Today would be the last day in his dorm room. He had finished packing his stuff and would be leaving behind a bunch of old clothes that he wouldn’t find a use for. He double-checked to see if he was carrying his lucky shoelaces, the ones that earned him his nickname through college. He would have walked right into the course of a car and had tripped over the laces and fell down. It was a brush with death, but ever since then, life had turned out to be just like his nickname: Perfect. His photographic memory brought back traumatic moments from the past when he should have simply died but survived solely due to his perfect luck.
Something pulled him back to the moment. It was an unnerving feeling like the calm before the storm. His confusion was replaced by disbelief as he saw himself walk in.
He walked over to the bench that overlooked the waterfront.
Her laughter echoed over the bay, swathed in blues and greens, but more blue than green. They sat on the brown bench and gazed at the blue waters. He could not have asked for a better place for their last date.
It was their last date in an on-off relationship and he had decided to bend his knee for her, and in his hand would be their ring. And from tomorrow, they would have moved forward, and this would be their last date indeed.
He knew she was the one he had been waiting for. They had had their fair share of fights and misgivings – one fight had seen her aiming a vase at his face. Yet they had stuck together for so long. So, he had realised, they should stick together till death do them apart.
As he went down on his knee, she got up to shield him from the red hot wave that crashed from the shore onto the waves of the sea.
He remembered searching for her eyes but instead finding tears in front of his. He shivered from the overwhelming pain of that memory. It made him drop his phone that played the recordings of the fateful day, when a bomb blast had separated them, over a distance greater than physical.
The video was playing as it always did: at this spot, on this day for every single year for the past 40 years, and he clasping the now chipped ring.
The scene on his mobile ended with an image of the ruckus of the bay blown apart in a bloody red hue. The authorities had set right the place for the public’s eye. But in his mind’s eye, their last date would always be bathed in bloody red.
Day 3: Theme: Skin, Style: Prose Poetry, Device: Internal Rhyme
The moon felt sad about his bad face and asked the sun to share one of her rays. Soon it grew to be in a new phase And light filled its quiet rocky surface.
The little boy could never smile because he always thought that he was the ugliest person to live. He thought none wanted to be close as he was hideous and unattractive. He had often asked the doctor to help him out, and once the doctor had consented. Exchanging the pills for a wad of cash, to his home in excitement, he did dash.
Yet, the gorgeous moon was far from joyous A dark mark stayed on the Earth, which was mysterious. It projected him into guilt more than he expected and created a plan to work to help the dejected.
On his way he saw the homeless, begging for food and money. But he noticed that they neither had shelter or anything to call cosy. This brought tears to his eyes, as he felt him despise for himself. He chalked up a plan and walked up to the clinic again.
The moon bounced the light to the provinces that were dim So those in the shadow were thankful to him. He felt joy that made him melt, in which he started to swim He knew he should do more according to his prayer hymn.
The boy went back to the clinic and traded his money back for the graded pills. He got back to the sector of the poor and gave out the money, becoming a donor. He found joy, by spreading it. A pleasure he had been unaware of so far. He made the decision to take the action forward as he knew the God of this creation would want him to.
The moon soon disappeared to become new and about where it went no one knew. Till he eclipsed the sun, he did grew and the solar power did cry and raise hue.
The power of the moon was thus made known The sun cowered and was covered by the moon which shone His influence on the earth’s waves and ways are stronger It is the moon that is, to the earth, closer much like the boy who, as a better doctor became renown.
The balloon seller, walked down his usual paths, selling his wares, in his usual way:
Get these balloons for all the good children And not for those, who break stuff and away run. Come ye. Come all. Get these balloons from me and gift it to your boys and girls who have a good story
And his usual way, unfortunately for the parents, was alongside schools and parks. On hearing his song, children would look at their parents for a judgement of behaviour. And in order to pacify them, the fathers and mothers would buy balloons for their children.
The old man stood as if he was confronting the headstone. The grave was of a girl who had passed away in her youth. Her name brought back memories that were stained with the pain she had wrought onto him. He remembered it like yesterday: her advances, his refusal, and the consequent betrayal.
Today’s Prompt: We all have anxieties, worries, and fears. What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears.
Today’s Twist: Write this post in a style distinct from your own.
We all fear something in life. Sometimes more than one fear at the same time. It could have a fear of failing in class, a fear of “what-if?”, a fear of dying alone and lonely, and so on and so forth.
I’m no exception. I’ve had my fair share of fears. I still do too. But somehow as each fear arises, solutions also manifest that help me overcome. Sometimes, it’s easy. Sometimes I need to sleep on it. Sometimes I’ll have to talk it out with someone who’s faced it. No matter the method, a solution is always available. The fact is that this too shall pass.
Today’s Prompt: Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration. If you need a boost, Google the word and see what images appear, and then go from there.
Today’s twist: write the post in the form of a letter.
Book: The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes – Part 2 Word: Evil What a word that’s so open to interpretation.
Dear good twin brother,
It seems like an eternity since we actually spoke to each other. Something that is quite normal, except for the fact that we are conjoined twins.