Dear Me

A letter to herself.
By Indrani Chowdhury.

Dear Me,

How are you? I have not talked to you in ages. Are you still alone? I saw you a few days ago wandering by rickshaw. You seemed captivated and lost while watching the sky. I know that watching the sky is your first choice. Do you still remain awake at night and listen to music? Does Gazal still drag your attention? Do you watch the rising moon and count the stars? Do you still love Robert Frost? He was your inamorato. Who is writing you now? Everyone thinks you crazy for this activity but I know who you are.

I know you don’t mingle with people because of the fear of getting hurt. I have seen you walking away silently many times. Everyone has seen your smile. Only your pillows know what the truth is.

I need to talk to you. I want to know the real face of the people, need to apprehend the fake smile. Don’t leave me alone. You are my lost poem, you are the epic of distress.

Yours forever

“You”

Why?

AUTHOR: Hurshitha Vasudevan
AUTHOR EMAIL: justbarbie03@gmail.com
AUTHOR URL: http://Rickywicky.blogspot.in

We shared everything,
Every secret, every dream.
Little did I know, you would take my heart away and never give it back to me.
We were just friends.
Soon enough best friends
But little did I know,
I would want you as my girlfriend.

I smile at everything you say,
I cry whenever I see you sad.
I hate the everyone to death who dislike you.
Darling I would do anything for you,
So come to me now,
Be with me. I want you by my side now.
Cause I am suffocating to death
Your few words, your beautiful smile
Makes me go high
I feel like I am in the sky.

I gather up all my courage
To tell you how I feel,
You think I am being funny
And play along as though it’s not real
You hug me and kiss me
You make me go all insane..
Later you say, I am boring and it was all just a game.

Now here I am crying,
Cutting myself another time.
The pain feels so less
As compared to the pain I felt
When you broke my heart to pieces.
Now all I can do is look at you from backside
When I get too close to you
You push me like I don’t mean anything.
I feel so lonely
I wish I was so dead
My friends say get over her
But do they know how much I loved you..

Just look at me once
Give me one more chance
Be mine forever
Cause the world feels incomplete to me
Without you.

– Ricky Parker

The crushed flower

kisurikaw

What started out as white and gold,

Ended with black, blue and stories untold,

She had dreamt of a time when she’d be a bride,

But ended up with scars and no place to hide.

A flower from a garden bright,

Lovelier than the stars at night,

The apple of her parents eyes’,

She was an angel, caught in a web of lies.

She was plucked from her garden way too young,

Blinded by the words a devil sung

Promises, dreams, love and more,

Her innocent heart bewitched and sore

From need, to be happy, loved and adored,

To be the bride in silk, pearls and gold.

She pictured her children running wild,

A happy life, with problems mild.

Days, weeks and months pass by,

The devil slowly sheds his disguise,

She bleeds tears at this woeful sight,

Fades away slowly, her usual happy light.

She had thought love to…

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Mr. Fred

Chapter 1

When I was a little girl of 3, my everyday scenario was seeing my frail mother trying to keep me warm and alive. While my father, who was shunned from the society for his macabre experiments with wild animals, would lock himself up in his lab trying to come up with a break through; a fusion of different kinds of animals… in other words, a chimera. As my father relentlessly worked himself in his filthy lab, my mother reached a breaking point and her limbs eventually gave away due to hard work and starvation. She had to succumb to her bed, numb, sickly and on the verge of death. Her pathetic condition could, in no way, appeal to my father’s empathy… he was devoid of it entirely.

One gray day, my father limped out of his lab facing the shadows of the clouds. Looking at my bed-ridden mother, he said ‘Alice, for once, your good-for-nothing mother could finally be of some use’, then he picked up my dying mother in his bony arms and hobbled back into his lab. For nearly a week, I was left in the dark. I saw neither my mother nor my father. I fed myself with whatever leftover and stale bread there was in the food storage. I don’t know how I survived in the dark. Somehow, the image of my mother’s kind face embedded in my eidetic memory and my desire to see her again kept me alive.

