The butterfly effect

At long last she found that butterfly, reveling its reunion with the garden flowers. Butterflies show semblance to freedom, she had heard. Envious, she carefully grabbed and bottled it, hindering its bond.

"Siya, come on get back to studies", her mom called. Ah, reunions!

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Written for From 15 to 50 prompt by Shailaja V. She's started a new monthly challenge and it's already so much fun! Go pay her a visit.

And that's my Tale #WOW post #UBC (day 6)

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.Write Over the Weekend inspiration for this time-Your life is going to be made into a novel! Write an introduction for this novel. How will you creatively reflect on your life spent?

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She went across the fields to avoid the straight highways, only to find firing lines longed with people shooting at the cost of their lives, and hills converted to crosses. Like a shadow of the day she reached her place and looked down at the cross with her name inscribed on it. When the firing ends, she thought to herself, there will be somebody who comes to these graves in search of a life. To him, she must do justice. She must guide, enlighten and awaken them through a new world and gift them the spirit of the love and hope. And he, the wanderer, shall give birth to this new world. 

My Mislaid Mermaid #168

I walked them through my mermaid reveries,

Withstanding the tone of their infinite vagaries

Right!

Worthlessly they snapped

Whatever you say

The words were capped,

Horsepucky!

Cried girls from Kentucky,

Some silent hmm-s and reliefs

On my unstable Utopian beliefs

Well, in case you’re ready with your crusade,

They've already stolen my mermaid. 

                                                       

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The Ultimate Question- 

Are you on your way to steal my mermaid?

                                                               

M to D- The Price of your dreams

The daughter lay on the bed facing her pillow, deep in the vividness of her thoughts.
Her mother asked, " What is that you dream about?"

"Dream? I'm trying not to dream. There's always a price you have to pay for your dreams." She mumbled from inside the pillow.

"Aren't you paying a price right now, for not dreaming?"
She sat up this time.

I'm a me-person

I have to write. I have to write good. I need to keep them hooked. I ought to sound appealing. Think. Think.

Blank.

Let me write something for myself today.