced humanoids ever again. Now it was just machines--vacuum cleaners, computers, ACs. Innovation in the technological sector had been stalled for years after that, or so the governments said.

Of course, if they had found a way for humans to stay immortal, they wouldn't run around with banners proclaiming it.

Funnily enough, they still hadn't found a cure for cancer. That would have been on the news. 

She tried to stop the morbid thoughts racing through her mind, but there was nothing else she could think about except her family, and where they were, and other questions she had no answers to.







(To be continued...)

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

The Wall: Part Three

“Quick, get Rose."

“Two times in one day? That's weird."

The boys huddled together, facing the screen, waiting for Rajesh to come back with Rose, listening inattentively to the woman asking her assistant to spray that Everlastant thing in the room. Finally they saw Rajesh and Rose running towards them, out of breath.

The woman was apparently angry at her assistant for letting the flowers in the vases dry up, but the boys couldn't have cared less.

“Hide her," Peter whispered urgently, “Or make her sit on the other side of the screen, where they can't see her, that'll work. Rose, if you will--"

“Ahem, may I have your attention, please?" The woman coughed as she adjusted the notebook on her lap.

“The High Council has to tell you something very important regarding your... stay... here."

“So the High Council is finally talking to us after days of requesting an audience, eh?" a blond-haired boy called Brandon muttered. A few of the guys laughed.

Another screen materialized out of thin air; it flickered to life. Eleven men and women sat around a table in hard, wooden chairs.

A smallish woman wearing a lime green cardigan and a pink skirt (oh, she looks positively ravishing, thought Rajesh sarcastically) cleared her throat and began speaking in a manner that made her look quite constipated.

“As you are all aware," she said in her nasal, British voice, “this meeting was called to inform you of the circumstances under which you have been living all this time." 

She took a deep breath, gasping for air.

“Most of the human race has been destroyed by the outbreak of a nuclear war." The other High Councillors bowed their heads at this sentence.

“Now, since you all must be wondering, this is a bunker flooded with sunlight that is gradually dimmed, then evening is simulated, and then at night we need only turn all the lights off, creating the illusion of a full day.  Of course it would not be possible to house you aboveground as that is in perpetual darkness because of all the radiation and debris. It is with great effort we have managed to keep the air here breathable, with comfortable temperatures." She coughed before continuing.

“The High Council has devised a plan to ensure the continuity of the human race." She looked at a middle aged man sitting at the centre of the table, who nodded solemnly.

“We have made all the people residing in such bunkers immortal, and none of you will try to get out. It is for your own good. We regret to inform you that you are the only surviving members of the human race."

There was an eerie silence for a few moments after that. Every passing second felt like hours. 

And then there was pandemonium. A few of the Council members shot themselves, crumpling to the floor. They promptly jumped to their feet two seconds later. Chaos reigned long after the High Councillors had stopped talking. They had set their screen to Public Address so that the people in all the bunkers could hear them.

People were screaming, crying for their families. To live long was a blessing, but to live forever without your loved ones was a curse. The human race had long since understood the grief that came with immortality, through mere speculation alone. The fact that they had to live the rest of their lives here did not help.

“Shall I?" The woman asked the man in the centre, moving briskly towards a lever in the middle of a panel of red buttons. He nodded.  She pushed the lever down.

They heard a faint buzzing, clicking sound, and then nothing.

Peter rubbed the wetness out of his eyes and looked around at Rajesh--he had tear tracks running down his cheeks. Quentin was sobbing into Winston's shoulder, who was staring into space with a blank expression, as if he hadn't yet registered the High Council's words. Kurt fiddled with his hands, the way he had when he was nervous at school. Brandon rocked back and forth on his feet.
He looked at Rose. She had her head between her knees, and she was shaking.


And he had nothing to say to her.

*


(To be continued...)

Monday, 2 March 2015

The Wall: Part Two.

Hello, everyone. The Wi-Fi has been down for quite some time, and I don't know when it'll be back, which is why I hadn't been posting much lately. 

