Human : Five Sentence Fiction

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. You can find the details of the challenge here.

The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.

This week: HUMAN

SOURCE

SOURCE

The tattered feet is visible from this far distance , he lays there on the stone slab his face an epitome of peace.

I walk on for hours , i know i will not tire till i reach my destination and suddenly as i am near him,  the man changes and in his place there now appears an angel who says ” Welcome human , you have reached Miltaius the Peaceland , help one more deserving human and you may enter.”

My whole life passes by me for a second , my family, my friends , my love.

All my life i just wanted to be loved and cared and here i am looking for peace and standing here, searching for that one deserving human i know i may have to wait for a decade or more.

As i go on to lie on the stone slab i wonder how long the other man had to wait for me and just as i drift on towards the peace sleep to wait i glance at my own tattered feet.


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The view : Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers

Copyright -Ted Strutz

Friday Fictioneers Challenge : Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.) You can find the details of the challenge here.)

 

 

“How do you like the view?” asked the man in front of me.

“Well , i appreciate the beauty” said i looking outside the window at the magnificent hills.

He smiled and stared at the river. He never once stopped looking at the river. Curiosity always got the better of me.

“Why are you looking at the river and no where else?”

” I owe everything to the river , i won a poetry prize because of that” said the man with nostalgia in his voice.

” Oh that’s great , which prize was that?”

” My poem Ode to the river won….

“Oh my god!! you are not Anthony , are you?”

“Well, as a matter of fact i am”

“You remember me? Parvathi!! back from your high school days.”

He now owes a friend to the river too. 😛

 

 

He

He sits there , a lone creature of the dark

A puny little devil

Brought forth from the ashes of hell

To pluck the joy of my sleep

 

With his buzzy sound

Gifted upon him from the mighty Creator

He irritates my ears to death

You ,  Mosquito come suck my blood and be done.

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Written for Trifecta : Week 105

This week’s prompt.

PLUCK: (transitive verb)
1: to pull or pick off or out
2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or as if by plucking <pluck one’s eyebrows>
b : rob, fleece
3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly <plucked the child from the middle of the street>
4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at
b : to play by sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick

My Thanksgiving

“I was never born a Christian Father, but i am one in heart , Bless me” whispered Shisha with tears streaming down his cheeks.

It was only five days since he had arrived to New Jersey leaving everything behind in India. That everything included all the wonderful memories of being loved and cared by family. He had lost them all to an accident. Everyone except himself. Was it his will he survived or was it just because of pure luck he never knew. But he knew it was better if he had died with them. Thirty of them killed in the Landslide and he alive only because he got down in the previous stop to meet his friend and told them he would join them the next day.

The memories haunted him every single moment from then on ,he knew he would never live there. Packing his bag he had left to New Jersey with no one there he knew. He only had some money left to eat for a few months and then? He didn’t know.

He had been introduced to Christ by his Uncle when he was still a kid and had  fallen in love with him. He always knew that if there was someone looking after him it would be Christ.

He read the bible at night when his family was asleep, he felt baptised by his own tears when he read of how Christ died.

He bought a small silver Cross in the market with the little money he had saved. He wore it when he slept.

He believed and loved Christ.

As he stood in this Church he couldn’t complain. He just couldn’t complain that he lived. Gratitude overcame all his guilt as he saw a candle being lighted. Gratitude for living, for loving Christ.

He whispered a silent Thanks to all the people who had loved him , to all people who believed in him. A silent Thanks for the water he drank, for the air he breathed and the place he stood. He surrendered his soul to Christ as he stood there.  He never asked for direction in his life , he knew Christ would point it to him.

A silent Thanks to him.

It wasn’t how he imagined a Thanksgiving could be, but for him standing there, he felt alive.

As he turned to leave he saw an old lady observing him from a corner, he smiled. He was about to call a taxi outside when someone caught his arm.

He turned to see the old lady standing there, smiling at him.

” You seem lost child”

“Yes , i ..i” stammered Shisha as he didn’t know what to tell.

” I saw you from the moment you entered the Cathedral , you have a sorrow surrounding you,  yet you seem to have surrendered yourself to him”

” I do have a sorrow inside of me but i know he will heal it”

She smiled. The smile spoke a million words she didn’t say. “Well i do know how you must have felt , for he healed me a long time in this very place. I have never looked back since then.”

He smiled. A million words seemed to have mixed with his smile as he looked above in hope and Gratitude.

“Where do you stay?” she asked in a curious manner.

“An apartment nearby.”

” Well, how about you come to my home for Thanksgiving. It’s just around the corner. My whole family is going to be home for the holidays.”

“I would love to..but” the word family had evoked the sorrow in him but he felt a small ray of hope cross over his face as he felt touched by her love.

“You will come , dear . By the way i am Mary” she offered her hand .

” I am Shisha” he whispered as he shook hers. He noticed the wrinkles surrounding her’s. Years of pain and hard work.

— ^^–^^– ^^–^^–^^–

It’s been five years since that day. I had gone to her home for Thanksgiving and had gone every year from then on. I  found a new family and i am a part of it now. I fell in love with her daughter Christie and married her a year later in the same Church i had met Christ and her mother.

I have found a purpose in life.

I  will contest for the Governor position next year.

And i always Thank Christ and my old lady.  From that day forward, every time I drove past that street corner, I thought of her.

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Written for Speakeasy #137

Although the story is fiction i do echo Shisha’s love for Christ. And i would love to attend a Thanksgiving someday.

Confidence

When everything you believe turns false

And false turns in everything you believe

When everyone doubts you

And you doubt if anyone believes in you

 

If then you can believe in yourself

And believe that you believe in yourself

That’s the moment you can proudly tell

Yes, i am good and i can be better for i have confidence in myself.

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Written For

 

Daily Prompt: I Have Confidence in Me

 

 

 

 

The Army : Sunday Photo Fiction

The idea is to write a story – Flash Fiction – of around 100-200 words based on the photo below. You can find the details of the challenge here.

Sunday Photo Fiction

Sunday Photo Fiction

“Operation FoodGather” echoed the commander’s voice all around camp.

The Commander , a tall hefty brave pigeon called Scott inspired his army like no other commander had done before in the history of all of Ados , their beautiful kingdom.

“We strike along the borders of Kodos , be very careful not to cross. Skitt you fly north along with 20 soldiers and Ksitt you fly south with another 20. Welma will lead the other Watchers flying above us. Be careful Welma we lost Aitt to the Eagles last time. We fly , gather the Grains and we fly back”

“What if the Kodos attacks us” spoke the young Lieutenant Ditte.

“Then we fight with honour , in the name of the mighty Ados” shouted Scott at the line of 60 soldier pigeons sitting on “The Wall”.

“To Me!”.