Friday, September 4, 2015

55wordstory - Season 4 - Theme 29 - Massacre

From @oink1729: 

“Essay subject is 'massacre' and, please, no Distomo and so on. Good marks for humorous efforts only. Class dismi....” - chaos, slump, head-desk. Phew: At least I won't have to read 32 efforts about babies being bayoneted.

“No Sir.., yes,.. shocking.., 'Belsen was a gas', 'Lidice lol lol' – who would have thought?... Of course I'll resign...”

From @_ankitachauhan: 

There was deathly silence, imprisoned souls, seized minds. A while ago someone demolished all the thoughts, all the questions raised in that little devil’s head. Someone marked the windows, which shouldn’t be opened. He listened, grasped every bit. That world was naive for him, where dreams, hope, and innate desires of his own, massacred already.

From @AshieJayn: 

"And how will you earn a living? By writing appalling songs they call music? No. I cannot have my daughter be a part of this, this musical massacre. It will be the ultimate blow to my entire existence."

"Dad, You taught me to believe in my dreams. In our dreams. Of creating better music.

So Believe. In its power!"

Thursday, September 3, 2015

55wordstory - Season 4 - Theme 28 - Bigot

From @oink1729: 

At night, linking stars with cool earth; during the day refuge from the yellow god. David and Goodwill met under her branches in secret; they were, perhaps, braver than others before them. After a night of dark voices and fire, the sun's early light cast soft shadows from their bodies, hanging from the zeyheri tree.

From @AshieJayn: 

Once upon a time a war of independence bound many regions and states into a country. This country grew to become home and motherland to a billion people. People of many religions, varied cultures and a multitude of languages. 

One would wonder then, how and where does bigotry seep through it's borders?

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

55wordstory - Season 4 - Theme 27 - Artist

From @mrinalgupta98: 

The world thought she was crazy because she wasn’t like them. They thought she was lost in her own world. She saw beauty in everything. She talked to the trees, she sang with the breeze and she flew with the birds. She wasn’t lost, she had found herself. She wasn’t crazy, she was an artist.

From @AshieJayn: 

He would arrive at dawn and sit on a quiet corner of the beach. He would be gone before the morning sun broke over the horizon.

Everyday visitors would stop and admire the story drawn in the sand until the evening's high tide washed it away. 
Everyday they would thank the mysterious artist for brightening their day.

From @_ankitachauhan: 

The day she was being left amidst howling of emptiness. Destruction occurred to her. Her wrecked soul flooded, suffocated from remembrance. She stretched her crafty realm. She didn’t even know if it existed before. She arrested into unknown, captured few isolated moments for herself and transformed her every tear into verse. People call her artist.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

55wordstory - Season 4 - Theme 26 - Solitary Flight

From @AshieJayn: 

I can travel through time as much as through human beings.
I may travel in singles, doubles or groups - small and large. 
But my most favourite journey is when I break free from all ideas and the so called practicality and soar high above the clouds in solitary flight.
I am a thought, a fantasy, a dream.

From @_ankitachauhan: 

A teardrop trickled down his fragile feathers while watching them to fly. One by one all the owlkids left the nest but the fluffy one. He too tried to spread wings, limped, crumpled, tried again but those undeveloped muscles weighed him down. He understood he has to wait as nature wants to embrace his solitary flight

From @oink1729: 

I preferred books over people: interesting, yet reliable; emotional, but not destructive. Flying over life, reading on the plane! Strapped in and now descending to a silent and unpeopled landing strip, I find I can recall only in miniature: grid like towns, neat squares of forest, nothing. Get real: books are a load of crap.