(Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding)
“You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life” crooned Ash as she pirouetted with an unbelievably languid grace.
“From where on earth did you get hold of that hideous pair of shoes?” Venky’ s reaction bordered on the apoplectic.
Abruptly abandoning her dancing maneuvers, Ash shot a look of daggers back at Venky. “I find nothing wrong with my selection. White is purity, white is transcendence and white IS King Elvis!”
The last line made Venky break into a smile. This was typical Ash. A woman of resoluteness, resilience and resolve. “The feet don’t discriminate between the colours adorning the footwear” now Ash was in full flow. “Dance as though your entire life depends upon it. Swing for the soul, swivel for the celebrations. If music is an ocean, dancing constitutes the waves. White as they come surging in, white while they gracefully sweep back.”
“What have you been reading these days?” Venky wondered out loud. This philosophical side of Ash was one which had never before manifested even remotely.
“The ebb and flow of life needs to be lived and not just read, Mr. Socrates” replied Ashita. “You will realise it when you begin dancing.”
(Word Count: 200)
This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here. To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.
(Mount Everest base camp, Nepal | mkslalove Google Maps)
Thick milky white clouds obscured the snow-capped mountain. Whistling winds buffeted the fluorescent tents housing intrepid mountaineers eager to summit 8,848 meters of imperial splendour. Resembling the mournful howls of a pack of scheming wolves, the wind cut like ice whenever they found an opportunity to escape the protective clothing of the climbers before making contact with a patch of exposed skin.
Holding a mug of steaming soup in her gloved hands, Ashita stared intensely in the direction of her destination. As far as the eye could see there was an explosion of white. Clouds, Snow, Ice.
“Why such an obsessive passion towards mountains?” Venky had once asked her.
“It was and never will be an obsession.” Ashita replied thoughtfully. “Mother Nature issues a clarion call to her children to assimilate themselves in her beauty, to absorb her lessons and admire her workings. I just obey.”
This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw
For the complete list of entries, please click HERE
(Photo Credit: Crispina Kemp)
Low Siew Kuan’s eyes brimmed with tears. Tears of fury, futility and forlorn hope. Siew Kuan’s prodigious professional career as an environmentalist and cultural anthropologist was made and marred in equal measure by locking horns with the beacons of crony capitalism; running from pillar to post fighting to obtain project funding, which even after securing legitimate accord seemed to be obscured in a myriad mish-mash of obstinate bureaucracy and obnoxious paperwork; and driven to exasperation by a media which danced to the tunes of corporate largesses and diktat.
Now her worst fears had come home to roost. The beautiful but rare species of flower called “The Bell’s Dome” was at the last leg of its grandeur on Earth. The ominous pre-conditions of extinction, in the form of brown caterpillar like appendages had begun ravaging the Dome.
“We do not deserve Nature” cursed Siew Kuan wiping tears that now flowed hopelessly.
(Word Count: 150)
Written as part of the Crimson’s Creative Challenge #15 More details regarding this challenge may be found HERE.