The Lucky Star


She counted on her tiny fingers, tracing the paths she had just taken in the villa. It was the most spacious thing she had come across in all her 10 years of life. The rooms were like cities, wide, alarming and drool worthy in all its architectural status. She called the big villa as her castle.

“Twelve, it is” she reassured herself and said it aloud, biting her lips, crossing her fingers and anticipating a broad smile from her new teacher.

“Are you sure, young lady? For If you must be wrong then you need to write 21 horses and their talks a hundred times.”

An old man with the receding hairline and graying beard eyed her with a hidden smile.

“Yes Teacher, it is 12, 2 in the hallway, 4 on the way to the biggest rooms in the castle and one each in all the six rooms” She had to be right. She shuddered at the thought of the 100 times she was to write the 18th-centuryfiction, short story, inspiration, writers, authors, oneshots poem.

Mr. Goving Aarya rose up, towering the tiny girl. With his glazing brown supporting stick and a well-tailored suit, he tried to look young but none of them did the charm except the pride that was now dancing on his face.

He had caught her.

“There are thirteen turquoise blue Italian jars dear, you forgot the one in this very room, there on the highest shelf” He held her towards the expensive jars and found her face drop in a second.

” A hundred times it is” She sighed.

“A hundred times it is, dear” He smiled.

Heaving a sigh of relief and studying the retreating shadow of the girl, made his face glow with a shine, a kind of shine one gets to see when someone knows their bright future.

He was preparing a gem for the literature world.

Having published 20 books and a few accolades in his name. His skills had only sharpened as he had outlived his peers. A divorcee at 30 and kids in far away lands, none had inherited is writing skills. And deep down he knew he was the reason for it all.

His fame had him under its spell and that is why commitment was just a fun word back then.

But the raging time promised him the graying hairs, weakened knees, shivering lips, trembling fingers and sleepless nights.

He would barely write now, with creativity at bay, he longed for his family but it was too late. That was when he met her.

The girl on the streets, begging, trying to read articles out of scrapped papers, stolen glances to the textbooks of the wealthy school going kids. Govind had noticed her on his way to the park for his morning walk, intrigued by her commitment and interest. He once took her to the library and her sparkle in the eyes assured him of the hidden potential in her.

From then onwards, there was no turning back. He adopted the orphan, fed her with literature, put her to sleep singing Shakespeare and triggered the writer in her. He was on a mission., to carve out the best diamond from the nugget.

“She would remember me for this or maybe she will forget me one day like my kids but my heart is finally at peace.”

He retired to his cane chair, lost in thoughts while the future writer crooned on the long chair writing the poem a hundred times, savoring the intelligence of each line, lost in a world that her young mind imagined!

“I will always remember you for this punishment teacher” She yawned…

She just didn’t realize how her lucky star had brought her to her bright future, YET!

The Forgotten Window!

It felt fresh as the long night descended with a crisp of winter morning breeze. It whooshed its way through the broken glass of the forgotten window.

With my withdrawn eyes from the habituated look at the Ganesha idol on my table, I drift to the old teak cupboard situated at the north corner of my dim room. It was flaking brown, a bit of dampness at the back of it spoiled the edges of my neatly ironed shirts.fiction, one-shots, inspiring story, old-age, generation gap

A smile lit up as I knew they were never to be worn again, I was going back in time, flooded with memories of my childhood as the stream of morning light hit my light brown eyes.

My grandfather was still alive and healthy until I was seventeen. With the budding new mustache, there was a new love budding in my heart. Back then, every girl sporting long hairs and a bright smile were meant to be made for me. I smile at those days of daily crushes. And my grandfather was my guardian!

He was more a friend than the generation gap could define. He wrote letters and had me cycle my way near her house. He knew the art. After all my grandmother had fallen for all his efforts and still used to blush whenever she was reminded of it.

The cycle was a priceless possession for it came to me at the age of thirteen and I had cycled my way through the dense forests and roads bereft of people. The clink of the cycle gave me a strength that could have me face the fears of the silence in my world.

He fulfilled all the duties that my father thought was unnecessary. The same cycle took me to the barber shops, it took me to the Gemini circus where the monkeys had snatched my popcorn, it had taken us to the river banks that had crocodiles. My grandfather was an adventurous boy. Yes, a boy.

