Compassionate Creatures

compassion-lady

“The word was on the tip of his tongue but still he couldn’t say it.” – Today’s Author

He gulped hard and tried again.

“Mom?” He couldn’t go further. He signed in exasperation. His mother was looking at him bemused, with a slight open mouth.

He wet his lips.

“What’s wrong, Raj?” She gazed into his worried eyes. “What did the doctor say?”

Raj wrung his hands, “I’m sorry, Mom.” He shook his head. “She’s not going to make it.”

For a split second, Raj was terrified. His mother hadn’t reacted; her face was impassive. Then she shrugged lightly and bit her lower lip. “Oh well,” she heaved, “about time too,” she added gently. She smiled encouragingly at him.

“Huh?” Raj was shocked. He hadn’t expected this. “Mom?” he tried slowly, “did you understand — ”

“Oh yes, Raj” his mother replied thoughtfully. “I understand that my dearest dog isn’t going to survive.” She betrayed no emotion. “And it’s only natural; she’s been with me ever since you left with your wife — and that was twelve years ago.” She smiled again, raising her eyebrows; the knowing smile.

“Pity. The most compassionate of creatures have short life spans.”

Merry Time

merry time

Trees aglow, shining bright —

Children’s plays, snowball fights —

Wreaths and creamy donuts —

Hot cocoa and wrapped gifts —

‘Tis the season.

Oh, the Humbug!


December has just begun, but the seasonal spirit is everywhere. So I’m joining in with a skeptical Christmas poem. What do you think?

One Decision…

Fried potatoes with fresh baked meat –

Let us give thanks, all excluding the regretful vegan.

one decision


Thanksgiving isn’t our holiday, but since a larger part of the world gave thanks yesterday, I thought of chipping in with this piece. I’ve tried a different version of the Landay, and though I’ve broken a few rules, it was fun.

Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving.

National Blog Posting Month – #Day28

Rootless

Born in Atlanta —
To a Swedish mother
And a Welsh father.

Started speaking when in Moscow,
Set little steps in Morroco.

Landed in an Irish high-school,
Passed an English junior-high.

Built an American corporate,
Lived with a Canadian model —

Married to a Mex dancer,
Fathered a confused offspring —
And died rootless — the nomad.

rootless


My response to this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge. I didn’t want to go with anything serious, and so I came up with this little poem-story of a nomad to add to my collection of Flash Fiction. Also it’s National Blog Posting Month – #Day27

Just One

No one was around to see him so what did it matter if he took just one? – Today’s Author

Crouching low, he picked a single blossom.
Clara loved flowers next to her hospital bed.

just one


Another prompt from Today’s Author. National Blog Posting Month – #Day22