Meeting with God.
- Shashwat Srivastava
Sometimes we forget to appreciate the value of a smile, a touch, or even love. It takes courage to stand forward, and applaud for little things that happen in our life.
Will a cheerful boy of five, he loved singing, dancing, learning , and a myriad of things which are common desires. There was a spark in the boy, his eyes carried a gentle feeling of love. Casting on one who lacks warmth .
He lived in a little house, the word "house" might not rightly describe his dwelling, it was a one room house we often address as "chawl". There was no separate kitchen or rooms, just a little palace in which his family of four lived.
We adjust to our surroundings be it a big mansion having halls as big as colonies or be it a sweet little place, where murmuring covers the bare silence, small rooms overshadow the big mansion like rooms.
The dwelling ground was the size of an average hall in middle class houses, it began with a door making a squealing ear-killing sound followed by a wall which was shattered by moisture, the ceiling was like a bent old man ready to collapse if the broken supporting pillars were removed.
The house was painted with blue -berry color, his house was on the first floor so one has to take a ride of iron ladders, climbing what many people sweat.
Will's mother was an ill tempered, pious looking lady with hairs combined with streaks of white and black. Working day and night had turned her pale skin dull and rough, wrinkles took the place of bright and big eyes . It was the nature of hard work that had turned her into an iron lady protected from any kind of danger, be it physical or mental.
Will, a sweet little boy, the one who believes everything that was told to him.The screams and yells of her mothers with some garnished slaps by his elder brother had left him only to one door, the door of god.
Begging was illegal in those days so he used to sell oyster and clams in the near market. His head was tiny compared to the weight they were used to carry. It was his daily schedule, To wake up at six - take the nourishment for the day , hear his mother bleat for some or the other reason and then to walk straight to the marketplace selling Oysters and clams.
He carried a wood knitted basket filled with crunchy coasters on his head, a bottle of white vinegar in his soft hands. He was always bound to earn something and then be back, father hardly you can call him that, he was another bastard, it was his religion to hit Will once a day.
Will went into the bustling marketplace crying,"Oysters,clams " in his honey like voice . His work was hard,still it never took away the smile he bore on his face, a cute countenance.
He indeed made a good sum after crying all day, it was only him and his mother who managed the bread and butter.Father Oh! His job was to lie and drink.
Whatever sum he made, he had a cute little piggy bank or you could say a treasure house he added coins to, he was too young to think of the matters that should have been processed in old heads.
In the market he had his tiny corner reserved,he brought a rag which acted as his grand mat for the entire day, it was only the part when his head had some rest from his -Mother -Father and so called brother. People visited his store with a smile, women often giving him a gentle touch and his tousled hair. He looked with his wonder-waiting eyes serving the oysters with vinegar.
The people around were gentler than you might have thought at least compared to his family. Looking at his weary condition some people paid more than the cost but all days are not the same you know! .Today was a day you would call a dull day, he hardly made anything .His stomach made a rumbling sound.He was tired of eating oysters, anyone on this earth can't bear the same item daily.
He took a step forward,he visited a nearby shop and bought a pocket full of potato chips and some orange juice. It had been ages he had tasted this!, his life was a poor picture of misery.
#shortstory #review #shashwat
- Shashwat Srivastava
Sometimes we forget to appreciate the value of a smile, a touch, or even love. It takes courage to stand forward, and applaud for little things that happen in our life.
Will a cheerful boy of five, he loved singing, dancing, learning , and a myriad of things which are common desires. There was a spark in the boy, his eyes carried a gentle feeling of love. Casting on one who lacks warmth .
He lived in a little house, the word "house" might not rightly describe his dwelling, it was a one room house we often address as "chawl". There was no separate kitchen or rooms, just a little palace in which his family of four lived.
We adjust to our surroundings be it a big mansion having halls as big as colonies or be it a sweet little place, where murmuring covers the bare silence, small rooms overshadow the big mansion like rooms.