Anyway, this is the second part of my story called ‘The Wall'. Hope y'all like it! 

The Wall: Part Two

“The High Council requests an audience." A woman's shrill voice perforated the silence.

“Yeah, right, like you need to tell us that every time you come in anyway, ever-present so-called High Council," Ned grunted.

The boys sniggered, and glanced up at the screen that had materialized out of thin air in front of them.  

The woman sighed and inhaled deeply. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Nayla, would you spray some Everlastant around here? I can't believe this room was used only yesterday. Oh, and bring in some fresh flowers from the gard--"

“Hey, lady, just bloody get on with it, will you?! We don't have all d--"

“The High Council will NOT tolerate the use of swear words--"

“YOU AND YOUR BLOODY COUNCIL CAN GO TO HELL! NOW TELL US WHAT TO DO WITH THE GIRL!" Kurt shouted into the microphone. 

The woman was shell-shocked, and still staring at the boys with wide eyes, took out a black spiral notebook and scribbled something down.  
But she recovered quickly.

“The High Council will tell you that. I am not authorized to."

“Then why art thou 'ere, eh?" a boy with jet black hair and green eyes smirked. She was scribbling furiously. ‘Uses arcane words...'. Presently she looked up.

“I was merely told to... request you not to hurt the girl."

“'Course we won't," this time it was Peter, the oldest, who spoke. “But tell us why."

“She is very important. That is all I can tell you."

“And us? What about us, why are we here?" 

“The High Council will tell you that." And the screen went black.  

“That was a very informative conversation. Jeez, why don't they just tell us everything?"

“D'you think we should go ask the girl? She might know."

“Yeah, I think so too. They never said anything about not talking to her. I'll go." 

He got up to his feet, his tall frame rising like a shadow out of the darkness. A gentle breeze blew his dark brown hair into his eyes, and he frowned. He saw a door before him, and knocked softly.

“Can I come in?"

Inside, the girl's head snapped up. Her eyes widened in surprise. 

“Yes."

He opened the door. The girl sat huddled in a dark corner (well, almost everything was dark here) and she was looking at him; her sea-green eyes had a tortured and haunted look in them. She was beautiful, different... magnetic. But she would look more beautiful if she were smiling.

“Hey," he said gently.  

She was still staring at him intently. Gosh, those eyes, he thought. They reminded him of Maui, where he'd been on vacation a few....months... or years ago. He didn't quite remember.

“Why am I here?" the girl asked him fiercely. She hadn't looked like that much of a fighter when he'd led her back to that room that day when she tried to escape. But then, some people never fail to surprise you. 

“To be honest, I have no idea. I think all of us were sent here a few months ago. There seems to be no way to escape, since after you tried to get out, some kind of alarm went off, and we got a call from the High Council after that, telling us to...er...keep a closer watch on you."

“Oh," she said simply. Then she asked, “We?"

“Me and the other guys they sent here with me."

“Really? I haven't heard anything from outside."

“Maybe this room is insulated or something, I don't know." 

They didn't talk for a while, each staring off into different directions.

“Don't you get bored in here?"

“Not really. You learn to live with your thoughts once you realize you're alone."

“Would you mind if I came to see how you're doing more often? 'Cause it must be pretty bad staying in here with nothing to do, and no one to talk to."

“Oh, I wouldn't mind. A little light in this endless darkness wouldn't hurt."

“....I remember reading that somewhere..."

“It's from a book by Spruce McHall, called Desparado."

“...Oh, yeah, now I remember. ‘The human tendencies to cling to another human, in times of loneliness, when normally it would not be appropriate, are fascinating.' That was a good book." 

“Indeed it was."

He looked at her. She looked at him, trying to remember if she had seen him before. And then she smiled.  

He got up and walked to the door. He stopped.

“What's your name?"

“Rose. What's yours?"

“Peter." 
He left.

