The Lost Boy

Her thoughts race through the time, avoiding the present and the past, to an infinite future, to find the missing boy who had nothing but sad brown eyes and a lonesome tear. He was the lost boy. The images how he might look when he grows up, spanning his height with only her imagination. The process of strengthening of his cheekbones and the tight jaws, she found him in her thoughts. The place is weird, disgusting and there he is, all grown up and strong but still lost.

It’s a windy evening, wild are the clouds howling, he covers his palms in front of his face, well built and wearing a suit, he leans on the wall that had been his nightmare, a wall where there was no pretty graffities nor the new paints, it was plagued with the urine stink and abusive words; wrinkling his nose, he grimaced at the sight. It was a lonely lane bereft of civilization, tons of waste dumped in abandoned site, flicks of fire still persistent in the strong wind from the ashes on the left of the dry leaves. The huge place was his own, memories of his past was vivid and clear.

lost boy, fiction, dreams, literary fiction

As a boy, he was a lost, this place sheltered him for over a decade, a smirk playing on his face, he advances to the bunch of ravens feeding off the dead racoon. Whooshing them away, he dug the ground beside it, gravel of wet sand collumating in the insides of his nails, he didn’t flinch. A few minutes of digging up, he placed the dead racoon which was -swarmed by the noisy flies and the intestines strewn apart-into the hole. Filling it up again, he sang a forlorn, for the lost lives and the blessed ones. The ravens peck under the crook of their wings, starving for the dead and rotten.

He smiled at the finished grave, collected a few pebbles and embarked it on the tiny grave. He whispered with a low voice.

“When I die, None will do this for me. So get into a deep slumber and rest, for I believe I made a comfy one for you” He spoke to the dead.

Having none on his side, his brown eyes are still sad, he feels someone watching over him, he felt a sense of deprived privacy at a moment that was precious for him. His pupils searched for any presence of humans around, it were just some more racoons and ravens, the arrival of the eagles wasn’t too far. He got up, creased his shirt and rubbed away the dirt on his knees and elbows, the mud in his nails still remained but more than that, the lingering feeling of eyes watching him brought in a feeling of unease in him.

The suit he wore wasn’t new, it wasn’t his either, it was just another almost good thing from the garbage site, torn and worn out, he still looked better from the stinking ragged clothes that we wore diligently for three straight years. He winced at his plight, alone and abandoned, he grimaced. But then, his heart shook to the loud thundrous sound erupting beneath his legs, it was sudden, a vibration that he had never once experienced. He stumbled and held on the rags from the heap but still the ground never supported him. It shook until he fell, the wild winds slashed his face with sharp drops of rain. Feared of the unknown, he succumbed to the nature’s law as the land beneath him opened up and gravity did it’s duty. Into the abyss, he fell, a victim of the nature’s wrath, but he still breathed, inside his own grave.

He was barely conscious but breathing made him suffer, the long intake of absent air and the churning suffocation down his throat to his lungs seemed to increase with every passing minute. He tried to move his limbs, he knew they were broken, with the excruciating pain binding his life, he let out a sigh. His dream had come true. It was to die wearing a suit. Life never got his metaphorical wish, it just gave him what he asked for. Inside the debris of the earthquake mess, he breathed his last, none to care, none to cry. Nature had buried him for his acts of being nice to his fellow beings after their deaths.

On the grave, a few raccoons, ravens and eagles dropped some pebbles.

She stirred violently in her sleep, her dream was bizarre and scary, loathsome and tragic. She hated her sleep for they weren’t mere dreams, none believed it when she said that she could see the future of one’s death, it was all a lie, they concluded. But she had seen her aunt die in an accident, every granulating detail was seen in her dreams, ten years down the time, her aunt met the exact fate, with her hands broken in a grotesque manner and her throat slit due to the glass.

It wasn’t only her aunt, she was able to see the death of anyone she chose to, it was a gift that she mastered over the years. It brought her only fear and today she was thinking about the boy she had seen in the subway a few days ago, begging, with sad brown eyes and a deprived smile. So he would end this way, she  sighed. Her gift was a bane indeed. She searched for him everywhere, the results were futile. The fate of the lost boy was already known but she could never change it, ever.
photo credit: Primary forest. via photopin (license)

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The Mayor’s Daughter

There is an old building over the hills, I call it my home. If you want to see me, then hop over the bushes and skid through the gravel, spare the snails along the way, if it rains, don’t usher yourself under the trees, take your time to drench. Smile at the kids playing under the huge banana leaves, ask them the way to the only bookstore in the small town. They might look suspicious with just their pajama and a cotton vest with little drops of water falling from their glowing faces. Believe them for that is your only choice.

When it starts to drizzle, take out your camera and capture the dew-drops on my favourite lilies on the way. Maybe look back quite often, there will be some vehicles that might pass you with a swish, they will the bicycles from the nearby station. By the way, if you happen to meet the post man with his customary brown uniform and brown hat, heaving and blabbering about the state of his parcel. Follow him. He is coming to me.

