The Wall: Part Five

It was getting dark in the bunker--the artificial lights had become dimmer, Peter noted, raising his head.  He looked around.  Rajesh was fast asleep; Winston and Quentin were snoring.  They sound like lawnmowers, Peter thought, chuckling to himself.  He fancied a walk; he got up, quietly, so he wouldn't disturb the others.

He walked without any sense of purpose or direction, and soon he found himself facing the door to Rose's room.  He looked around, startled.  The bunker was completely dark now, save the small, twinkling lights in the floor.  One light flickered, and then glowed brightly again.  He turned around, and listened carefully--he heard footsteps.

Another light flickered.

"Hello?" he ventured tentatively towards the flickering lights.

"Who's there?" A girl's voice.

"Rose?"

"Peter?  What are you doing here...right now?"

"I could ask you the same question," he smirked, "Wanna walk?"

"Sure.  I can't see where you are, though, so I would probably bump into you accidentally-on-purpose."

Peter laughed softly.

They followed the flickering lights as they walked.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know, you decide."

"I'm not a very interesting person, you know.  I'd rather listen to people than talk about myself."

"I don't believe that.  Have you ever been to France?"

"Yeah!"

"Then you're interesting."

He could almost see her grinning in the faint light.

"What's it like in France?" he continued.

"It's beautiful.  You have museums, art galleries, amusement parks, great restaurants, great hotels....great everything.  The Louvre is, like, amazing.  So many famous paintings, all in one place!  Just like The Pantheon."

"What's the Pantheon?  Another art muse--?"

"Ssh, do you hear that?" Rose whispered.

"No, I don't, where's it coming from?"

"It sounded like water," Rose took his hand and led him forward, "and it must have been somewhere around.." she walked a few steps to the right, stepping on his toe; he winced. "Sorry about that...here."

They squinted into the darkness.  There were no floor-lights here.  The dripping sound was now close.

Too close.

The Ostrich Who Could Fly

Hello, everyone!  I'm writing a blog post after an unusually long time.
I wrote a poem; I hope y'all like it! 


The Ostrich Who Could Fly

Once as I was walking
Across a barren land,
I chanced upon an ostrich
With his head half in the sand.

I stopped awhile, listened closely,
The ostrich was now weeping
I asked him what was wrong;
He didn't answer; silence creeping.

He straightened his long neck,
And pointed to the sky
I craned my neck to see and I saw
Ostriches that could fly.

Tears were running down his cheeks,
I asked him,"Didn't you try?"
"I did," he said, his voice cracking,
"I s'pose I'm not meant to fly."

"Try a thousand times," I said,
"You'll fly eventually, you'll see,
Just because you couldn't fly then
Doesn't mean that's all you can be."

The ostrich nodded, wiped his tears,
I left him to his devices,
Life's too short to be bogged down
By these insignificant crises.

A few months later, I walked again
Across that barren land,
I'd forgotten all about
The ostrich in the sand.

But then I saw a shadow
On the ground ahead of me
And I remembered the ostrich
Who had wanted to be free.

I looked up, and there he was
Soaring gracefully through the air
I smiled to myself, and realized
Life really isn't unfair.

~Vruta Gupte.

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The Candy Seller--Part Two

Hello, everyone!  I'd said that the second part of my story called 'The Candy Seller' would be out soon, and here it is!

Hope you like it.

*

“Hello there, young lady, what can I do for you?” he had asked, smiling.

“Oh, well,” she hesitated, but fought off the fear of being reprimanded and breathed, “Could-you-please-give-me-a-rabbit-shaped-chocolate?”

“Of course,” he had said as he produced one (seemingly) out of nowhere, wrapped in shimmering gold paper and a sparkling red bow tied on top, dead centre.

The girl grinned and fumbled around in her pocket, her ears straining to hear the characteristic ‘clank’ of metal upon metal.

It was empty.

Apparently the candy seller had realized the enormity of her situation: “You can have it anyway, child.”

The girl frowned—she did not like being pitied.  Her love for chocolates—or rabbit-shaped chocolates, in particular—eventually won the ensuing internal battle.  The old man placed the box into her hand gingerly.

“Thank you, mister!” the girl exclaimed happily, her eyes twinkling—the world was a beautiful place, she said to herself.

She looked up to see the candy seller still standing there, smiling at her. 

She grinned back.

And that was how a young girl who had no home to live in and an old man who was a candy seller became friends.

*

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