Tag: Fiction

One Stormy Day

All was well, until one fateful day. My life was perfect until she came along with her bright light and thundering calls. And she brought along with her, a storm that ruined my life forever.

We didn’t have much, my sister Leela and I. We lived alone in a hut we called our own. We would wake up every morning to the spray of the sea and the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks.

We had a small stall on the beach where business was good enough for both of us. We sold fried onions and peppers to beachgoers who loved to sink their teeth into something hot and oily after a dip in the sea. We had no worries, no one to look after. It was just us and our expenses. And sometimes, when we felt adventurous, we plucked coconuts from our backyard and sold them for some extra money.

Our life was perfect. We’d go to the bazaar on Sundays, buy some flowers, sometimes a sari — we’d share what we own — and walk home nibbling popcorn. We’d then spend the rest of the afternoon stringing the flowers, and wearing them in our hair.

Our life was perfect. Until she came along. Out of nowhere, one Sunday, lightening lashed at the rocks. And thunder followed. We had planned to go to the bazaar that day. We had thought of getting a cake to celebrate Leela’s birthday the following day. But the rain dampened our plans. We had to run about our home putting vessels under holes that let the rain in. We sat on our doorstep looking on at the sky. The storm had come from nowhere. No one in the village had said anything about it. Mrs. Loudmouth next door — she had a radio — would have told us if the weatherman had predicted anything ominous. But nothing, the rain stormed on us all day.

All of a sudden, we saw a puppy running toward the water. Leela saw it first. She called after the animal, but we couldn’t even hear ourselves over the storm. Without thinking, Leela left my side and ran after the dog. I called out to her to stop, and pulled at her skirt, but she slipped away from my fingers.

That was the last I saw of her. The storm was too fierce for me to follow. My life was perfect until that moment. And from nowhere, the storm ravaged our home, took my life away, and left me weeping on the floor.

And Then One Day…

It was her secret. No one knew, not even her boyfriend. And she wanted to keep it that way. Telling people would mean speaking out and she wasn’t sure how to do that.

She had been mute for 22 years. People had thought she’d never speak out. Her parents had given up hope, and so had her doctors.

But then one day, he waltzed into her uneventful life. She stood on the pavement looking at vehicles clamouring past with no intention of stopping. The pedestrian crossing was just a dab of paint in her wheel-inflicted neighbourhood.

Every time she took a step towards the crossing, a car would whiz by, knocking the wind out of her and messing up her hair. And she’d step back onto the comforting pavement, and wait for another rare gap when the street would be less occupied.

After what seemed like hours, a man popped out of nowhere and stood at her side. He tilted his head to peek at the endless stream of vehicles, and then took a couple of steps back.

Heaving a sigh, he turned to look at her. “Busy street, huh?” he raised his eyebrows. Though she hadn’t heard what he said, she read him. And smiled, with a vigourous nod. He said nothing more, and she returned her gaze to the traffic lights, wondering if someone had tampered with it.

The next thing she knew, someone had grabbed her arm and dragged her onto the street. In one swift moment, she crossed the street. When she realised it, she was on the other side of the street, her hair all over her eyes, and the man heaving next to her. Her heart thumped in its rib cage and she breathed deep to bring it down to normal.

“What the hell did you do, you a — ” She almost blurted out. The words exploded inside her head, but not a sound escaped her mouth. He was smiling at her, expecting to say something. When she didn’t, however, he realised shouldn’t linger any longer. Waving at her, he disappeared into the building nearby.

Looking his figure shrinking in the distance, she mused, “asshole.” And this time, the word came out loud enough for her to hear it. For the first time in 22 years, she had uttered a word.

One of Those Days

Tossed the stone to him,

and he caught it with his head.

Playful, turned fateful.

The Visit

She answered the phone and heard her daughter’s voice for the first time in many years. – Today’s Author

“Hello, Ma. How are you?”

Click.

Must be a wrong number, Mrs Graham concluded. She turned her back on the phone and walked to her couch, and Dr Oz.

She sighed as the doctor announced a commercial break. The phone rang again. She heaved herself from the couch mumbling, “Oh, these things never leave me in peace.” She trudged over to the telephone stand in the kitchen and picked up the receiver with a trembling hand. “Hello,” she meant to say in a crisp voice. All that came out was a treble. She tried again.

“Hello,” Shaky this time, but not as squeaky.

“Mama! It’s me, Karen.”

“Eh?” She cleared her throat, “Karen?”

“Yes, yes, Mama! How are you?”

Mrs Graham crinkled her eyes, “Who’s mama?”

Click.

“Hello?” Mrs Graham looked at the silent now-receiver in her hand. She didn’t understand. One moment there was a woman’s voice, and the next, nothing. “Hello?” she called into the receiver. “Anyone there?”

She heard no reply. She could hear that the jingles had come to an end, so she went back to Dr. Oz.

By the time the show ended, about an hour later, the doorbell rang. Mrs Graham let it ring for a few moments before making a grudging effort to get up from the couch.

The bell continued to ring as she traced her footsteps to the door. Imagining the old days when she would just yank the door away, she turned the knob with a soft touch.

There stood a young woman at the door, her eyes wide and lips apart in uncertainty. She looked about medium age, tall, and tanned. Her curly hair danced to the breeze playing outside. Mrs Graham looked at her in exasperation.

Earlier, whenever the bell rang, Mrs Graham would rush to the door, hoping it would be someone to visit her. They had told her she had a daughter. And a grand daughter. And that they’d stop by whenever they had the chance. But ever since she had woken up from her coma, no one had called.

“The girl’s house is over there,” She waved her hand at the house opposite to hers. She had grown tired of young high schoolers stopping by her doorstep looking for their class mate who threw parties all night.

“Mama, it’s your daughter.”