The best were the crisp night walks that we took after our dinner. He helped me break window panes and run like the little kids would. Even at the age of sixteen.

Then at the age of eighteen, I lost him and it was never the same again. I grew up and married. It has been so many years and he still stays alive.

As I look into the mirror, I smile for I resemble him. My grandson is sixteen now and it was time to meet him. For the first time.

They are settled in abroad and my son along with his family are to be here tonight. My wife departed a week ago and my son is arriving tonight!

I sigh, deeply hurt by the raging timeline!

But I promise that I will give the rest of my days to the grandson who has never met me. I will let him feel what it feels like to be adventurous and happy. I will let him know that the broken window panes give much joy than the seamless streaming of games online.

I will show him a new world through the forgotten window and things are never going to be the same.

I took my old camera, this will do the rest! I smiled as I drifted to a new dream!

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Weed In The Lucifer Garden

There wasn’t much chaos in the city that day, everything was on a regular scale. People laughed. People boarded buses, little crowds involved in their own little worlds of disconnected lives.

Well, two days earlier, the same normalized streets were filled with crowds. They had slogans blaring in the air and traffic halted with much consent. There were rallies and silent prayers. Few of them threw stones at the public transport. The crowd was agitated, angry and most of all hurt.

Every other news channel telecasted a show on how the most upright policeman, Mr. Raghavendra was hunted down and slaughtered to death. This man was the real hero to the most of the city. Be it the hour before sunrise or that scary moment after midnight. ACP Raghavendra was always for the city.

Twitter garlanded him, the state government gave him laurels and Facebook gave him all the publicity. But the tiger was always focused on its prey. With his leadership, most of the illegal activities reduced down in scale. Murders and kidnaps were rare. Burglars became bankrupt again. And that is when everybody planned an assassination.

For the record, they weren’t petty roadies who hunted him down. But the media portrayed so. He wasn’t into any drugs, yet the postmortem doctors described it so. He wasn’t into any gambling and drinking yet his close ones portrayed him so.

Being a journalist myself. I couldn’t handle the wrong information the powerful media was spreading.

I had the proof.fiction, oneshot, short story, policemen, society

It was the government itself which had him eliminated. He was a weed in their Lucifer garden. Many of you have heard it. I will conclude it. Yes, there is a black government that runs after dusk. All the illegals meet, plan, target and eliminate people.

ACP Raghavendra was one of the many targets. The video file in my hard disk still lay in my backpack. But I’m still an intern. Will I be able to convey the real truth in comparison to the two-headed false new the society has accepted?

I clenched my teeth, for my own father was into the media, one of the best journalists ever. But anger seethed in me as I realized his true colors last night. An anonymous person had emailed it to him, and he chose to ignore the truth. I have vowed to deliver only the absolute truth, but here I stay as a witness to the crime. I am a greater culprit if I stay a witness and keep my mouth shut.

I reached office early, to redeem the truth. To set free a pure soul and protect his real identity.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Madhavan. The best journalist in the whole world, to me.

My father.

” Nothing, just working on ACP Raghavendra’s case” I bluntly threw it on his face. Something I had never done. All these years I had great respect towards him.

“Sindhu! Stop it and give me the files” His voice growled. The first time in years.

“Oh, so you know! How can you do that dad” I confronted him and rushed to my cabin. The faster I upload it, the better chances for it to reach the crowds.



It was another day, and there was another weed to be eliminated. The evening newspapers carried the news of a love-struck young journalist who had jumped from the seventh floor of the Tony Media companies. The daughter of the legendary journalist Madhavan, who seem to have lost his mind and admitted to the asylum unable to withstand the loss of his daughter.

The truth was buried again!

What Sindhu never knew was that she was monitored the minute she entered the building. Her killer, the watchman, man from the lucifer garden!

And there still remains many such lucifers in the society. Should we ignore the atrocities or be another Sindhu!

In a dilemma, the new generation strives!

See Life In Death’s Eyes

As I stepped into the elevator, nostalgia hit me with a jolt. It was only yesterday, we had laughed here, tickled each other and made nasty jokes. Tears were wiped and happiness had grabbed the air around. This apartment was more like a home to me. The elevator, in its mechanised voice, chimed the second floor and the door split into two and glided away into oblivion.