The dwelling ground was the size of an average hall in middle class houses, it began with a door making a squealing ear-killing sound followed by a wall which was shattered by moisture, the ceiling was like a bent old man ready to collapse if the broken supporting pillars were removed.
The house was painted with blue -berry color, his house was on the first floor so one has to take a ride of iron ladders, climbing what many people sweat.
Will's mother was an ill tempered, pious looking lady with hairs combined with streaks of white and black. Working day and night had turned her pale skin dull and rough, wrinkles took the place of bright and big eyes . It was the nature of hard work that had turned her into an iron lady protected from any kind of danger, be it physical or mental.
Will, a sweet little boy, the one who believes everything that was told to him.The screams and yells of her mothers with some garnished slaps by his elder brother had left him only to one door, the door of god.
Begging was illegal in those days so he used to sell oyster and clams in the near market. His head was tiny compared to the weight they were used to carry. It was his daily schedule, To wake up at six - take the nourishment for the day , hear his mother bleat for some or the other reason and then to walk straight to the marketplace selling Oysters and clams.
He carried a wood knitted basket filled with crunchy coasters on his head, a bottle of white vinegar in his soft hands. He was always bound to earn something and then be back, father hardly you can call him that, he was another bastard, it was his religion to hit Will once a day.
Will went into the bustling marketplace crying,"Oysters,clams " in his honey like voice . His work was hard,still it never took away the smile he bore on his face, a cute countenance.
He indeed made a good sum after crying all day, it was only him and his mother who managed the bread and butter.Father Oh! His job was to lie and drink.
Whatever sum he made, he had a cute little piggy bank or you could say a treasure house he added coins to, he was too young to think of the matters that should have been processed in old heads.
In the market he had his tiny corner reserved,he brought a rag which acted as his grand mat for the entire day, it was only the part when his head had some rest from his -Mother -Father and so called brother. People visited his store with a smile, women often giving him a gentle touch and his tousled hair. He looked with his wonder-waiting eyes serving the oysters with vinegar.
The people around were gentler than you might have thought at least compared to his family. Looking at his weary condition some people paid more than the cost but all days are not the same you know! .Today was a day you would call a dull day, he hardly made anything .His stomach made a rumbling sound.He was tired of eating oysters, anyone on this earth can't bear the same item daily.
He took a step forward,he visited a nearby shop and bought a pocket full of potato chips and some orange juice. It had been ages he had tasted this!, his life was a poor picture of misery.
#shortstory #review #shashwat
{Short story}
13/jan/2018
It was supposed to be a normal day,
I was supposed to wake up,
Watch my reflection in mirror,
Question life and live like nothing,
As i was combing my hairs, i was questioning my reality,
As i was trying to smile at my dad's morning jokes,
I was questioning myself.
Started walking towards my bus stop for school bus,
As i come near and near,
The fear of new school new people ,
Started tearing me apart,
When i arrived at the stop,
There she was standing,
Long black hairs,
Turned into ponytail,
Pink hair band, school uniform, no lipstick, no eyeliner, just a mark of kaajal on her neck to save her from other people's eyes,
All the lies,
My heart told me that day…
It happend…
Love happend
For 1 year i never said anything to her,
We changed schools,
And i still question myself today.
What if?
What if ive told her,
That she had a mark on her neck, due to the pen she was holding in her right hand with a black ring.
What would've happend?.
#review #asthir #shortstory
13/jan/2018
It was supposed to be a normal day,
I was supposed to wake up,
Watch my reflection in mirror,
Question life and live like nothing,
As i was combing my hairs, i was questioning my reality,
As i was trying to smile at my dad's morning jokes,
I was questioning myself.
Started walking towards my bus stop for school bus,
As i come near and near,
The fear of new school new people ,
Started tearing me apart,
When i arrived at the stop,
There she was standing,
Long black hairs,
Turned into ponytail,
Pink hair band, school uniform, no lipstick, no eyeliner, just a mark of kaajal on her neck to save her from other people's eyes,
All the lies,
My heart told me that day…
It happend…
Love happend
For 1 year i never said anything to her,
We changed schools,
And i still question myself today.
