A Call Answered (Micro-Fiction)

That evening, she had resorted to an old friend for company. Her friend wore the colour of sparkling gold – alacritous bubbles effervescing within her – and lay in a glass with a long stem and a slim bowl. Somehow, unlike always, her friend couldn’t comfort her. Instead, her mind seemed to go into unrest with the painful reminder that even though her feelings were being understood by millions through her book, she was still lonely. The see through French windows in her house allowed her the sight of her garden, which invited her outside to drown these destructive feelings of hers. She relented to the invitation. A long walk and six steps in the warmth of the farewell bidding sun helped clear her mind. Given time, sand settles in water and the solution becomes clear to the eyes. Thoughts worked the same way with her sobriety vanquisher, and she felt able enough to make a decision. Her recent intakes also gifted her courage. She released her constant company from the confines of her pocket and dialed a number so etched into her memory, she hadn’t bothered to save it. Her Bluetooth earpiece crackled to life with a couple of beeps and then poured into her ears an unfamiliar song, which sounded like a melancholic melody with vocals that wanted to bury a resurfacing pain. Just as the song touched a higher note to vent out greater despair, the call was answered. Her hands went numb as the magnitude of the situation sunk in. The earpiece stayed silent… For a while!

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The maps of his project and their rendering had been the latest occupants of his weary mind. He wished to think of things more relaxing, but being a project-in-charge meant giving up on certain luxuries like sustained peace of mind. He was glad to get home and wanted to feel happy to be back with his wife, but some long gone feeling was being a roadblock to it. He craved for a hug of understanding, and right now it wouldn’t suffice to just be with a faithful, dutiful, beautiful partner. He looked into her eyes and searched for a sense of compassion, but in vain. He did receive a smile though, that meant to say that the eyes complementing the smile were delighted to see him back and that tea was waiting for him. Before he could say yes to the tea, a five-inch-diagonal rectangle lit up within his pocket and Carl Orff’s complaint to lady luck began ringing with an increasing volume. He brought out the source of the sound into his hands and looked at the screen. The number displayed on the screen was way more than just familiar. It had the face of compassion. It promised what he hungered for – understanding. He looked at his wife with eyes that mixed confusion with surprise, and then walked determinedly to the verandah, with the lit rectangle in his hand. He swiped his finger over the screen and the ringing stopped. When he brought the speaker end to his ear, the rectangle was no more lit. He waited for the speaker to gift that unforgotten voice to his thirsty ears, but it stayed silent… For a while!

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(I had written this long back and I admit to this being a mediocre, lacklustre piece. I really could have done better. This was just an attempt to push through my old nemesis – the writer’s block!)

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Home, At Last… (Micro-Fiction)

After a long enervating day, my muscles wish to relegate into dormancy. I want them to hold on for a few more minutes, till I reach home – home, where I can be myself, where my socks can allow half their bodies to bask outside their shoe homes, where my sweat dried shirt can relax itself upon the cushioned chair facing a wall for no reason, where now familiar ants can gorge upon the remains of a chocolate bar that I shared with a beautiful soul as we walked through fading memories last night, where the kitchen sees its inventory refresh just once every month and where the basin-tap runs water for a long while, before a sleep-deprived face in the mirror rushes out of realisation and brings the flow to rest. However, uninviting my home may seem, it is the only place that does not roll its eyes on encountering what I really am within. So, once again, when my muscles ask me to rest for a while and break my journey, I call for them to prod on against the fatigue and just help me reach home, so I can relax in comfort with no fear of judgement. Tonight, it seems that the slumber in my bed would last much longer than usual. Try as much, I can’t help but go gentle into that good night…