My legs trembled as I stepped into the granite-floored hallway. It was streaming with people, a few surprised, a few shaken up and a few more dressed as officials from the police department and few people clad in whites. This place looked nothing like the last memory I had of it.

The last night was peaceful as I helped him draw to open the curtains and call his mom. Arnav, Amol and I were close friends from a long long time. Vamshi was the new one to the group.

“Rana, see what has happened to Amol, Yuni jeo naa, Shundar Chhele” Amol’s mother out in pain , it galloped her with all its might.

Amol was basically from Bengal and had settled down in New Delhi. Arnav was the son of the chai chacha down the road and I was the only son of my deceased parents. I now lived with my grandparents but most of my growing years were spent in Amol’s house. Palok aunty was more like a mother to me. As she cried her lungs out, I could no longer contain the devastating emotions erupting inside of me.

Amol had drunk into the void last night as he could no longer find himself a job and was ditched by the girl he dated for four years. He had leaned on me and whispered Marana, death into my ears. As Arnav, Vamshi and I carried him to the small flat, Amol had laughed and sung over his failures, we laughed with him, consoled him and counselled him. It was only a few hours ago. When my friend Amol was healthy and alive.

I dragged my feet, elbowing the curious crowd that had hived in front of the door. I spaced myself between them, crossed the no-entry sign and plunged into his tiny room.

Guards shackled me in their strong arms and held me on the ground as I fought with all my might. With all the struggles I barely took a peek into his room. It was spewed with red blood all throughout the walls. He had slashed his neck, the gloated neck was a grotesque sight. He had a beautiful dimple that was now hovered by flies, his body was mutilating!

I could no longer see his plight. What was life for? To ruin it like this. Amol had no father, his mother loved him more than her life. But what worth has he given her?

” Rana, get up!” Vamshi helped me

“Look at him man, we were here last night, he was singing! He was dancing, I removed his shoes and put him to bed. That bastard left me!” I cried into Vamshi’s arms. Without my knowledge, my legs weakened and I sunk into the ground. He probably cried too but my senses went numb.

I looked at Palok aunty who was now surrounded by their relatives and consoling her, having lost her only son, she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Oh,,,Shit! What have you done Amol” Arnav came running and comforted aunty.

” How can he do this to us? So what, he didn’t have a job. Am I not like a brother to him. Wouldn’t I support him? So what if garga left him, Am I not there to find him a better girl!! ”

I cried and cried some more. he was always there for me when I needed him. The times of the ice-cream truck where we had robbed twelve icecreams and shared it with our community friends.

Had he forgotten the laughs we shared when all four of us had flunked the exams.

Had he forgotten the midnight times when we had long discussions about life?

Had he forgotten how worthy he was to bring the smiles on our faces when we were at our worst?

How did he forget that we shared the same uniforms, how did forget that we bullied the class topper into completing our assignments. How did forget that he is the apple of Ma’s eyes? That bastard left me with nothing but guilt.

The guilt of not staying with him all night.

Everything would have been fine if a call hadn’t come in the middle of the night. A good news of his far cousin delivering the baby had made Palok aunty leave her son to sleep his mornings.

Vamshi and Arnav accompanied her to the next city. I had stayed back to put him to sleep!

I should have stayed back!

Instead, I returned to my place to have a relaxing sleep.

“My fault, It’s all my fault” I screamed my lungs out. I had never ever cried and this bastard had challenged me that he would make me cry!

I didn’t know he was serious about it. I never knew it would turn true so quickly.

After the decease of Amol. Things never turned normal. Palok aunty too passed away after a year unable to accept her son’s death. Arnav is in London. Vamshi is into law and moved to Bangalore. I sit in the same old apartment where his body lay. The ordeal stays back!

I am a freelance counsellor now, counselling young people out of the trauma. They need to live. Live to realize that they matter to so many people around them. Their life is precious.

They need to see life in death’s eye and realize that everything is perishable and let everything go!

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The Universe Answers It All!

universe,cosmic, reality, answers, short story, philosophical,

Cladded in the most modern outfit, tresses left aloft. A red lipstick streaking her face with confidence, she walks the place.Every one of them thinks high of her, she might need nothing but the wealthiest man, she might crave for a luxury world. She must be a spoilt rich brat. She doesn’t deserve the happiness she walks in.