What if?
What if ive told her,
That she had a mark on her neck, due to the pen she was holding in her right hand with a black ring.
What would've happend?.
#review #asthir #shortstory
{Short story}
13/jan/2018
#review #asthir #shortstory
13/jan/2018
It was supposed to be a normal day,
I was supposed to wake up,
Watch my reflection in mirror,
Question life and live like nothing,
As i was combing my hairs, i was questioning my reality,
As i was trying to smile at my dad's morning jokes,
I was questioning myself.
Started walking towards my bus stop for school bus,
As i come near and near,
The fear of new school new people ,
Started tearing me apart,
When i arrived at the stop,
There she was standing,
Long black hairs,
Turned into ponytail,
Pink hair band, school uniform, no lipstick, no eyeliner, just a mark of kaajal on her neck to save her from other people's eyes,
All the lies,
My heart told me that day…
It happend…
Love happend
For 1 year i never said anything to her,
We changed schools,
And i still question myself today.
What if?
What if ive told her,
That she had a mark on her neck, due to the pen she was holding in her right hand with a black ring.
What would've happend?.#review #asthir #shortstory
WHAT LAY BENEATH.
At first they thought it was all fun and games. They paid no heed to the advice their parents millions of times gave. In their minds, they had to try it out. They had find out what lay beneath. They wanted to know what little creatures crawled behind those old crumbling walls of that house at HILLPOINT, the house their grand parents told them is haunted.
They wanted to know what demon slept their. They wanted to know what monsters bellowed all night- but most of all, they wanted to prove the legend. Curiosity killed the cat.
So on the night of December 31st, 1998, the threesome__ one girl, two boys all not older than 14__ climbed up the winding hill to the old rotting house that stared them back menacing, evil- diabolical. It was like it wanted to quench a thirst for blood. And there coming, down the winding road, where three ignorant little kids. Fools.
When they approached the house, 10 feet maybe, an owl hooted, the harbinger of death. A warning none of the three took. They had to explore, they had to find out. It was like the house had a magical magnet pull that reached out to their souls, it pulled them, 5 feet now.
For a hill, it was too silent, no wind, and no creatures in the grass sang their evening songs. It was 6PM. It was like the creatures knew the house reeked of death, so they kept away. Even the wind. The atmosphere was dry_barren.
The girl finally broke the silence,
"Let's go home guys!" She nudged the boys, her voice trembling. But they heard nothing, they were hypnotised. They didn't have control over themselves. The house smiled. It's windows so dark, no sign of life inside. No sign of anything good. They still didn't care.
She spoke up again, this time taking a step backwards, holding the teddy bear she always carried with her even tighter, "Come on guys, let's go back!" She almost screamed and cried. She stamped her feet on the ground. They didn't care. They had to get it and maybe greet the devil that lived in that old ragged house.
"Go home Suzy." One of the boys replied and continued "adventures aren't for the weak at heart."
He didn't even bother to look back as he said this. His gaze was only on the house, his and the other boy's mouths feel agape, as if they were awe struck. There eyes devilishly black, no sense of humanity left in them. None at all. They now belonged to the house. Their souls doomed to be trapped in it forever.
One step close to the door. The taller of the boys opened it. It let out a long menacing and satanic Creek, as if it were laughing at them. For being foolish preferably.
Once opened, it let out a strong gush of air that sucked the boys in. They screamed! But it was too late.
And while Suzy stood their crying, weeping and sobbing, at the window, she saw two glows, red in color. The monster stared at her. The demon lusted for her. She felt the pull and towards the house she went, like a zombie. Doomed to die. At the hands of whatever lay beneath.
They got their answers, but they didn't live long enough to evaluate them.
#review #AI #ShortStory
At first they thought it was all fun and games. They paid no heed to the advice their parents millions of times gave. In their minds, they had to try it out. They had find out what lay beneath. They wanted to know what little creatures crawled behind those old crumbling walls of that house at HILLPOINT, the house their grand parents told them is haunted.