The kids with you might be a bit clingy, you are new to the place but they are adorable with hearts so pure, while on your way, if you find a bicycle leaned to the barricade, spare not a thought, that is mine and the mansion that you see is of the Mayor’s. Well, the cycle is yours until you reach me but you might prefer to walk the countryside, not all roads are paved. Kiss the kids a good-bye, they have reached their home, the lane where all the houses are alike is their gift from the Mayor. No, they wouldn’t just leave, they will follow you until you reach me. I have something to give them, definitely not the chocolates.

Ask them my name and they will show you the path, to the bookstore up the hill, the only bookstore in the small town of Farma. Deny them your company and they will sulk for a while, so come anyway. Pick the stones sabotaging the path, those are meant for you to trip. Now spare the kids for they seem to hate you, come anyway with them.

When you reach the roads that is paved only for the few, you will instantly know which. THey are planted with the white lilies, a beautiful curve and a stoney path uphill, you might loose your breath but the walk is worth the landscape.

The clouds are so near that you can touch their fluffy cottons, the fog might blind you but everything is worth it. The petrichor and the chirps make you feel alive while the slimey snails makes you want to jump. Dare not step on any of them, they are precious. Finally when you inhale the divine air and sink into the lush greens sprawled around you, step left to the fountain of sparkling waters, there under the shade of the huge banyan tree you will find a old rusty structure, made of red tiles and wet bricks, green mosses growing all over it, a heaven on earth I call it.

There is no door, you can come in, don’t gasp at the collection of my books, they range from all the genres of literature and for all spanning ages. At one corner, facing to the east, if you see a beautiful girl rummaging through the books for her lost locket, speak to her, she is not me but the Mayor’s daughter. At the far end, there is a huge chair towering my height and I sit in there, knees close to my heart, with glasses that is big for my face. I read my favorite novel, you would have never heard of the book though. Well that’s me. I won’t get up to welcome you, I am stranded for a lifetime, you gape there standing while I distribute the story books to the kids. Yes that’s me, in the white sweat shirt and a blue jeans on the black wheelchair.

Come over to hand me that recommendation letter, I will see if you can be my librarian. And I call this my home, I’m the second daughter of the Mayor of the small town Farma, a devout reader.

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The ‘J’ack We All Know?

Jack, a proper noun exploited as a common noun synonymous to Mr. X. When the pages of history are flipped, there is not one but many illustrations of this Jack guy. He was first introduced to us in kindergarden by the popular nursery rhyme” Jack and Jill”, the18th century guy who fell down and broke his crown.Poor, poor Jack.

Then a few years into studies, we find Jack as the harbinger of loopholes in a person. The famous saying “Jack of all trades and master of none” was frequented to stereotype the mediocre class in the society. But then, Jack can be emphasized to be an allrounder afterall. The days will be motion only if one is aware of all teh skills, knowledge of how to fix a motor or the skills of preparing a simple breakfast is a necessity of today’s fast paced, expensive lives. There is absolutely no pressure for you to be an electrician or a chef. One has to be the Jack of all trades.That guy needs respect, and a bow.

Jack and Jill, JAck Frost, Jack of all trades

Salman Khan, an Indian based bollywood actor, on one of his appearances, when interviewed about his unflinching success through the decades, he gives in to be the Jack of all trades and swears that is the reason for his promising enaction of the characters he is assigned to. Hence Jack was after all an amazing character capable of honing any skill thrown at him.

With the rhymes and the proverbs left behind, we step into the slang world and jack is exploited time and again in the centuries to follow by.

“Jackass” synonymous to idiot, stupid,moron,jerk and extremities of the same meaning, it’s almost like any other decent work in English, now-a-days Jackasses are viewed to be group of close friends. They call each other names and curse. So this generation is all about Jackasses imposing a new meaning to the jack fellow who is deemed to be friendly, amazing and cool.

Jack sometimes, is invariant and omnipresent carrying various meanings and applications. He is also found in the games as well. The Jack of clubs, you remember, right, while playing cards and you are waiting for him to miraculously stay in your hands. The cards owe jack a lot.

Oh and the creepy side, the Jack-in-the-box was used to scare people on surprise parties and jack remains to be the surprise element in the all the creepy movies that hollywood got inspired from Jack.

Let’s not forget Jack Frost that animations introduced to us, this jack can control ice and guards our dreams. He is handsome, humorous and responsible.

So Jack, nope THE JACK that we get to encounter every single day,The friendly jack, the clumsy one, the scary one, the all-rounder and the Jack who is bound to stay in all the text-books, movies and slangs that will be used a few more centuries.

Cheers to Jack:)

photo credit: 5000th Photo via photopin (license)