A few whispers in the minds of her circle are clearly heard to her. She gazes down the valley there, amidst the sophisticated bantering city life. Her mind is soft, she likes peace and believes in god. Solitude has been her faithful friend.

Leaving everything behind, she walks the path bereft of people, catching the first bus that passes by her, she doesn’t know her destination but she is already feeling it.

“Why am I here? Why did I catch this bus at this time and every second feels different, every second is a place I have never been before.”

She mutters. And so she wanders places high and low, beautiful and ugly. She believes in destiny and fate. She was a believer of science. It took her to her belief, to her god, to her universe.

The butterfly effect would have to be something. She would travel and smile at people, gather the homeless street animals and find them the shelters. She would pick up the litter and have them treated. She was a walking phenomenon. She knew that her one smile would move hearts, she knew her one good deed would melt hearts. But she never knew of it’s outcome and so she waited.

One other thing she believed in was the importance of questions thrown to the vast universe. Whenever she smiled, she asked a question.

“Why did this happen to me, why does this happen to people”

She waited while the universe silently decided to answer her.

A few months ago, when her team mates called her names and gossipped around, she had quit her job and rode the first bus she opted.

In that very bus, in a corner seat, there sat a man, eyes sunken and cheeks with traces of dried tears, his vision didn’t last long, he had taken that bus in a haze. Unknown of the destination himself, like her. He was a man in his early sixties, just returning like a homeless man, hairs are gone grey and legs gone weak. He was returning from the burial ground where he just buried his youngest son. Out of the five children his wife bore and breathed her last. One went lost when she was five. Four others died year after year after they reached twenty.

It was a black luck bestowed upon him. He hated his life. With no family, meagre saved money and only memories that wretched his heart. He had decided to end himself. For the soul would then search his loved ones in the deepest of the soul realm.

The very same day, he witnessed a pickpocket in the bus. But neither of his rightful emotions nor his senses reacted. God had robbed him off from the greatest wealth he had. But there was a hustle in the bus, a girl in her early twenties fought with the thief. Her smile never left her face. Calmness prevailed in her beautiful face.

Her smile eluded the old man. Hit by curiosity, he decided to see what she does with the ten-year-old thief who was beaten black and blue by the crowd. Yet she fought, fought with all the people to defend the boy.

As the old man left his bus and followed her, for he had no destination but this girl with a heart of gold had caught him off-guard. He would solve a mystery, she was one. He would die later, he concluded.

What happened next made him fall in love with life again. In her, he saw his lost daughter, in her smile, he could feel his wife being happy. The girl took the boy to a hotel and fed his hungry stomach. The old man thought this would end there. But she then came over, took him to an orphanage, registered him there. and then applied to own the orphanage. She would adopt all the kids there!

She seemed quite wealthy to him, she seemed perfectly fit to have her own life, like any other kids of this generation, but this girl just had adopted an orphanage. She seemed to share his interest in social service.

He used to take a part of his pay and donate it to the saffron orphanage. She reminded him of his life and the services he has done. He cursed the God for robbing his children away from him.

He had blessed the girl and joined her in all her missions, travelled with her, fed the dogs and helped the poor. But never for once, he asked her about her family nor she about his. A few months later, he loved her as his own, they both brought a house and stayed in there.

The Universe smiled as it had solved her question. Everything had happened for the father and daughter to meet and save each other.

She was the lost daughter who was brought up in the saffron orphanage where her own father had donated his savings for social service, unknowingly all along. A part of it was used for raising the girl child who turned out to be a child prodigy and secured herself a double degree and an amazing job that paid her lakhs per month.

But the blood they shared, the smile she gave and the bus she took, everything was an answer to take her to her rightful place.

They now live a very happy life, she sees her father in him and loves him the most, he has made her the apple of his eyes. Both never got to know the truth!

The Universe reveals the answers but only some know of it and only some can be brave enough to believe it!

So, my stories help me grow and to be a better person and mulling over deep thoughts have always made me more open-minded to the people and situations that I face.
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Story 2- We are all Just Potatoes

My post from the platform that helps in creative writing.