As I was beginning to give in to despair, the doors of my father’s lab creaked open. Heavy fog diffused throughout the room from the opening of the doors. From within the mist emerged a lanky man… no… a creature.. with a robust torso but gangly limbs. It had webbed toes with long talons and absurdly long fingers. But the most unusual part of its body was its face. Its face had no eyes, no nose and no ears. Instead it had long dark hair behind its head and an eye on its chest, I noticed it flicker. It had a pale white complexion and wore a yellow sweater. As soon as it emerged from the smoke, it knelt before me and embraced me into a cold hug ‘Oh Alice, my dearest’, it said, baring its sharp needle like teeth.

‘Who are you? Where is mom and dad?’ I asked.

‘ I am your family now, Alice, I am almost everything you are left remaining with, I am everything you need now. Your mom rests within me, and soon shall your dad’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘Look into my heart and you will understand…’ He pointed at the flickering eyeball protruding from his chest. I saw my mother’s eye. It was as blue and vast as the sky. It was filled with kindness and love. ‘They say, that the eye is the window to the soul’ He said.

‘oh… I see… What do I call you then?’

‘You can call me whatever you like, my love’

‘I know! I will call you Mr. Fred. You know, freaky Fred from courage the cowardly dog?’

‘As you wish my dear. I will be anything you want me to be.’

For some time he stared longingly into my eyes. It’s like he could look inside me. It’s like he could see my soul with that eye on his chest. Suddenly I felt insecure and unsettled.

‘I want to see my dad’ I said.

‘And so you shall my dear’ he obliged. He picked me up in his arms and instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my head on his shoulder as he carried me towards the lab.

After such a long time… I felt loved.

 

 

Main Antagonistic character based on Valtteri Viitala’s(Mr. Roger) art: His ‘Pet’
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/luciferius_/

monster

Constructive feedback/ criticism will be highly appreciated. I might have made some grammatical mistakes, I dunno. English is not my native language after all. However, I am open to suggestions and let me know if you liked the story.  Enjoy  ^_^.

Uncounted Reasons Why I Write Depressing Shit.

It is known that The Prestigious Writers’ Club has often been hailed for writing depressing shit. But little do people know that depression is one of the most significant motivating factor of our creative writing and inventions. Depression or melancholia have deep connections with our creativity and productivity.  Throughout history we have learned that due to great misfortunes, sadness or depressions people were forced or motivated to come up with something. No happy-go-lucky ever got off his ass and started working on anything. Wars were the reason for so many terrifying yet great inventions, anti-Jews drove Einstein out of Germany. What if he stayed in Germany? Would he have been able to be the great scientist as he were when he was in America. Let’s talk about poets, there are many quotes that says that a broken heart is worth more than a heart in one piece. Why? Because a man who has had his heart-broken has learned from his mistakes, thus being wiser than his jolly companion. Many great poems were written when the poet was rather melancholy. You can’t make them feel shit, if you don’t feel the shit yourself (pardon my crass use of these vulgar words. It’s something that comes with the ‘carelessly classy’ package). The source of depression aren’t heartbreak and break-ups only. Many people are sad due to mental illnesses. They are victims to Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia, Depression, Anxiety Disorder, and ADHD. I myself can account to at least  two of these mental illnesses. Statistics have shown that a majority of the people in the creative field are living with mental illnesses. You just cannot be creative if you do not have a spark of madness in you.
Surely we love the funny movies and the romantic ones. But which are the movies and stories that we cherish and keep in our heart?  I still remember Adrien Brody’s fantastic acting in the movie The Pianist. I can still recall Ethan Hawke starring in the most awesome Sci-Fi movie I have ever seen: Predestination. Not to mention V For Vendetta and the sad truths about politics and corruption. It is the sad parts that makes it all real, that makes us cry. I can guarantee 10/10 bucket full of tears unless if you are some cold hearted asshole. Sorry, sorry, I acted out of control

 This article was not revised, nor even looked upon twice. So leave a criticism you sarcastic arrogant prick! (just kidding, don’t take it seriously.)

