A Part Of Me, A Child Still

In those green fields, I roam still,
holding a kite, running wild,
chasing fireflies, against the wind,
towards the sea, hope in my heart,
dreams galore, love abound.

A part of me is a child still,
there I am in my mom’s kitchen
taking in aromas of spices and love,
I still sit on my dad’s armchair
on the porch, watching a sunset golden.

There I am, listening to grandma’s stories
picking tiffs with my brother,
eating mangoes in the backyard
jumping on muddy puddles with pals,
not a care in the world
Greasy faces, rosy hearts.

Oh! the child in me is still
a part of the adult me,
egging me on to chase dreams,
to weave hopes, to manoeuvre
through the troughs and peaks
and keep on moving
towards the sea,
against the wind.


Million Hues of Black

Darkness has impossible depths
and hues that deepen at each step
down the abyss that never ends
I know, for into it I plunge,
me and my sunken heart.

An incessant ringing in my ear
a silence that is deafening
Away, I urge my feet to carry me,
away from the darkness that
is screeching its way into me.

In the midst of life, I am not alive
I am broken and I am defeated
by the pain, by the silence, by me.
The abyss of darkness I am in now
with its million hues of black
seeping into the cracks of
the millions dreams I had.


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 and in English only. 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.

4. Along with the submission, a short bio of the writer/blog links etc can be provided.

5. No photos with the submission allowed. Fiction in a Flash reserves the right to add photos to the submissions.

6. Usage Rights: By submitting your work, you have agreed to allow us to publish it on the following platforms belonging to “Fiction in a Flash” :

1. FB Page

2. Instagram

3. Twitter

4. Fiction in A Flash website.

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

Please submit at

https://fictioninaflash1.com/contact/ OR email us at fictioninaflash1@gmail.com

Please do NOT submit via FB messages as they will remain unmonitored.

The Unicorn

A unicorn on my daughter’s face,
a piece of face painting that I love,
for in her young heart, she believes
in unicorns, in magic , in dreams.

The unicorn will be gone in a day
but I hope in her heart it will stay
as she grows to be a woman
giving her power and faith
making her believe in miracles
helping her conquer adversities.

My little girl, never let go of magic
when dissonance hits you
find harmony in your heart,
dream on a million dreams,
and somewhere within you,
cling on to that unicorn and believe.

Don’t Be Late


She stripped off her dress and stood in front of the mirror. That tiny scar below her left eye, the first time, the first beating,twenty days after a fairy tale wedding. A minor glitch; happens in all marriages, she had rationalised, not wanting to take off the rose-tinted glasses that she had just put on.

Her eyes moved to a long thin line in her midriff. A mishap at the stairs, tripped, silly me, she had told the nurse who had stitched her up.

I hit the wall while heading to the bathroom at night, she had told a concerned friend who questioned a black eye.

A string of lies, so skilfully told that sometimes she believed them herself. Years of practice.

There had been a lot of time to walk out, leave him, start over. But she had waited, hoped, prayed that things would get better. He did seem so sorry in the mornings. I will stop it, I promise, he kept telling her. She kept believing him.

By the time her body filled with scars and cuts,

it was too late. She had died a thousand deaths every night, till she no longer felt the pain. Pain and love were buried by her in the same grave.

She gave a final look at the bruises she could see, and those only her heart could feel as she got dressed.

Kicking her bloodstained clothes aside, she sat back on the armchair and placed the 911 call.

There is always time to walk out, leave. Not just for her. She had waited too long.

“I have killed my husband”, she said into the phone, not looking at the lifeless body lying on the floor.

My Safe Place

The pink curves of the mouth
are a world of hidden mysteries,
beckoning me, maybe it is me
I will discover in them.

The blue specks of the eyes,
flanked by brown mountains
promise me of secrets,
sizzling and scintillating

Is it him I have dreamt of always?
Sense it I can that I have found the one,
the one whose smile will be my haven,
The one whose love, a shroud.
He has laced through my heart,
the one who will be my safe place.

The Wife

The shimmering silvery waters are seducing her, promising her of joy, a lack of which has today driven her to where she is standing now.

In the middle of nowhere, in the vastness of a shore playing hide and seek with the sea, an orange horizon keeping guard on God knows what.

She sits on a lone rock, clutching her Louis Vuitton. She remembers when he had presented her with the bag. The day after he had beaten her black and blue. She chuckles. Gifts making up for madness. Dollars intending to act as bandaids.

The day she killed him, she felt nothing. Nothing even after thrusting the knife on his chest 24 times. Atleast that is the count the lawyer yelled at the courtroom.

A heartless murder of an eminent citizen of the society, the lawyer had said. She knew she would be jailed for life.

But her lawyer had played a trump card. Saying she was insane- it had been self -defense and she had lost her sanity while protecting herself. And she was acquitted. Maybe he was right, maybe she had become a bit insane when she had plunged that knife on her sleeping husband. Maybe she had not.

But now she is free. Though she no longer knows herself. The ocean beckons, giving her a way out, the waves whispering of a better world on the other side.

She walks towards the ocean, letting the water play with her feet as she goes deeper and deeper, the waves greedily trying to swallow her.

Then suddenly she stops. She turns and pushes the waves away as she makes her way back to the shore. Picking her LV, she walks away, to gather the pieces of her life and stick them back together.

And to make something of it, for herself, for others. She is free- she will make sure no other woman pays as heavy a price as this for freedom.

She smiles. A new day has begun.