Sunday, July 15, 2018

Caged



In response to the Friday Fictioneer July 13 2018
(https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/07/11/13-july-2018/)






"Dad, it's the scariest cruise that Mario and I have been saving the money for."

"Who needs to go on a cruise when the best thriller is in our front yard?"

Her dad hosted the most frightening enjoyable party in the neighborhood.

"Don't mix too much sugar into the rose water. Blood is not sweet", her dad said gingerly. She put on her vampire hood and went outside to keep the jar on the table. There she saw the recent addition her dad was bragging earlier.

"M..ar..io", she said taking a step towards the cage.



Monday, July 9, 2018

Lost and Found




In response to the Friday Fictioneer  on July 6 2018 
(https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/07/04/6-july-2018/)




"M'am, did you see my leg", the tall guy asked smilingly as he hopped closer to me.

Seeing my perplexed look, he held out his hand revealing a new football covered with brown leather having "The Giants" printed on it.

"I was teaching my nephew to kick the football through the goal posts. I kicked it too lightly, sending my legs to fly off.

I looked around to see if I can help in any way.

"There it is, Uncle!", a little brat came running from behind. "Let's have an ice cream from Coldstone while grabbing your leg too."

Friday, June 22, 2018

The Ride


In response to Friday Fictioneer Jun 22 2018
(https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/06/20/22-june-2018/)






"I can drop in off in my bike", Buddy replied as Uncle Carlos handed him over the large cake nicely wrapped in a box.

"You will mess my decoration", Uncle Carlos argued handing him over a ticket for the boat.

"Do your customers never smell anything fishy in your cakes?" retorted Buddy.

Uncle Carlos always preferred the steady and slow boat to deliver his delicious cakes. The slow ride kept the cake together, he said.


Buddy hated the rides. The stream was stinky and contaminated. The boat was not clean. He wondered what was in the other rusty boxes.

Friday, June 8, 2018

The Statue



In response to Friday Fictioneer June 8 2018
(https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/06/06/1-june-2018/)






"Who goes to a museum for a date?", he complained.

"Everyone in New York does", she replied.

"I like action, can't stare at inane sculptures", he groaned.

"If you understand the history behind it, you would find it as exciting as your Lakers game."

They entered the beautiful hall with the high ceiling. People were scattered looking at different artifacts.  Parents were trying to keep their young ones' hands off the sculptures.

"Look at the beautiful centerpiece", she exclaimed.

He stared at the statue confounded. "I swear I saw the hand move."

"What?", she retorted looking back at the armless statue.

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Unraveled Yarn



(Response to June WEP entry at http://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/)





“I will treat you like a flower”, he whispered in her ears as he closed her eyes and walked along few steps. 

“Now open your eyes.” 

“This is beautiful”, she answered. In front of them stood a beautiful red-bricked house, which he had architected. It had a small lawn in the front lined up with roses, jasmines, and lilies on the side. It was surrounded by a small, 3 feet high brick compound wall. On the right side was an overhead canopy, which could act as a shelter for a future car. The house was encompassed in a large area of empty residential plots. The nearest construction of a home was almost half a mile away. If one climbed up a tree, they could even see the Delhi Haryana border. 

He slowly slid the front door open, revealing a huge living room. She literally danced around the floor, squealing with laughter. She glided across the room to open the door to the backyard. 

“This, my dear is your kitchen garden.” Rows of vegetable sapling were nicely arranged in a row and grouped by category. On one side of the garden were bunches of the banana plant. 

Her happiness knew no bounds. She took a deep breath of fresh air. “This is like a dream.” 

He pulled her close, “We will make our dream come true here. We will...” “

You mean including a terrace garden and a library”, she intercepted smiling. 

“Haha, This is Delhi, dear. We need to start slow and then add one by one.” 

She touched his cheek, her face pale with concern, “We can afford this right?” 

He smiled lovingly, “Yes, we can. We just need to be careful with our spendings. Oh, there is something else I want you to see.” 

