sunrays slip to the valley -insignificant on cold-blooded, icy peaks of power heroes turn victims as the weather changes -Fame has never been an easy business https://scvincent.com/2019/12/12/thursday-photo-prompt-chill-writephoto/
“I will walk out of the house one day”, fumes the breadwinner of the family on encountering opposition. It is enough to shush others into an uncomfortable silence, knowing that they have to comply for survival. Mom is an example – she gets beaten up regularly for not doing things to his liking, but still, …
The magic castle has been there since my childhood. My tiny feet were not strong enough to climb the hill, nor did we have parental permission to go there. We grew up with stories about the monsters that punished disobedient kids, the Fairy Godmother that rewards good behavior on attaining adulthood, the people who disappeared …
The city that never sleeps is buzzing with activity; the city provides livelihood if one is willing to put in the effort-and compromise with imposed lifestyles. Once again, I walk alone after a late shift at work, fearing for my safety and knowing I need luck to survive. Illuminated streets do not light up the …
The prompt is to write something in a similar spirit – it could tell the story of a year or day or hour or minute – something that brought about a change in the life of a protagonist, family, community, nation or the world.
Life was such fun up to the age of 11.
There were music, dance, studies, games, picnics and all sorts of rides.
Some smooth some bumpy but having parents, siblings, and friends to share it with you is fun nonetheless.
Learning new things every day with friends was such fun which I attended every day till I was 11.
Life was like a nice dream.
Then one fine morning everything changed.
Suddenly I became a grown-up.
In my community girls were not allowed to play outside, laugh loudly or dance and sing after they reached puberty.
An order was passed to take…
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He’s gone. And once again we start to pick up the pieces.
There are egos to be restored, confidences to be rebuilt, dreams to be resurrected, wounds to be healed.
Like a hurricane, every year he bowls in, strewing gifts in his wake, invoking a past that we’d mostly forgotten, or at least buried so deep in our consciousness there was only the slimmest chance of revisiting it. But he was always a man for the long odds.
“I’m proud of you all,” he said, leaving. “Everything you are is because of me.”
No disputing the accuracy of that observation.
I so wanted to write something different to this, but you have to take what the muse is willing to offer. And I had said I’d try to make it to Friday Fictioneers every week until the end of the year. Rain, snow or hail, Rochelle always…
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“We’ve struck gold,” exclaimed Tony. “I expected you to clean up the room by now. It was a long queue at the supermarket.” Anna looked exhausted. “Anna, this used to be an artist’s home who walked out on his wife. And she had no regard for his artwork.” “Why are we researching their life, instead …