She remembered where she had seen him. The memory was not very pleasant. Before she'd been sent here, she had once known a boy named Jason. Jason Domiguez. He'd been after her for ages. Her eyes were hypnotizing, he'd said. There were days of passing notes in class, and phone calls in the nights, but she wasn't crazy. She'd seen the signs one day. Although dating at her age was normally not advisable, and you weren't really expected to be very committed to someone, Jason Domiguez was cheating on her, she just knew it. And she wasn't going to allow that. 

So she decided that the next day she would tell him she didn't want to date him anymore. She would use the it's-not-you-it's-me tactic, the I'm-just-not-ready tactic, and he would have no choice but to let her go.

That was where Peter had come in. She'd known him for a few days before that. Apparently Domiguez had been bragging about his various exploits to his friends, too, the slimy git. Peter had had enough character to actually come and tell her. For that, he'd gotten into trouble. The next thing she knew, Peter was in the hospital with a broken nose. It had been bleeding when he'd come and told her, so she was surprised he hadn't gone to the school nurse first. Domiguez was suspended for causing physical harm to a fellow student for two weeks, Peter changed schools because his father had got a job somewhere, and so she was never able to thank him properly. Yet here he was, of all places and times to be in, with her. Fate worked in strange ways.


“Oi, guys, he's back," Kurt called out to the rest of the boys as he watched Peter walking towards them. He raised his eyebrows. Peter shook his head. 

The guys sat down in a circle waiting for lunch, which was flown here by helicopters from who knows where. 

“So how'd it go?" Winston asked.

“She doesn't know anything. The first thing she asked me was why she was here. She says she's okay, but she looks kinda lonely in there. I've been thinking we should invite her to the Council Meetings."

“But those are, like, random. Pop up outta nowhere at the worst possible time." 

“Hmm..."

They heard a whirring sound right above them. The helicopter dropped their food packets in the centre of their circle.

“I fink we shid let 'er shtay with us," Ned volunteered through a mouthful of food after some time.

“What?! But she's--" one of the younger guys (his name was Quentin, but he said everyone called him Q) started, but stopped abruptly when he got dark looks from everyone around him. 
He realized most of the guys were older than him, and probably did want a girl around, if only for variety.

All the boys looked back interestedly at Ned. 

A tense silence followed.

“Okay, I'll ask her tomorrow," Kurt said, opening his own sandwich bag hurriedly.

“I'll go," Peter mumbled. He stared off into the distance, at the high walls that were surrounding them. A light bulb had just gone off in his head a few moments ago. He knew where he'd seen her. He'd been trying to--‘save' would be the right word here, he thought-- her from Jason, a fair-weather friend who became even more unfriendly after he'd told him off for cheating on yet another of his ‘catches'. He remembered that conversation as if it had happened yesterday.

“Aw, dang, Pete, remember I was telling you about that chick I saw at the park? I think she likes me," and then after a pause, “I think I like her too, man. I took her for a drive a few weeks ago, and almost every day after that, and, well, we....talk."

“Jason, you have a girlfriend who is in love with you."

“Yeah, I know, but did you ever catch me in love with a girl? I don't play for keeps, man."

“If Rose finds out, you're screwed."

“I know. But it's not like you're gonna tell her, is it."

“It just might slip out sometime."

“Dude, what the hell? All these times you never said anything and now you're all--"

“ She's a nice girl, you shouldn't do this to her!"

“ What's in it for you?" And then slowly a look of comprehension dawned on his face, and he punched Peter in the nose without warning.

“OUCH! JASON, YOU S--"

“YOU'VE BEEN SEEING HER BEHIND MY BACK, HAVEN'T YOU? WHAT'VE YOU BEEN TELLING HER?! YOU MORON!"

“Jason, just listen to me, I haven't been seeing anyone--"

“SHUT UP, MAN! JUST SHUT UP!" and Jason had stalked off without a word. Peter's nose was bleeding, and his insides felt on fire. Hurt and revenge burned through his veins. He was going to tell Rose. Now.



“Hey, Peter, everything okay?" He snapped out of his reverie. 

“Yeah, just... yeah, I'm fine."

