My Ramblings

It was a serene morning at the beach of Wasalpur. They called it Wasalpur-at-sea. Was it to strip it off its identity, the one where roads bustled with two-wheelers; drains opened to the main drain and ultimately into the sea; stagnant freshwater pools reeked of putrefaction; garbage mound aimed to touch sky; nobody knew. At least I didn’t. Like a human being, my town also had its shades of personality. People shed attitude, like I changed pens, or Gauri changed clothes. Some brought the lasting sympathy, others took it away with their bands of ghouls loitering around to recover loans. It was not a law and order problem though. The constant hum of water ebbing in and away produced a symphony of the orchestra. A soft, piecemeal segue into something calming. It was as if it wanted me to drift away to sleep along to complete my night-long sleep. I had woken up after a meagre 2 hours. And then I just ambled around the kitchen, the dining room, the patio trying to be as soft on my fee...

“Who are you trying to light up in the sunlight? Ghost? This is not something to mess with, man. Bhangarh is scary! No Kahin Deep Jale crap please.” “No. Fancy a ghoul! A human ghoul.”, Amit shifted his eyebrows. It was clear he meant Raghav. “We’ll have to reel him in. So, we leave the first group of diyas. Rub the second and third one with manganese, glycerine. We also leave the fourth rack.” Night descended. The trio was in. No local to guide them. Confident. Suddenly Rajan fainted. “First and fourth Amit, ho….ho….how?” Everything went black after that. ____________________________________________________________ For 100-word challenge here at TSN’s. Prompt = word Fancy which could be used or implied.

S hort of breath, eating carbon T he man from then kept moving forward. E nraged them with queries, himself not dithered. “ A re you sure, this is 21 st and not any other?” M arauder not was he, confused only. P osterity was indeed more intelligent but their acts unwisely. U ncertain, was he skeptic or were they insane?  Yet N othing justified their shallow blings. K icking aside everything, he looked out to take a final mental shot.   --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Prompts for YeahWrite : word 'pivot'/ genre Steampunk/ acrostic poem. Steampunk is a subgenre of science fiction or science fantasy that incorporates technology and aesthetic designs inspired by 19th-century industrial steam-powered machinery. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s no way out You be who you want to be Just remember to call When you feel to hold the ground. Be reckless and carefree Feel the death get by your side Pull me aside to tell those stories When you feel to crumble inside. Get your bruises your burns Your souvenirs from the fight I don’t care just get back to me When you feel to hold and scream. Pull those bullets out yourself Or have damn doctors’ claws in. Text me in my meeting room   When you feel to flinch and pass out. Meet me half meet me full They don’t have to anchor you Run to me to find me home When you feel you are sinking in.

The wall behind the cashier was littered with small portraits. Only some were real, most bragged ‘model’ life pair of father-child, mother-kid, or a model family with three generations chuckling at some family secret. But they certainly supplemented the cafe owner’s design of giving the place a certain family appeal. With no crowd at the counter, Mr. Osprey fled to the front of the queue. Not that his legs could hold the extra pressure of running neither did his heart contain enough zeal. He was even closer to those photos now. He was stuck at the photo of a father holding his kid most likely for the first time. “This is beautiful, isn’t it?”, the cashier at the counter tried to break the prolonged silence. With the break in his thought, Mr. Osprey needed a moment so he could find ground in the reality. “Yea, yes… It certainly is.”, he staggered. “How would you like to place the order Sir?”, Gus finally resumed his job. “Sir, sir…!” “I am sorry. A cappuccino w...