They wanted to know what demon slept their. They wanted to know what monsters bellowed all night- but most of all, they wanted to prove the legend. Curiosity killed the cat.
So on the night of December 31st, 1998, the threesome__ one girl, two boys all not older than 14__ climbed up the winding hill to the old rotting house that stared them back menacing, evil- diabolical. It was like it wanted to quench a thirst for blood. And there coming, down the winding road, where three ignorant little kids. Fools.
When they approached the house, 10 feet maybe, an owl hooted, the harbinger of death. A warning none of the three took. They had to explore, they had to find out. It was like the house had a magical magnet pull that reached out to their souls, it pulled them, 5 feet now.
For a hill, it was too silent, no wind, and no creatures in the grass sang their evening songs. It was 6PM. It was like the creatures knew the house reeked of death, so they kept away. Even the wind. The atmosphere was dry_barren.
The girl finally broke the silence,
"Let's go home guys!" She nudged the boys, her voice trembling. But they heard nothing, they were hypnotised. They didn't have control over themselves. The house smiled. It's windows so dark, no sign of life inside. No sign of anything good. They still didn't care.
She spoke up again, this time taking a step backwards, holding the teddy bear she always carried with her even tighter, "Come on guys, let's go back!" She almost screamed and cried. She stamped her feet on the ground. They didn't care. They had to get it and maybe greet the devil that lived in that old ragged house.
"Go home Suzy." One of the boys replied and continued "adventures aren't for the weak at heart."
He didn't even bother to look back as he said this. His gaze was only on the house, his and the other boy's mouths feel agape, as if they were awe struck. There eyes devilishly black, no sense of humanity left in them. None at all. They now belonged to the house. Their souls doomed to be trapped in it forever.
One step close to the door. The taller of the boys opened it. It let out a long menacing and satanic Creek, as if it were laughing at them. For being foolish preferably.
Once opened, it let out a strong gush of air that sucked the boys in. They screamed! But it was too late.
And while Suzy stood their crying, weeping and sobbing, at the window, she saw two glows, red in color. The monster stared at her. The demon lusted for her. She felt the pull and towards the house she went, like a zombie. Doomed to die. At the hands of whatever lay beneath.
They got their answers, but they didn't live long enough to evaluate them.
#review #AI #ShortStory
#shortstory#shortstory #review#review #Florence#Florence
A Little SquirrelA Little Squirrel
It was one of those days when you could find me on the balcony sitting cross-legged on a chair, occasionally tapping my head with a pen and, of course, with an empty mind and an empty page. You could see me gazing into the distance, trying to invoke my muse. Staring at the plain sky didn’t help. I looked around; not a soul in sight, not even the fluttering of a butterfly could be heard. I was hopelessly lost. Not that I’m a great writer experiencing a writer’s block but a novice whose writing skills are still in an embryonic stage. It seemed like everything in the universe was plotting against me.
“Ah, blame the universe now! You are always deprived of ideas. I have been waiting forever to see at least one word on that paper,” he quipped when I shared my thoughts. He is such a grinch, I must say. Here I am, trying to move heaven and earth and look at him, leaving me in the lurch.
“Hey, thanks! You are so supportive!” I frowned in dismay.
“Well, what’s with the negativity? Lift the veil of your eyes and glance around. Look into nature; you have everything you are looking for. Only you have to seek and find them. You should know that it won’t be plain sailing. Always remember that,” and he left.
He always tends to skedaddle every time after giving free advice because he hates to be in a situation where I pour every blame on him even if he does nothing.
I determined to look around for ideas to come and seek me. “Oh, no, it should be the other way around,” I reminded myself.
Right in front of the balcony was a jackfruit tree. Nature was bountiful enough to weigh it down with ample fruits. I noticed a little squirrel squeaking and scanning the tree before lying upside down, like a gymnast, on a ripened fruit and started feasting on it. The incessant screeching of the crickets could be heard from a distance as if they wouldn’t let the poor little squirrel have a peaceful meal. While my eyes were feasting on the squirrel feasting on the jackfruit, a giant squirrel jumped out of nowhere and scared the little one off, which was too chicken to start a fight. It climbed up, hid behind the leaves and waited for the big one to go back. Unfortunately, it had to wait forever to climb down and fill his tummy.