“Dude, you looked like you were gonna kill someone," Winston said, eyeing him cautiously.

He snorted. “I just remembered where I'd met Rose before." The boys scooted to face him.

“Rose?" 

“The girl." 

“Ah, so you guys are on first-name basis already, huh?" Rajesh Subramaniam (his aunts from India all called him ‘Raj' or ‘Mani', so certain someones in his eighth grade class-- before he'd moved to the U.S., had insisted on fusing the two, and from then on his nickname was ‘Rani', which was not a very masculine nickname to have) ventured slyly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Peter rolled his eyes. “My friend was cheating on her."

“And you, being an immensely moral being, could not tolerate that." Ned grunted.

He chuckled. “No, I couldn't, so I told her exactly what he was doing--"

“So let me get this straight. You just decided to save her from your friend, AND lose your friend, AND make her see you as an older brother." Rajesh interrupted, ticking each point off on his fingers as he went.

“Hah! Buuuuurn!" Several of the boys chorused. Apparently saying burn was still cool. 

“--You'd have done it too, if you knew what he was doing," he countered in mock anger.

“Chill, man, we were just messin' with ya. But really, it was that bad?" 

Peter recounted the story of how Jason had given him a bloody nose, and was surprised to learn that Jason had been suspended for a few weeks after that. 

“How did these guys know we'd been fighting?"

“Dude, everyone knew-after word got around that Jason was suspended, that is. Anything to do with Rose, and the whole school knows about it. Come to think of it, she must've been the one to tell them. Gee, you guys would make a pretty good team, y'know? Like vigilantes out to end the Reign of Terror of The Slimy Cheating Undeserving Boyfriends." Rajesh answered.

Everyone laughed. A few slapped Rajesh on the back. “You're a smart kid, you know that?" Winston said, snorting. 

“I got all ‘A's on my end of year exams, dude. First in my class." Rajesh said nonchalantly. But he was smiling.

“The High Council requests an audience."


*










Thursday, 26 February 2015

Look! (A Poem)

Look!

Look at the night
Starry, beautiful
Orbs twinkling in the darkness
Like hope flickers in the heart of
The despairing man
So silently.
Look at the way
The moonlight cuts through
The lace curtains, in
Shafts, snow-white, dancing
In the breeze
Ever-changing.
Look at the girl,
Sitting in her chair,
Writing, never ceasing, filling
Pages and pages,
In her unenvied hand
Stories from lands far away,
Trickling from hands stained blue with ink,
To yellowed paper no one will see.
Look at the man,
Laughing with his sister,
His smile never was more joyous
Their last time together
Before he goes away in the fall.
Look at the endless sky,
Look up, and marvel
At the possibilities,
Look within, you will find
Your greatness.
But it is late now, and the night must sleep,
So she will fade into oblivion,
Taking secrets  with her
And then the dawn will come
To take her place,
Look, the sun will rise.

Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Types Of Farts

WARNING: This post may contain objectionable material.  If you are under fourteen years of age, please ask a parent or a guardian before reading it.  (Well, it's probably not that objectionable...Hmmm...just read the title and decide whether you really want to read it.)  And if you like it, I dare you to sing it to your own tune, record it, mix it with some background music, and play it over the P.A. system of the nearest mall.  

Or maybe not.  You decide.  If you are going to do the mall thing, though, try not to get into trouble.  And I want credits, too, because this is gonna be huge.

Anyway, here goes.

TYPES OF FARTS 

Once upon a time
I had to write a rhyme
And I didn't know where to start,
So I thought it's pretty cool
It could make y'all peeps drool
If I write one about how we fart.

Three kinds of farts
One is just like a dart
It rips into the air suddenly
Its smell is kinda sharp
And it sounds like a harp
(But it's not the very best in quality.)

The next one, mind,
Is the silent smelly kind.
Make sure you don't wander too close
It reeks of methane 
Enough to drive you insane
Like a serious Sleeping Draught overdose.
(Harry Potter reference!)