A Walk By The River

*Djael is pronounced Di Hayel.

 

‘Do you mean that a river God dwells in this very river we are walking beside right now?’ Amon could not conceal his sarcastic grin, however, it did not matter.

‘Yes’ I stood firm.

‘What? Are you serious right now? Stop bluffing Djael, we all know that no such river God exists’.

‘Yes, that is true in a sense but it is not a God I speak of. It is something we have not acknowledged yet. It is yet unclassified. Care to know why?’

Continue reading

Petrichor

*Most of the details are based on Basque (Euskadi/Euskal Herria) and its language (Euskara).

‘Do you know the meaning of your name Euri?’ the wise old man asked a lively young girl.

‘No Grandpa, what does it mean?’

‘It means Rain, girl. Your dear Amona (grandmother) particularly chose that name for you because you were born during a cloudburst. Of course, it always seems to rain back in Vasconia. Oh how I miss my dear Euskal Herria. ’

‘Grandpa, I am confused. I have never heard of rain. What is cloudburst Grandpa?’

‘Oh my blurry memory, I forgot that you were not old enough to remember your time in Basque. ’

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I Am Wide Awake

I realized I am not the only person who wakes up during ungodly hours only to reflect on his/her life. I also realized that there are others who would wake up and try to fall asleep again and again just to go back dreaming the same dream they dreamt when they were asleep.
I understand how it feels when your life is not okay. When it is not satisfactory , remarkable or fulfilling enough. When it seems worthless but you cannot do anything about it. When you’re as good as a zombie and feeding on resource but doing nothing to pay it back or do anything for its renewal.
I know how it is like. Not being able to fall asleep. Thinking about the same thing over and over again as you shift uncomfortably on your bed. Reflecting on your days and how it could have been better. How you could have done better.
I know how it is like. Waking up late. No one waiting for you to show up.   Knowing that it is going to be one of those days, like everyday. Days that promise nothing exciting in the end.
I have no idea how it feels like to be expected. To have expectations. To fulfill. To be fulfilled.
I do not know how it feels; the touch of warmth.
I have no idea how it is like to be flawless. To not make a mistake. I have no idea at all…
Even though I am wide awake, I feel, that I am dreaming one of my worst nightmares again. The place where nothing happens. Nothing at all… No monster chases me, no ghost to scare me, no assassin to stab me, no one to push me off the cliff, nothing to entrap me, nothing scaring me. It’s just pure darkness and total vacancy in there.

A place where nothing awaits me and I await nothing.

People like us, we need to find each other. For we are the only ones we have. Among the darkness we wander, hardly coming across each others path. But surprisingly enough, we are in the same room. We just need to try, instead of lying in the corner where we are left. We need to seek each other out. Follow the traces of warmth. Embrace its source. Call out to each other. Whatever unites us. To survive in this lonely world, everyone needs company, eventually. Old or young. Everyone needs support. To have someone waiting for you. Someone expecting you. Either it is disappointment or approval, there needs to be something.

Our pages must not be left blank.

A Simple Point of View

Smallfoot

About a month ago, some guy asked me if I’d like to teach kids. I was like, ‘Yeah, sure, why not? I always like a source of income’. Then he explained it to me. It was not like home tutoring for a monthly income. It was about going to a place and teaching a group of kids for free! Nevertheless, I still agreed. ‘It will be a useful experience’ I thought, ‘something to add into my list of ECA’.

Then it was time for us to meet the kids we were going to teach. They were children from poor families. Boys and girls whose parents could not afford  high quality education for them. Let me clarify, they were underprivileged children.

Before I met those kids, I anticipated that it was going to be a fruitless thing to do, teaching kids we don’t usually care about everyday. Then I got to…

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