Spike

via Daily Prompt: Spike

SPIKE

transpierce

run through things

skewering many hearts

sharp spindles draw hot blood

fountains splatter it on streets

“penetrate with pointed object”

 

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Just A Small Rant

via Daily Prompt: Instinct

I don’t share my grief with people.

Call it instinct. Or call it pride.

Show of sympathy by others when I’m grieving is just that – a show. “I understand what you’ve been through…” No, you don’t. You are just trying to make me feel better, which I appreciate, but the words you speak are as genuine as Donald Trump’s tan.

When I’m grieving, leave me to myself. If you want to help, make a cup of tea.

Don’t give me the “There is a life after death”, “It was meant to be” bullshit. Please.

I may not be an adult, but that doesn’t mean you need to dumb down serious things like death for me. If it hurts, it hurts. No two ways about it.

I like my tablets like I like my words – without sugarcoating.

 

Altered

index

 

Strange, how I never saw you

For who you were

And you never saw me

For who I was.

But still.

Your elegant handwriting

Is imprinted in my mind.

Like leaves between the pages

Of a book that was left behind.

But still.

The sounds the keypad made

When I dialled your number

Ring as fresh and familiar

As the rhythm of my heart.

But still.

Your jibes, your taunts,

Your needs, your wants

Get drowned in the memory

Of your tinkling laughter.

Really.

Strange, how time can make

Hell seem beautiful

As if it were viewed through

Rose-tinted glasses.

 

The Fun In Funeral

“When I die,” she declared, “you’ll understand why there is ‘fun’ in funeral.”

Carefree words spoken laughingly by a teenager.

Sixty years later, I was standing at her funeral.

I caught snippets of formal conversation.

“Aye, she was a lovely woman. Always had a kind word for everyone.”

“She lived a long and fulfilling life, God bless her soul.”

A solemn looking boy stood up. He must have been about fifteen, with sorrow making untimely creases on his face.

“My grandmother had a last wish,” he spoke, as everyone in the room perked up at his voice. “Would everybody please gather around the ice-box please? I’d rather tell it all to you so that she can see…” Here, he sniffed and wiped his nose with a tissue “…I kept my promise.”

Many obliging murmurs now. Piqued, I followed suit.

“Here, in this box, lies the best woman I ever knew. And her last wish was…”

He was cut short by a sudden onslaught of…was that blues music?

And was that coming from the ice-box?

“I want to break free! I want to breeeeak free!”

I wasn’t able to hear the rest of the song as it was muted out by the shrill screams of fear coming from the younger women in the room.

It hadn’t sunk in yet to the older people in the room. Their eyes had just popped out, their jaws were slack open, and they were shaking in fear.

Judging by the pandemonium, I could safely say that we’d probably be needing a few more ice-boxes soon.

The ‘solemn’ boy was crying his eyes out in laughter.

“Did you see that, Mom? Best thing I’ve done all my life! Oh, Grandma would’ve LOVED this!”

Well, at least I had expected something of that sort here. She wasn’t someone who would go back on her word, however casually made.


A few weeks later, I visited her house again. Things had pretty much sobered up there after her prank with the ice-box. It was a memorial service today.

The officiating priest had already begun speaking.

“Despite her light-hearted nature and her unfortunate impulse to play pranks on people…even when she was dead” Here, he glared at her grandson, whose laughing eyes were just like his grandmother’s, “…she was a wonderful lady and will be remembered. Peace be with all of us.”

A few sniffs were heard. Some heads shook darkly at her irreverence. Death was no laughing matter.

“Consolations can be offered at the lemon tree beneath which her ashes are buried,” a professional-looking woman showed the way.

A few of us rose to offer our prayers to the departed soul. She was our childhood friend, after all, and who could tell whether I’ll have the chance to come here again?

“May your soul rest in peace, my dear” I said, and stepped towards the tree, as the tangy smell of lemons overcame me. In her typical fashion, she had an X marked at the spot where her ashes had to be buried.

Oops.

Music blared from all the trees.

“Ha ha ha ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive! Ha ha ha ha, stayin’ aliiiiiiiiiiiive!”

Well, she definitely had fun at her funeral.

Can’t say the same for the woman who fainted at both the occasions though.


So hey, that’s my lame attempt at a comeback after months of silence. School sure can get tiring!

Oh, and the songs? “I Want To Break Free” is by Queen and “Stayin’ Alive” is by the Bee Gees. Lots of love to you if you see the connection.

Liked it? Hated it? Just meh? Let me know!

Discover Challenge: One, Two, Three!

One, Two, Three!

via Discover Challenge: One, Two, Three!

 

One: Love is ablaze,

Emblazoning my heart with

Your name in passion.

Two: Whirlwind of thoughts

What am I doing? Is this

Truly meant to be?

Three: Cracks spread on my

Frozen heart, breaking it fur-

ther, beyond repair.

Flatmate

I unlocked my door and stepped in. What I saw jolted me.

It isn’t everyday that you get to see Cupid passed out drunk on your sofa.

True, I was now used to seeing him whizzing around the hall as I came back home, cursing the human world, heaven, and everything in between. But seeing him in such an inebriated state was quite disconcerting.

Coldplay’s Hymn For The Weekend was playing as I danced around the room, trying not to step on the shards of glass from the bottles that he had broken. Red wine had seeped through the carpet, creating a ghastly stain on it. Clearly, Cupid wasn’t in a good mood.

I kicked him, “Get up!”

Cupid groaned and turned over. He rubbed his eyes as the music vibrated throughout the hall.

“Yeah, baby! I’m feeling drunk and high, so high, so high!” Cupid whined along to the song. Red wine didn’t make his voice any better.

“What happened to you?” I yelled, frustrated.

“You. You happened to me,” he hiccuped, as the last strains of the song played.

I tilted his chin, looking him full in the face. His bleary red eyes glared back at me. His wings were flapping, purposely whacking my face.

“Ugh! What are your wings even MADE up of?”

“Pages from my favorite romantic novels.”

“…seriously?”

“Feathers, you dummy. Feathers,” he let out an exasperated sigh. “Why are you so stupid? Why can’t you go and fall in love with somebody so that I can go back to heaven?”

“But I DON’T want to fall in love! I’m perfectly happy with my life!”

“Well, I am not perfectly happy with my life!”he screamed.

There he goes again.

“All this pain of dealing with you because I made the wrong people fall in love! Jesus Christ!” He looked up, still cursing. “Do you not realize that I cannot escape this accursed punishment unless I find a mate for you?”

“Punishment? All I can see you doing is lounging around MY house. I’m the one getting punished, not you! I have to cook for two, clean for two, spend money for two…and all you do is break glass,” I gestured at the shards lying at my feet, “…and complain about me! You ungrateful wretch!”

Cupid was in as much as a rage as I was in. His fluttering wings would have looked quite pretty if they weren’t busy scratching my face. Feathery soft didn’t sound comfy right now..

“I’ll knock you off once I get my powers back,” he muttered.

“You and your stupid love arrows.”

“For the last time, I don’t use arrows anymore! I use love rifles! And thanks to you, I’ve run out of my last remaining bullets too! Now I will be stuck here for the rest of eternity!”

His alcohol high gone, Cupid dropped down on the sofa wearily. And just for a moment, I felt bad for the golden head that was bent in sorrow. Just for a moment.

“You hopeless creature. Go get me some more wine. I miss the liquor back home,” he sighed, as he tipped the last of the red wine I had illegally smuggled for him.

What an annoying flatmate to have.