The third one's better
But it's definitely louder
Than the ones I've mentioned above
And even though it's not exactly
Our biggest, hugest fantasy
It's the one we (almost) love!
('Cause it don't smell.)

And if by some misfortune
That's not really opportune
You happen to chance upon one of these,
Don't stay around long,
Just start singing this song,
And make me famous--please!

(Ew, what's that smell?)

~Vruta Gupte


If you like this and want to check out more of my funnier (and serious) stories or poems, please click here!  Thank you for reading!

Two Friends: Part One

She sat beside me on the park bench we'd sat on for so many years.  Since we were eleven, to be precise.

Let me give you a brief idea about how we met.

So she was building this tree house in her backyard. (Her family has an apple tree. How cool is that?)  And-- you guessed it-- she asked me to help her. Me, a bespectacled, nerdy, lanky nine year old who looked like he hadn't played a day in his life-- helping her, the most beautiful girl on the planet. (I don't think she cared about the not-played-a- day-in-my-life part back then, though. She wasn't half as smart then as she is now. Or maybe she cared, but she acted like she didn't.)  Our ‘tree house' was basically a roof made out of sticks atop a floor made out of sticks with no walls in between. Very comfortable. (I'm kidding.) And it wasn't exactly on the tree. It was on the grass, so technically it should've been called a grass house-- but that doesn't sound as inviting.

So anyway, we named it Veronica's and Andre's Little Treehouse. Veronica. What a  beautiful name. No one understands me like she does, and I love her, and that only makes it worse to be with her.
Y'know, accelerated heartbeat, sweaty palms, sweaty forehead, incoherent mumbled speech, that sorta thing. Butterflies. All that.

She doesn't know yet.

I don't even know if she likes me. She talks about that other guy, Cory, a lot. I, personally, would not stand within a five-yard radius of that douche (sorry, couldn't help it). You should see the way he talks to her.  Unfortunately, on this twisted geoid that is the Earth, all girls fall for jerks and the nice guys are left behind.

Sometimes I wonder if my parents named me Andre because they specifically didn't want any girl to be the... person... of my affections (I don't like saying object, it sounds impersonal).
I can tell Veronica likes saying my name for some weird reason, though. Most girls don't know how to.  They say “And-ray" when it's actually “Aand-re" with the “re" like it is in “in re".

I know, very simple.

Anyway, after building that tree house, we did spend quite a lot of time inside it, even though it used to get all itchy after some time. Then we used to go get some cream and rub it all over ourselves. And then we used to go sit in the tree house. Again. Because some things you just can't let go of.

The tree house became too small for us to sit in as we grew older, so we graduated to the park bench, and we've been coming to sit here and talk as often as our schedules permit.

We used to hang out every day, but soon both of us had other things to look after.  She had her boyfriends, and I had my girlfriends.  A few of my exes broke up with me because they thought I spent too much time with her.  To their credit, I did, mostly.

We're both nineteen now.  I'm only a few months older than her, so I'm going to stop being a teenager earlier than she is.

Wow, that's depressing.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?"

“Wha-? Oh, nothing much, really."

“C'mon, Andre."

“Just about our birthdays. About how I'm gonna be twenty before you are.  It's a little unnerving."

She laughed that tinkly laugh of hers.
“And what about all the other birthdays you had before this? You didn't look this, um.... bad before any of them." She cocked her head to one side.

“Thanks, Veronica," I groaned.

She softened a little. “No, but all jokes aside, I'm serious. I have never, in my ten years of knowing you, seen you as dejected as this.  What's wrong?"

“I came home way after curfew last night, and do you know what my father did? He's grounded me for three weeks now, and I have to be home by nine now."

“This is a new development. What'd you do?"

“Nothing, I was just wandering around town with.... with, um, Mike and Cory and all those guys."

“You ran off with Cory, of all people? No wonder your dad was mad at you!"

“Just to make things clear, run off with sounds a little weird, and the last time I checked, Cory McHall was your boyfriend."

