Because of Me

When the clouds take over the sun and the world descends into a darkness, gloomy and dark, I sneak through the cracks of your heart.

You squirm and sweat, toss and turn but cannot sleep. For I poke deep in your heart, stirring emotions that you had thought you buried for good. 

I am gentle at first, desiring not to overcome you. But then, as the floodgates of love open, I hit you with all my being. And I force you to look back. Back to those days when you loved and lived. When she belonged to you.

You cannot sleep, you cry with pain and loss. All because of me. But I am because you made me. You let her go, you had different priorities.
You fool! You had thought you would find better.

I haunt you because you created me.
I am the memory of her.
The one you lost.

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You are, for I am

Afloat, buoyant, light
that is what I feel like,
You, hey, yes, you,
the look in your eyes,
glazed and awed
I bring that on
The stutter, the stumble,
I cause that too.

The longing, the sweet pain,
that you wish for more,
I give you that, and desire too.

I laugh as you smell roses,
and play your six string,
humming new tunes.

I chuckle as you despair,
and twist and turn at night.
and when you win,
I rejoice with you.

Love, I am.
You see light, for I am.

Escape

The summer stung, the buzz of the mosquitoes deafened, the afternoons dragged.Every day of that summer, the little boy thought of escape. 

Today, he just sat with his mother and watched her cook dinner.

The roti puffed up as his mother flipped it with skilled but worn hands. 

“Let us go to the mountains, Ma,” he said. 

“I heard its cooler up there.”

His mother, flicking another roti onto the stove, did not answer.

“My school teacher hails from a town called Shimla up there.” 

Her little son always said things that she could never imagine. Go away to the mountains. She had never set foot outside the village. 

She still did not answer.

“She says you can find a job in one of the army canteens. She can help.”

She still did not say a thing.

Her entire life had been consumed by the woods surrounding the village and devoured by her husband, the one who would come home drunk each night and find excuses to beat her.

Her body ached from last night’s beating as she arched in front of the stove. He had been brutal last night. But he had always been brutal.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Let us go now, Ma. Just you and me”.

She turned to look at him. He was looking at her, a sincere and pleading look in his eyes.

“We can be happy, Ma.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She knew what he was saying. Her wise little son was urging her to escape.

The sun beat down upon the mother and son as they looked at each other. In the silence of that summer afternoon, as she slowly reached over to hug her son, with no words shared, a decision was made.

The mountains beckoned. So did life.

The Music That Died

The music in their relationship had with the passage of years had died a slow death. Now it was just silence. A deafening silence that could not be drowned by the mundanity that life had become. 
The silence was always there, even amidst the chaos that their children made, amidst the joys that Christmas brought, and between the birthdays and bills, between mortgages and marriages. The silence has become the third person in their relationship.

And one day, one of them had enough. She could no longer take in the silence, it was killing her. And she walked out. Walked out of the life she had painstakingly built.

Only for the search of music.

Time to Write

We are now welcoming guest posts in “Fiction in a Flash”. Calling for Original works of fiction/prose/poetry ! 
Selected works will be published in our FB page, Instagram and Twitter pages as well as our website https://fictioninaflash1.com.
Please note the guidelines below:

1. Material submitted should be original. Plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

2. The submission must not exceed 500 words.(the title of the piece is exclusive of the word limit).

3. Fiction in a Flash reserves the right to publish/reject the submission. 

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However, your story will be duly attributed to you across all platforms and on all mediums.
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The Market of Colors

In the cacophony of sights and sounds,
where colors mingle, as do minds,
I hear a tinkle, a laughter.
In that busy market, I hear my life.

The banter of the bangle seller,
the cries of the peanuts hawker,
slowly seem to drown
and everything slows down.

I try to focus, I try to zoom,
on that one sound
that is the gateway to heaven,
that laughter I have to make my own.

But then, the crowd grows,
I cannot move, as it swallows,
I strain my ears, my being,
to catch that dying laughter.

In a flash, it is gone,
This colorful market took away
my color, my piece of heaven,
It took away what was surely mine.