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Weekly Contest #344
Anyone feeling alone?We have known those dreadful times when we feel all alone even in company. Ever noticed people looking lost in a crowded city? All those lonely people, where do they come from? To whom do they belong? The Beatles made music out of this predicament a long while ago. There’s a face standing under the streetlight, by the crossroads, which cries out his desperate need to talk to somebody. So tell me who doesn’t need a friend? Then, there are those other times you want to talk nothing to nobody, nowhere, not at any time....
Weekly Contest #342
She woke up with the first streaks of sunlight hitting her bed. It was a beautiful morning outside, the sky a perfect tone of blue, but Serena felt an inexplicable feeling of sadness slowly descending on her. She sat hunched on the bed. What was this surge overwhelming her, screaming from deep within her insides?She was spotting.Oh, my God, no, not again. Was she losing this one too? With her heart full of fear, she dashed to the toilet. She tried to slather the soap on, her hands shaking so much that she couldn’t even spread the toothpaste ...
Weekly Contest #340
My Babbles has the nasty knackOf keeping monkeys on his back.There’s Sarah, Amy, Ben and Justin,Friends forever, quite high falutin’ But of my tale, I should cut the slack.‘Coz it’s often said, I lack the knack.Of uttering words, that should at least sound right,When situations need some light. Arrrghhhhhh!And my voice, they say, is shrill and grating.Now, mind you, folks, I ain't complainin’, But for you to get a better picture,I must assure you, it ain’t a lecture.So stay by me, you won’t be taken aback.Here when I go ‘bout this guy nam...
Weekly Contest #314
It was the hottest day of the year. Vanita carried her water pot to the village center. At least there was a tap with a free flow of water. The home taps were rendered useless due to some road repair.She didn't think it a humiliation to carry the water pot, perched on her sweaty head, the beautiful village belle that she was.Contentment, Socrates said, is natural wealth, whereas luxury is artificial poverty. Her ninth grade English teacher had reiterated this maxim till it got into their heads. Besides when you need something you just go get...
Weekly Contest #292
Earlier that morning, the sun had dawned crispy bright over the Gulf Sea.A beautiful day just went by and now the sun was about to disappear into the sea. The trees seemed to be dancing in the breeze. The birds were singing their wild tunes over the Ber tree and eating of its fruit, freely given. The parrot signal was sounded across the sky and a couple of them were enough to created the ruckus.Juliet curled her long, lithe body on the hammock. She was in no mood to rise up and call it 'a day'.Clop, clop... the sound of those slender long le...
Weekly Contest #260
The days were sunny. Sunflowers looking towards the sun showed all was well with the world and God was right up there in the heaven above. Good Papa George stretched his arms out like a bear, looking over the sands onto the distant sea waters. O for a ship to sail by! He adjusted his binoculars.But there was something nagging him real bad. He had started on this rant exactly three weeks earlier. As he grew in age and wisdom or something of that sort, his rants became more pronounced.There were some major issues at work he had to deal with a...
Weekly Contest #258
The book fell with a heavy thud right on her little toe.“Ahhhhh, that hurt.” Mia screamed in pain. “Whatsaa fuss? It’s just a book.” “Yes, but it's heavy! A tome of tomes, if you ask me.” “No big deal,” replied the man behind the paper. “Let me just fling it in your ear then. Lend me your ear, honey. I come to bury this tome, not praise its weight.” Mia sat down to check out the bomb that squished her toe. Its pages were old and crumbly. Somebody had scribbled on the front page…‘O Judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And m...
Weekly Contest #257
Moth came a-flying into the living room as the family lounged on the sofa after lunch. He had followed his natural homing instinct, and the garden door, left wide open, beckoned him inside. Mama was eating a generous slice of the sumptuous Christmas cake because it was the twelfth day of Christmas and ‘her true love’ had brought nothing else. The song was an annual recurrent betrayal of her romantic notions.Now there were two pretty women sitting on their high chairs leaning against the kitchen slab. One was Mama, her mouth full, checking ou...
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