“I honestly don't even like him, Andre. I was just with him because I didn't want him to try anything on me. That stupid spoiled brat. I'm surprised he even graduated from high school in the first place."

“You know, if some of his gang happens to be hiding in those bushes right now, they're gonna rat you out real bad."

“Oh, don't worry about that, he already knows."

“What?"

“I broke up with him two days ago."

“Really? Why?"

“ He's too narrow minded to understand that you and I are just friends. What part of just friends did he not understand?" Veronica was positively fuming now.


*


(To be continued...)

Monday, 19 January 2015

The Wall: Part One

The Wall: Part One

Photo Credits: www.wikipedia.org and myself.


She stood in the darkness, alone, cold, and pale.  She wondered who was coming to get her out of this hellhole.

But nobody knew she was here.

They had taken her, taken and fled.  Then they had left her.  Alone, in the darkness.  There was no window in the room.  The room itself had a stone floor.  It was not warm.  The door had a dog flap; they gave her food through it.
She didn't know who they were.  She had given up asking questions a long time ago.  She never saw a hand give her food through the flap--only a plate entering.  They gave her water to drink in a small, sealed bag.

She had tried to escape once, but the alarm had gone off.  She had run outside, but she had seen only bright white light, and nothing else.
Nothing to figure out where they were, or where she was.
Nothing but piercing white light that made her think she was surely going to be blind.  But she had slowly inched forward regardless, and she had felt--bricks.  She did not open her eyes; she couldn't.  So she ran her hand along the bricks.
It had felt like a brick wall of some sort.

Then she had felt a pair of arms dragging her towards the room.  She did not struggle, she had nowhere to go.
She had been here for so long, she didn't remember anything about the world outside.

And now she had felt that wall.

Why were they keeping her inside?  Who were they?  What did they want from her?  Where was she?
Was something wrong with her?

Or was something wrong outside?



(To be continued...)





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Saturday, 10 January 2015

Jack of All vs. Master of One (Survival Showdown)

Disclaimer: No offence is intended to any individual, community, religion, or profession.  Any resemblance to the person(s) and/or objects mentioned in this post is purely coincidental.

I woke up this morning and was meditating upon (amongst some of my other morbid and ghastlier thoughts) what would happen if the zombie apocalypse came a little earlier than expected.  (If you were wondering, if it does happen tomorrow, we're all fried, of course, because you wouldn't have had a chance to actually think about the things I've written about in this post.)

And then, I thought about my chances of surviving (close to 0.1 percent; don't ask me how I know that).  If I were a different kind of person, would I have better chances of surviving?  Then again, in the end, would it really matter what kind of person you are if you have to survive the zombie apocalypse?

'Cause when the zombies come, they won't come in bits and pieces, first in one city, then a state, a country--when the zombies come, all of them will come.

No second chances.  It's either us, or them.  (Although I fail to understand why zombies would want to take over the world anyway, seeing as how they're already dead, and they have graves to live in.)

In the midst of all this chaos inside my brain, one question stuck with me: would it be better if I knew a little bit about everything, or a whole lot about one thing?

Instead of making this just about me, let's make this about everybody.

Case in Point: Jack of All Trades (A Little Bit of Everything)

Let's say you can sew, cook, read, write, juggle, shoot (a gun), program stuff (only a bit, pun intended), solve algebraic inequations (but not the hard ones), know a little Spanish (uno dos tres quatro--that kinda stuff), throw an axe (or knife, whichever you prefer), play basketball (but you're not on the team), and just know a little bit about everything else in general.


You live in a cottage in the countryside that has only the bare minimum supplies: wood, ropes, an axe, water, a bathroom (can't see how that's very useful, 'cause when the zombies come, we'll all pee in our pants anyway), some bread, blueberries, and an iPhone (just kidding).  Also, your cottage has a fireplace.

You hear the zombies knock on your door.  You are taken by surprise (or not).  You look out the window, and you see five of 'em ruddy creatures.  You can't run, there's no back door.

The zombies enter your room.