He took her into a room. There on the corner, right next to the window, was her wooden writing desk and chair her dad had gifted. She used to love working in that as a teenager. 

Tears rolled down her face as she touched the wooden surface. “Its like he will always be around”. 

“Yes”, he continued, “As I promised your dad, I will treat you like a flower.”, he said affectionately. 

“Mamma, Papa, Look what I did”, a cherubic 4-year-old boy rushed into the room excitedly. He hugged her in her knees as he looked up at her. 

“Come”, he continued pulling her saree. 

The child took them to a room where he had scribbled letter “A” in the nicely painted walls. They looked amazed at the wall and at his grinning face. 

They burst into laughter as he lifted the child up. “He will become a writer.”, she said. “Of Course not”, he responded. “He will be an engineer and build the world.”, he continued circling the child in the air as the child burst into squiggles of laughter.

                                                    ***** 

He opened the car door and held out his hand. “Be careful, ma.” 

She held his hand and got out of the car, watching out for the puddles. Two bikes zoomed past them and a cab brushed passed them almost ripping the car side mirrors. The sweeper was sweeping the road sending out dust clouds. She covered her face with the “pallu” of her saree, careful not to get into a coughing fit. 

The small black gate squeaked as he opened it. The red-bricked house was overpowered with tall buildings on all the sides. It remained dwarfed having the only greenery in the 50-mile range. As with any cosmopolitan city, Delhi was consumed by urban forest choking humans of fresh air. 

The front lawn, which once glorified of velvet grass was parched dry. He took her around the house. The kitchen garden was dry and flat. On the side was a big tree, swaying gently to the dusty breeze. It brushed the banana tree leaves every now and then. 

“Remember ma, the mango seed I planted with grandma”, he said. 

She smiled weekly, “Do you think papa..” 

She was interrupted by a car which stopped in front of the house. A gentleman got down dressed in a suit, contrasting to a hot Delhi weather. He shook his hands. 

“This is ma”, he said introducing his mother. 

The gentleman folded his hands and said “Namaste” respectfully. 

“Your dad was a man of high principles. He would have never let this happen.”, said the gentleman. 

He nodded and slid the front door open. It squeaked with lack of oil. He ushered them inside the house and put his arms around her as she stepped in. 

“There is nothing to inspect. I know your dad kept paid the taxes and kept documents properly.”, the gentleman said as he opened his briefcase. “The sale will be done quickly.” 

The gentleman took out a bunch of thick papers and went through them. “I need your signatures here and here”, he continued, spreading the papers on her writing desk and handing over a pen. 

She took the pen and signed the papers. Tears rolled down her cheek as she touched the wooden surface of the writing desk. 

He put his arms around her. “Don’t worry ma, I will treat you like a flower.”

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

The Plant In a Bowl



In response to Friday Fictioneer May 25 2018
(https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/05/23/25-may-2018/)



"What?", Barry held a golden envelope.

Barry knew Meg loved European history. She had won all the online contests of "Do you know the Royals?" But this cannot be true.

"You got invited to the wedding?"

"No... This is for the Royal wedding watch party at our local hotel at 5:00 am tomorrow."

"You? who has not seen a sunrise ever?", Barry blurted out.

"I know. Please wake me up", Meg pleaded handing over a bowl with a plant "and water this for me."

"This is the myrtle plant for our table centerpiece", she continued answering Barry's confounded look.




Friday, May 18, 2018

The Boots





In response to Friday Fictioneer - May 18 2018
(https://rochellewisoff.com/)







"I need to stop her from donating those."

Those boots belonged to her father, the best man to me. He used to walk me and talk to me daily.  I listened to all his work problems. Though I could never reply, I know I told him all his solutions.

I gave him the idea that made his book the best seller on Amazon.

I heard footsteps. Slowly I moved my paws and finally got my tail and rear legs stuck into the boots.

"Look Mommy, Puss in Boots!", her daughter screamed running towards me.