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.

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...)

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."

*

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...)





If you liked this, please check out some of my other work here!  Thank you for reading!

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.

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!

Slaves.

Slaves

We are all slaves, such slaves!
Slaves of the people we love,
And who act a certain way,
Not knowing they hurt us,
Because they don't care.
We are slaves, for we do not see any good
In trying to right their wrongs,
For we know their plates are full
With sin,
And if we make them aware
They will say something worse
Than what they already had,
And we are slaves, we are afraid
That we might bring upon them misfortune
And so we keep quiet
Not daring to utter a word
Held back by fear, helplessness,
And love.
Such slaves!

~Vruta Gupte.

Follow Your Heart.

So this guy got one of the top two places in a short story writing contest last year!  Hope y'all like it!

 

 

FOLLOW YOUR HEART

 

WHAM!

 

Amelia slammed on her brakes with a screech; her blue Honda Fit swerved violently before it finally came to a stop in front of the green traffic light. People honked behind her as she got out of the car. She ran to the spot where the cyclist she had just hit sat rubbing his forehead. A police officer stood next to him with a bottle of water.

 

“We’re letting you off this time, ma’am, but if it happens again, you’re gonna get a sure trip to jail,” the officer said, handing her a speeding ticket. Amelia fumbled in her purse for her wallet.

 

She frowned; she’d left it on the dresser. Again. She looked apologetically at the officer, who shook his head and turned away. She glanced at her watch: half past ten already?! She bolted to her car (which was pretty difficult considering her attire consisted of a floral skirt and a purple-and-green plaid coat), slammed the door, and stepped on the gas. Her boss was going to get really angry. She was certain he was going to fire her.

 

Over the past year, Amelia had been trying her hand at writing. One of her articles, titled ‘The Bush Effect', which was about the problems the former U.S. President’s ‘trickle-down’ policy had on the economy, had gone absolutely viral. It was so popular she even thought about leaving her job and devoting all of her time to writing. After that, she wrote a particularly provocative article about the White House travel office controversy; it was not well received, and editor after editor turned it down. Not one magazine wanted to publish her articles because they were afraid of getting kicked out of business. Gradually, she lost interest in writing, and after a few months she stopped altogether. Amelia was devastated.

She’d lit a matchstick in the fireplace and torn and burnt all of her manuscripts one by one—she could still remember the crackling sound that had ensued as they were reduced to ashes. Her brain told her to pay attention to her work, but her heart told her to get back to writing.

 

She had listened to her brain, and she regretted it, even now.

 

Amelia turned left. She could hear a cardinal whistling and the rustling of leaves. She stopped and looked long at the majestic red bird strutting across the branch of the tree, and suddenly in her heart she knew that what she had been doing all these days was simply out of fear. She’d stuck to what she was comfortable with, even though she knew it wasn’t right—for her. And now the universe was making her pay for it.

 

She parked her car in the lot and got out. She knew what she had to do. She walked

towards her boss’s office and waited until he opened the door for her.

 

“Amelia—”

 

“I know; I’m resigning.”

 

“What?” he looked shocked; he’d wanted to do the honours. “Why?”

 

“It’s too stressful in here for me....especially after last year. I’ve just realized I like writing more than sitting around worrying about money and credit. I’m not into this anymore.”

 

“Well, it’s your choice. Good luck.”

 

Two weeks later, Amelia was driving her Honda with the windows rolled down and the sun on her cheeks. She was finally back on track.

 

She smiled. She just had the coolest idea for an article!

*

 

Thank you for reading!  Please comment/ like/ share if you liked it.

Hasta la vista, amigos!

 



Two-Word Poem #2

My second two-word poem. I'm a fan of these; so much can be said in just two words.
It's what you don't say that matters in this kind of poetry more than what you do say. The rest is up to the imagination of the reader.

“She laughed."

Two-Word Poem #1

Two-word poems are actually quite elegant.
Here's my first one.

“If Only."

If you liked it, please leave a comment below or go to the “My Own Writing" for more of my poems. Thank you!

Being Lost.

I've given myself a challenge.

It's called 'The Write a Free-verse Poem in Three Minutes Challenge'.

So here goes.  (I'm writing this poem like I wrote 'Stars in the Sky': spontaneously.)

Being Lost.

The little girl
Wearing a red dress
With yellow polka-dots
And blue ribbons
Went for a walk 
On the dirt road
Leading into the forest
Where she saw a lake
That she couldn't cross
So she sat there on the shore
She sat there for a thousand years
The immortal girl cries immortal tears
Her tears flow into the lake
The lake gets bigger and bigger
And scarier and darker
Until it goes full circle around the girl
Immortal girl with immortal curls
Swirling violently
To sink a ship
To sink a ship of immortality
She shudders and takes a deep breath
And falls asleep on the small island
The small island that is now her land
Two hundred years later
The lake has dried up
But the immortal girl
With her immortal tears
With her immortal curls
And her immortal fears
Is nowhere to be found.

~Vruta Gupte.

Silence

SILENCE

Sometimes I feel

Inadequate to face life

I feel everyone

Is smarter, happier, better

Than me, and I wonder if it is true.

I try

To console myself

With the thought

That each one of us bears

A different soul inside of ourselves

And so none of us can ever be the same.

None will see the world as I do—

A happy place that can mend its many flaws and survive, earn respect, even.

None will be like me—

Calm, mellow, silent, yet infectiously happy

Or at least that is how I perceive myself to be.

I sit here

Imperfect as I am

Braving the world, ever-changing, full of its cruelties

And I realize

That to survive in this noisy, chaotic, unplanned universe

You must first find within yourself

Your silence.

-Vruta Gupte.

(I wrote this a few days ago.  It's sad, but it describes almost perfectly how I felt at the time.)



Want to check out more of my writing?  Click here!

P.S. I've added Disqus comments on here.  Please click on the time-stamp near the end of the post to comment.  (If you don't have a Disqus account, you can still comment as a guest with a custom name.) Thank you!

What Happened At Midnight

This is a poem I wrote last December...at midnight.  (Yes, how surprising.)

WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT?

It was midnight

And I could not sleep.

So I sat up in my bed

And rubbed my eyes.

I could see elves outside my window,

Flying on Santa’s reindeers,

With gifts wrapped in white-and-blue paper

And shimmering bows,

Houses of candies

And a palace of chocolate and bubblegum

That had no windows.

The air was filled with

The sugary smell of

Waffles in syrup

And caramel pieces

In whipped cream.

And then my sleeping mind

Woke up

And I realized

It had all been just a dream.

But who ever said

That dreams cannot be real?

 - Vruta Gupte

See y'all on the next post!

P.S. I've added Disqus comments on here.  Please click on the time-stamp near the end of the post to comment.  (If you don't have a Disqus account, you can still comment as a guest with a custom name.) Thank you!