You're a moderately good actor, so you act all friendly with the zombies--

"Yo, wassup, dude? You want some sandwiches?"

"Man, we came here for you, not yer stupid sandwiches."  The zombies step towards you, sneering menacingly.  You still haven't peed in your pants, which is a good sign (and very favourable), since zombies are most likely to be attracted to the scent of pee.

You realize you have ten seconds to act (because zombies aren't Edward from Twilight and probably won't be ultra-fast).

You grab a burning log of wood from the hearth and swing it all around yourself.  In the process, you accidentally on purpose set fire to one zombie.  The remaining zombies step away from you.  You throw an axe at one, chopping something off, pour water over another (she literally melts).  Now one zombie has your axe and is pursuing you but you quickly step behind the other zombie so he gets hurt instead.

The one zombie who made the mistake of taking your axe from you runs away.

Then, you take everything and run away because you realize he's probably gone to get reinforcements.


Ergo: You survive, mission accomplished.


Case in Point: Master of One (A Lot of One Thing)

Let's say you are very extraordinary at music, and you play the cello every day.  You are moderately good, bordering on bad, at nearly everything else.  You have wood, ropes, an axe, water, a bathroom, some bread, and blueberries.


You see five zombies outside your window.  You start playing Pachelbel's Canon.  The zombies fall asleep.  You sneak out the front door, leaving your cello behind and taking only those supplies that will keep you alive.

Take another case.  You are extraordinary at science, this time.  I think it's a given you'll survive, since you're able to think logically and find a solution to every problem.

(Ergo: You survive.)

Suppose you are extraordinary at writing.


Now somebody tell me what the hell I should do, because I see five zombies outside my window.

Wednesday, 7 January 2015

Carnival: Part Three

This is Part Three of Carnival.
For Part One of Carnival, click here.
For Part Two of Carnival, click here.



He parked his bike a few shops down the street, not wanting Laura to notice him coming—he'd heard Mr. Marlon saying she'd come back yesterday, so she would still be in the store.  In the back of the store, he hoped, so he wouldn't have to face her.

He opened the door slowly, staring at the floor.

“Hello, good morn—oh, it's you,” Laura said, blushing, “Haven't seen you in a while.”  
He looked up.

“Yeah, me neither.  You, I mean.” 

He groaned inwardly at his foolishness; Laura chuckled.

“What brings you here this late in the afternoon?  Weren't you painting, or anything?”

“No, I—I was, but then I wanted to—I discovered one of my paintings was missing,” Robin mumbled, wondering if he should have said that.

“I—er—I should probably tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“The....painting?  The one with all the snow in it? I....I'd stolen it.”

What? Why?” He asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“I'm sorry, Robin, but it was just there, and—I, er, really liked it,” her voice became smaller and smaller as she said the last few words.

He inhaled deeply, thinking about how he should respond.  He knew he should tell her he had her diary, but she probably knew that anyway.  Even so—

“Oh, well, it's not a problem, really.  You can keep it if you want,” her face lit up in a smile.
“But on one condition.” Her smile faltered.

“What's that?”

“You write a story for me like the ones in your diary.”

“You read it!  Did you....did you like the stories?”

“I did, I loved all of them.  Especially the last one.” Robin answered, clearing his throat a little, hoping she would get the hint.  His palms were sweating.  He wiped them on the front of his jeans, took the note out of his pocket and gave it to her.  

“I need you to read this—not now—after I leave; and if you...” he phrased his sentence carefully in his head, “if you....like it, you...can come meet me near the park fountain at eight?” He raised his eyebrows tentatively.

“Okay.” she said, smoothing out the crumpled paper, careful not to tear it into tiny shreds.

“Alright, see you later then.  Nice seeing you after so many days.”

Laura laughed; the sound was beautiful, and it reminded him of the creek where Rita and Jason met in Carnival.  “You make it sound like we've met each other after a year!”

