A writer's plight

      This is a post linking to Rochelle's 100 words photo prompt. As a part of Friday Fictioners, I had to write a post related, however loosely, to this photo. Read on :)                                      



                                                  


Her mind exploded, the cool wind caressing her hair. She held her face in her palms, resting them on her knees. The pages of her book fluttered one after the other, all unveiling her vacuousness. Poorva, the protagonist in her book was dying and she had no way to save her.




She sat there wondering. She should not have let a character she made up come so close to her heart to let her fill up all her voids. Lighting a match stick to a gasper, she inhaled. The shag hit her hard.

Looking down at the xyst she felt herself sinking. Deeper. Deeper. Until she reached the paramount. It was now time to open her fists.

She collected all her senses and looked up only to see the entire town spread below her. The blank pages started to be filled with scribbles.  

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.

Damn it, Bon Jovi!

It's always a pleasure to write for Word Tribe's prompts. This week's prompt was " if s/he knew then whats/he knew now". This is my take on the prompt. Do let me know what you think of it in the comments section below.

He read the lyrics again,

"She says we've got to hold on to what we've got 
'Cause it doesn't make a difference 
If we make it or not 
We've got each other and that's a lot 
For love - we'll give it a shot "

There is no end to a search

She woke up with a sigh. She had wished last night to not be able to see the sun again, she wished for a miracle that could take the little pinch of life in her away, instantly. She wouldn't take the leap. She knew her worth. She saw the crack of dawn through her window and wondered what beauty did people derived from it. She knew comfort in a coarse black night only lit up by a tinge of the reticent moon. But she sensed that morning was to be different. So she climbed out of her bed, warmed by her own heat, sat down by the window and tried to be enthralled by the facade scarlet sky.

A wonted symbiotic relation

He lost his parents before he could retain any memory and created a void in his heart which he filled with anger against the world.

Being punished by his teacher that day, for he wasn't able to identify alphabets, he banged the door open and started throwing the neat bolster into disarray.

Infusion of those uncontrollable emotions

He was the same. He had always been this way. Maybe I was only too busy loving him, to notice anything!

Last evening, again, we could not talk properly, as was our routine during the early days. He did not seem to mark this, I loved him enough not to mention it.

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.