“Why didn’t he choose any other fruits as there were thousands of them? I don’t know. Why did the big one choose this fruit in particular while there were thousands of them? I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?” returned he intending to taunt me. That’s when I realised that I was speaking aloud.
“Still staring at blank?” he continued.
I punched him in the hand and pulled him closer. I recounted the events to him. He chuckled, knowing that my only concern was about that one jackfruit that both the squirrels feasted upon and not how I overlooked his self will and also how the poor little one held his hunger till he could get hold of the fruit again.
“See, everyone is free to choose anything they like. And, I loved how it was resolute in holding on to the one he chose at first and how he remained calm even in adversities. What matters is he didn’t give up easily. We should learn from him,” explained he.
Exactly! Even though that thought didn’t cross my mind, I learnt a great lesson from that tiny creature. Feeling happy, I took my pen to write about the little squirrel.
A Little SquirrelA Little Squirrel
It was one of those days when you could find me on the balcony sitting cross-legged on a chair, occasionally tapping my head with a pen and, of course, with an empty mind and an empty page. You could see me gazing into the distance, trying to invoke my muse. Staring at the plain sky didn’t help. I looked around; not a soul in sight, not even the fluttering of a butterfly could be heard. I was hopelessly lost. Not that I’m a great writer experiencing a writer’s block but a novice whose writing skills are still in an embryonic stage. It seemed like everything in the universe was plotting against me.
“Ah, blame the universe now! You are always deprived of ideas. I have been waiting forever to see at least one word on that paper,” he quipped when I shared my thoughts. He is such a grinch, I must say. Here I am, trying to move heaven and earth and look at him, leaving me in the lurch.
“Hey, thanks! You are so supportive!” I frowned in dismay.
“Well, what’s with the negativity? Lift the veil of your eyes and glance around. Look into nature; you have everything you are looking for. Only you have to seek and find them. You should know that it won’t be plain sailing. Always remember that,” and he left.
He always tends to skedaddle every time after giving free advice because he hates to be in a situation where I pour every blame on him even if he does nothing.
I determined to look around for ideas to come and seek me. “Oh, no, it should be the other way around,” I reminded myself.
Right in front of the balcony was a jackfruit tree. Nature was bountiful enough to weigh it down with ample fruits. I noticed a little squirrel squeaking and scanning the tree before lying upside down, like a gymnast, on a ripened fruit and started feasting on it. The incessant screeching of the crickets could be heard from a distance as if they wouldn’t let the poor little squirrel have a peaceful meal. While my eyes were feasting on the squirrel feasting on the jackfruit, a giant squirrel jumped out of nowhere and scared the little one off, which was too chicken to start a fight. It climbed up, hid behind the leaves and waited for the big one to go back. Unfortunately, it had to wait forever to climb down and fill his tummy.
“Why didn’t he choose any other fruits as there were thousands of them? I don’t know. Why did the big one choose this fruit in particular while there were thousands of them? I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?” returned he intending to taunt me. That’s when I realised that I was speaking aloud.
“Still staring at blank?” he continued.
I punched him in the hand and pulled him closer. I recounted the events to him. He chuckled, knowing that my only concern was about that one jackfruit that both the squirrels feasted upon and not how I overlooked his self will and also how the poor little one held his hunger till he could get hold of the fruit again.
“See, everyone is free to choose anything they like. And, I loved how it was resolute in holding on to the one he chose at first and how he remained calm even in adversities. What matters is he didn’t give up easily. We should learn from him,” explained he.
Exactly! Even though that thought didn’t cross my mind, I learnt a great lesson from that tiny creature. Feeling happy, I took my pen to write about the little squirrel.