“Hey Laura, you wanna commack and help me sort the Fizzlies in this box instead of talking to that boyfriend of yours, eh?” Robin jumped at least a foot into the air, out of pure shock alone—he hadn't known Mr. Marlon was there in the back.  His face felt hot; he looked up and saw that Laura's face was pink, too.

“Er—I guess I should go, then--” he began.

“Oh, well.  Here,” Laura tossed him a green apple flavoured lollipop from a carton.

“He won't mind?”

She laughed.  “Of course not, Robin!”  She lowered her voice to a whisper.  “I've nicked a whole lot of them myself, and he hasn't noticed—yet.”  And with that, she turned on her heel and marched to the storage room.

Robin smirked, then ducked out of the door into the sunned, crisp air outside.  He'd never known this side of Laura, sure, she was funny, but she had always been about thoughts and ideas, not people and, well—mischief.  Mischief.  It was a rather absurd way to think of her.


*



In the storage room, Laura waited anxiously for Mr. Marlon to go get his tea, or at least go to the bathroom, so she could read the note Robin had given her.  The opportunity presented itself five minutes after the old man had called her back inside—an important client had called, and Mr. Marlon was not one to leave important clients waiting, even if they were particularly nasty and called him a “blasted ol' slagger” (whatever that meant) in full view of his subordinates in the store.

Laura pulled the note out of her pocket, unfolded it and began reading.


Dear Laura,

I've wanted to say this to you for a very long time, but I couldn't find the words to tell you.  I wish I'd told you sooner.  


First off, I left the painting in plain view because I wanted you to take it—I'll tell you why.

You told me once that you like snow, and that you think winter to be very beautiful.  It is.  The trees are draped in soft white and you said you would rather not lean against them, because your clothes would wipe some of the snow off, and you don't like wiping snow off anything except maybe your driveway, but that's only because you have to.

You said you like a warm mug of cocoa when you get home from the store in December.  And then you watch a detective show on television.  Then after, you write two sentences in your notebook for the stories, and then you purposely drop it onto the counter of the candy store and hope that I will pick it up, and that I will take it home and read it.

You take the painting of snow and children ice skating (you like that, too) from near my window, and you realize, hopefully, that I have hidden your name in the trees.  If you haven't seen that yet, you have plenty of time after this to admire it anyway.

Laura, you and I both know why we did the things we did.  
I told you about my paintings, about my thoughts of you and the things you love, because I love you.

Things will not be the same after you've read this, but then again, I probably wouldn't want them to.

Do you want to go out to dinner tonight at Piazzo's?

Yours,
Robin.



Laura smiled.  “I love you too,” she whispered, “and yes, I would love to go to Piazzo's tonight.”



*

It was seven in the evening.  Laura stood in front of her open wardrobe.  She never seemed to have just the right dress to wear to a fancy place like Piazzo's.  She cocked her head to one side.  Maybe Robin doesn't need me to wear anything fancy, she thought, maybe he's alright with me wearing that velvet navy blue dress with the silver and gold butterfly sequins and lace.  That is fancy.  She giggled.

She put on the navy blue dress made of velvet with the lace and the sequins and looked at herself in the mirror.  She did look very beautiful.  The dress brought out the brown in her eyes.
She fixed her hair into place with a navy-blue-gold barrette and decided that was probably enough for Robin to like her even more.

Laura took her car keys from the table and waltzed out the door.



Robin was already waiting for her near the park fountain.  He wore a black suit with a tie, and a coat on top.  

“I brought your diary,” he said, and gave it to her. “Do you mind if we walk to Piazzo's?”

“Of course not, I'd love to.”

And then it started snowing.  Robin's golden-brown hair looked good with snow in it, too.  She put her hand in his.  He looked at her.  

They smiled at each other.

It couldn't be more perfect a day, Laura thought, and they walked slowly, together, leaving all their worries behind.





THE END



I really enjoyed writing this story!  Please share/ favourite/ comment if you liked it; thank you!


~ rain.

The rain Has forced me to contemplate  Upon myself, my deeds, and my shortcomings. My inherent hesitation Whose roots I do not remembe...