This blog focuses on telling your story with a twist to the world. You can contribute as a storyteller by sharing your experiences and as well as a writer! The submission guidelines are all on the website main page.

All creative writers, join your hands for weaving stories, be the protagonist, put on their skin and walk for miles and create a story with the character’s strengths and weaknesses!


Raining Stories

“You are porcelain white and the most beautiful girl in the whole Universe, dear!” My mother impersonated a movie star mother while she lovingly pinched my cheeks, dressed me in the most expensive flowing dress and flaunted me to her whole friend clan. They were all bewitched by my beauty, I could sense!

Yes! It was then, at that tender age of eight, I realized my beauty was my prized possession and as years passed by I dwelled on narcissism. A verbatim of my mother’s praises echoed in my ears every night, I tiltered as I could sense the absolute truth in it! Beauty was all that I had. It could get me whatever I wanted.

A sweet smile bought me two ice-creams instead of one.

I was never punished for my untimely acts.

I was never denied of anything I asked for.

And Everybody wanted me in their groups!They were friends of…

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When Miss Muffet turns into Cinderella

After a decade after the spider fell on her lap, Miss Muffet grew up to be the most talked about and a graceful face that the men kept talking about. The horse carts often stopped by her home to take a glimpse of the beauty that everyone spoke of, dressed in a blush red ball gown, gloves pulled up to her sleeves and a hat that would keep her shoulders dry if it happened to rain in the mid summer evening. The small town of Erol had lot’s going on this weekend. The prince himself had sent an invitation over to Muffet’s for their gracious presence in the ball dance down that week.

Miss Muffet had a blush stolen from the roses, a smile that the crescent moon often hid in shame to confront her, her lashes were the fans that appreciated her glances. Every person in the small town of Erol loved Miss Muffet. As she swiftly walked towards the carriage that would take her to the palace, she reminded herself of the cinderella story, I’m no cinderella, I wouldn’t change into a slave nor would I have to lose my shoes. And maybe I would get a glimpse of the smiling prince today!

She giggled as she glanced over her perfectly tailored shoes, headstrong with all the attention that she evoked wherever she went, she often would act in an immature way which was soon forgotten by the folks as her sweet smile would rupture their nerves  and instead focus on how beautiful she was.

Cinderella and Miss Muffet

She admired her beauty in the mirror that her purse had elegantly hidden, Miss Muffet’s nanny was a strict one to have a girl so young running about with men’s attention. Nanny Brown was always on her toe to teach Miss Muffet the manners a lady ought to own.

“Oh, Nanny, you are old and alone; hence you nag with everything I do!” Miss Muffet would often cry.

“Dear Child, when the moon’s up and birds hushes into their nest, a lady would serve dinner and puts the babies to sleep.” Nanny Brown would begin her wisdom.

“No, A lady dresses up to bed to meet amazing people in her dreams!” Muffet would always make sure she had a curt reply.

“Look what have the creativity done to kids, mannerless as you are!” And the rest of the day would turn into that of Nanny Brown’s sour mood. Muffet never wanted to leave her bedroom on such days.

“If only father could make it back here by winter fall, I will have Nanny Brown to take up another job that has nothing to do with me” She often grumbled to sleep.

But today was different, Nanny brown had dressed her up, creased her flits and even turned her around to see if the dress umbrellaed up! Only after hours of detailed attention to the motherless child did she retire for the day.

“Dear Child, have a wonderful evening and take your time to return home” Nanny Brown bear hugged the young lady!

“Oh, thank you Nanny Brown! You left me to fly” bewildered with the sudden turn of emotions, Muffet left with a tinge of suspicion towards her Nanny!

“With freedom comes a responsibility for the greater good. If only the child would get to feel it at such a young age!” She smiled and hurried Miss Muffet off the doors.

On the pleasant journey to the ball, Miss Muffet eyed the tree tops where the birds opened their wings into flight! It was a dream for her to fly and today was the day. Her nanny had left her run wild in the forest, none of the abstination anymore but she was unaware of what the blue skies would cost her.

She reached the palace along with guests who had traveled from the north, the royal family had her welcomed with smiling faces and burning hearts. A woman whose charms was spoken of more in the north by the men who visited the small town of Erol. They were bursting with enthusiasm to find faults with her. She was at fault the way she got down from her carriage and the way she held her eyes affixed to the steps, so very slowly walking the stairs, conscious of the scrutinizing eyes!