#review
#shortStory#beginning
#CA
Grabbing her wrist. Rubbing the small space between her palm and the soft skin covering her veins. Traveling to the crease of her arm. She had worked hard today. Her clients were pleased with the outcome. Each one feeling a sense of ease and comfort from the constant energy surrounding them. Some came because pain in the physical sense. Others because something deeper. More hidden and yet still calling out. It wasn’t something she had learned in text or class. It was a part of her. This unending need to draw their pain, their confusion into her core. Transform it back into something able to give them rest. Her hands were something more than flesh and her heart was more than beat. She was filled with something that could not be described, only felt. A smile crossed her lips as the gratitude filled her soul. In a world where so many were without purpose. She had found hers.
#shortStory#beginning
#CA
Grabbing her wrist. Rubbing the small space between her palm and the soft skin covering her veins. Traveling to the crease of her arm. She had worked hard today. Her clients were pleased with the outcome. Each one feeling a sense of ease and comfort from the constant energy surrounding them. Some came because pain in the physical sense. Others because something deeper. More hidden and yet still calling out. It wasn’t something she had learned in text or class. It was a part of her. This unending need to draw their pain, their confusion into her core. Transform it back into something able to give them rest. Her hands were something more than flesh and her heart was more than beat. She was filled with something that could not be described, only felt. A smile crossed her lips as the gratitude filled her soul. In a world where so many were without purpose. She had found hers.
#shortStory #cont. #CA #review
What was it that made this interaction so endearing? Some called her gifted. Others said she was Intuitive. She always knew the right touch. The right words. There wasn’t a moment the mind couldn’t escape. Finding a peace in the shadows. Using the stillness within her. A calm. She could connect on a level that even friends and family had shied away from. Her light and their darkness would dance.
What was it that made this interaction so endearing? Some called her gifted. Others said she was Intuitive. She always knew the right touch. The right words. There wasn’t a moment the mind couldn’t escape. Finding a peace in the shadows. Using the stillness within her. A calm. She could connect on a level that even friends and family had shied away from. Her light and their darkness would dance.
#review #shortStory #CA
What was it that transformed her? Were people just born like this? No it was like a path that swirled within her journey. An awakening. Suffering had been her constant and chaos her normal. Her escape was her imagination, her song, her dance. The way she saw such light touch everything. Knowing she was protected even though her physical world would prove otherwise. She had a blood line but not a family. She spoke with nature. Saw herself in creatures. Believed in the impossible. It wasn’t something she did that made the difference. When trying things it always seemed like an uphill battle. When allowing things. Her life shifted. She had a realization that everything in life had its place.
What was it that transformed her? Were people just born like this? No it was like a path that swirled within her journey. An awakening. Suffering had been her constant and chaos her normal. Her escape was her imagination, her song, her dance. The way she saw such light touch everything. Knowing she was protected even though her physical world would prove otherwise. She had a blood line but not a family. She spoke with nature. Saw herself in creatures. Believed in the impossible. It wasn’t something she did that made the difference. When trying things it always seemed like an uphill battle. When allowing things. Her life shifted. She had a realization that everything in life had its place.
#review #shortStory #CA #cont
Her space was her sanctuary. Her escape. She listened to waves crash in the background. The ambiance of a soft glow surrounded her. She would take a breath in through her mouth feel the air upon her tongue and travel into her belly. She was free.
Her space was her sanctuary. Her escape. She listened to waves crash in the background. The ambiance of a soft glow surrounded her. She would take a breath in through her mouth feel the air upon her tongue and travel into her belly. She was free.
#review #cont #CA #shortStory
It was as if being revived. Her mind allowed thoughts to enter. Leaving all attachments behind. Her focus was on what was hidden behind the voices. There was something pulling her from her body. Desensitizing her. Allowing her spirit to break away. This was meditation. This was how she could keep going. This was her recharge.
It was as if being revived. Her mind allowed thoughts to enter. Leaving all attachments behind. Her focus was on what was hidden behind the voices. There was something pulling her from her body. Desensitizing her. Allowing her spirit to break away. This was meditation. This was how she could keep going. This was her recharge.