A few women took the opportunity to showcase their pearls and expensive silks as they strode by her giving vicious stares. It was there she met a girl from the royal family, Melinda Beauro who happened to treat her warmly.

“Your beauty has been spoken of over the seas Miss Muffet and the rumors are distinctively true here” She raised her glass of drink and linked her arms with her.

“No, nothing can compare to your royal authenticity of beauty run over through generations!” Muffet dimpled her chin with her genuine smile

“I thought you had forgotten that! The prince knows that as well and you don’t stand a chance against us pretty lady” Melinda laced her sentences with pure vice while she displayed a warm smile and friendly acquaintance with Miss Muffet.

For the first time in her flight, Muffet thought that this wasn’t the skies she dreamt of.While she mulled over the drastic turn of the events, intimidated by the expensive guests, she sure didn’t stand a chance. Even if the Prince would ask her for a dance, she would politely deny, to live amongst the affluent people surrendering to their taunts wasn’t Muffet at all.

She stayed back to get a glimpse of the prince. She had never seen a Prince or a King all her life. She might turn this to a fable one day, after she turns eighty or so!

There was an announcement of the arrival of the Prince. Miss Muffet looked at him with eyes of wonderment but the next moment, she brushed past the guests and hurried out of the palace. She knew him or did she. He looked so familiar that she felt nostalgic! He resembled a boy that she had met years ago but had a vivid memory of him because he was a friendly stranger whom she had met only once.

He had brushed off the spiders from her sleeves in her aunt’s garden. He had sung about the spidey webs and the dew drops on them. Both had dug a hole in the ground to build  a house for the groating frogs! The prince brought with him the lost memories, a childhooacquaintancece whose words had made her laugh and a painful goodbye with only his name known.

The Prince got down the stairs and singing  the spidey webs song, emotions hit her shuffling her stance and shaking her very ground! The guests were bewildered yet any words spoken by the Prince were much respected.

“Peter!’ She gasped as she hurried towards her carriage, her proposal to the prince was a good one but with a lost friend! Never!

She wanted Peter stay as her imaginary friend that she often spoke to! But the truth hit her hard! He was the Prince.

“Miss Muffet! What an odd name” He had proclaimed loud when they had first met!

“Not Peter!” She huffed as she ordered to the carriage to move.

“My lady! The party has just begun” Peter came with a smile.

“ANd you are a Prince” She rolled her eyes!

“And you are my Cinderella” He smiled as he brought her a new pair of shoes and presented them to her with a spidey song again. It seemed like a mockery to her

“I will accept it as a parting gift!” She proclaimed, snatched gift and strode into the path of her home.

She waited to tell Nanny Brown about the things, she had to tell her that it was Peter! As soon as she reached her little house, she jumped and sped to her Nanny.

“Nanny Brown, In the palace, the prince, frogs, spiders, Peter” She babbled on until Brown enveloped her in a bear hug.

“Peter stopped by today morning while you were away to chat with your friends. I failed to recognize him. He came in for a proposal! I denied it. You get a dozen every month. Then he spilled the beans of being a Prince but you little lady would spoil the palace and people won’t accept you dear! Hence I denied him again with an excuse of your father’s absence.”

“He came by home, I was in shock at the palace, it was so humiliating that I left! And you are right, I make the palace look clumsy” She squealed with disappointment evident in her crystal eyes!

“No dear child, you are a precious pearl and had not he introduced with another try that he was your friend Peter from the spiders and the lawn, I would have shoved him away! He has been in the town for over a while now and he promised to return after your father returns”

“Am I the Cinderella then?” She blushed through her porcelain skin

“Very much dear! The Clumsy Cinderella!You are going to be his Queen!” Nanny Brown bear hugged her again.

The spidey webs on your sleeve

On this Christmas eve

With a yarn of wool and a scary look

Makes you throw away the book.

 I shoved them away little girl, for you

And that is how we became friends, as the skies turned blue

Our lady Miss Muffet sung the forgotten song and fell into a sleep with beautiful dreams!

Note:That was hard, romantic fiction never comes naturally to me! The story might be half-baked but worth a try! PSt: I loved that primary poem.

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