Climate Change? LIGHTS OUT ASH!

(Image Credit: Dale Rogerson)

All it takes is for one fundamental epiphany to transform the mundane into the magical.  Ash was know for such bursts of metamorphic thinking.  One such act lit up what otherwise would have reduced a topical debate to a draconian debate. “We have plugged into the Ozone for breathing, into the bowels of Mother Earth for fuel and into the Sun for our very sustenance. Once Nature decides to ‘unplug’ we infinitesimal mortals from all energy sources, there is NO room for recharge.” 

Using something as basic as three electronic charging heads, Ash trumped jargon, threats and impassioned pleas combined!

(Word Count: 100)

This story was written as part of the FRIDAY FICTIONEERS challenge, more about which may be found HERE

For more stories based on the above prompt, click HERE 

The Ash Discovery

(Image Credit: Crispina Kemp)

Simple paths can trigger complex memories. Memories that are a kaleidoscope of myriad shapes – straight, winding, crooked, curved, steep and wide.  As the sun blazed overhead, Venky set out on his customary walk along the narrow pathway wedged between a grassy mound.  “Isn’t this such a beautiful sight?” Ash had enthusiastically quizzed him with arms spread wide apart taking within their embrace the whole green vista. A smile lit up his features as he recollected her words.

An inveterate daughter of Nature, Ash had this tenacious ability to discover unexplored geographies. The first time she came across this isolated stretch, she was besides herself with joy.  “I am James Crawford of the Angel Falls” she had proclaimed emphatically.  Venky had no clue about the Falls but he knew he was in the company of a precious angel.

The angel had now left him to traverse her find all by himself.

(Word Count: 150)

Written as part of the Crimson’s Creative Challenge #35 More details regarding this challenge may be found HERE.

The Excavator & Ash

“Oi be careful you dickhead!  We don’t want a disaster on our bloody hands “ yelled Krish in ferocious voice that did not bother masking its fury.  “I have seen more inflammable stuff than this, the most dangerous of all being love”  retorted Venky in a barely audible murmur scratching his head with fingers caked with mud and grime.

The harsh glare of the floodlights illuminated the entire spectrum where the construction activities were in progress. An entire hill top was leveled in no time as a phalanx of  Komatsu Dozers, Liebherr Mining Excavators, Walking Draglines and Tunnel Boring Machines whirred, drilled, flattened, bore and hacked away at the land, paying unquestioned obeisance to the orders of capitalism.

Venky, a reluctant product of one of the most renowned Engineering institutes was assigned to this project by the rapacious mining company that recruited him after 7 enervating rounds of exhausting interviews.  Carting mud splattered barrels of kerosene under the supervision of the hawk-eyed Project Executioner Krish was part of his “get-your-hands-down-and-dirty” mandates.

Venky’s reprieve came at the end of every exacting day’s toil. The vibrating hum of his mobile at exactly the mid night hour meant a call from Ash. His Ash.

Word Count: 200)

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Donna McNicol . For more details visit HERE

To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, click HERE

 

 

RIP HEGEMONY

(Image Credit: J Hardy Carroll)

The stifling hot air was accompanied a stillness which sucked out any hopes of even a slender breeze. There was nary a mild movement that would make the Stars & Stripes to at least flutter.  “In sync with the times” reflected Obarck Barama from his office.  “When neighbours are walled out, allies isolated courtesy bizarre trade and transaction policies, the environment rampantly exploited with scant regard for the future inheritors of Mother Earth, democracy was bound to suffer.” Barama was now in a pensive state. “Benign hegemony would not merely stutter but perish in a vacuum of stillness.” He concluded.

(Word Count: 100)

This story was written as part of the FRIDAY FICTIONEERS challenge, more about which may be found HERE

For more stories based on the above prompt, click HERE 

The Flat Foot

(Image Credit: Crispina Kemp)

The pain knifed across the sole of his foot before coursing up the shin making Venky wince in undisguised agony.  He stifled a scream even though not a soul was to be found in his vicinity.  Rivulets of sweat streaming down his forehead, dripped into his eyes.

The blurred vision triggered by the sweat that made him miss the waif like apparition wafting to and fro across the small and unused bridge under a canopy of trees. It was the sound which which drew his attention towards it. “Write for me, my lad, write your grief and record your miseries.” Turning towards the scratchy, patchy voice, Venky saw a skeletal figure clad in a Grey tattered robe clinging loosely over a non existent body.

Venky ran. Ran as much as his obese body and battered heel would allow. a piercing laughter followed him all the way along the lonely road.

Word Count: 150)

Written as part of the Crimson’s Creative Challenge #34 More details regarding this challenge may be found HERE.

Kok Jeen’s Justice

(Photo Credit: Pexels from Pixabay)

The dreaded chair was out yet again. It was the third time this month. This disturbing frequency signaled a total collapse in the law and order situation in the county. While the appearance of the chair was by now a ritual that inhabitants were habituated to, they were not acclimatised to the regularity of the appearance. Maybe the young and hot blood coursing through the veins of Kok Jeen Jr was to be blamed. Kok Jeen Sr always nursed doubts about both the capabilities and maturity of his mercurial albeit compulsive son. However, handover of the reigns was more an inevitability than a choice.

As Kok Jeen Sr retired to his sprawling ranch in Deer Valley, the soft yet ominous red leather began to gain ascendancy. Today the unfortunate victim was a 43 year old drug runner and errand boy named Venky.

Crossing his legs and reclining back, Kok Jeen roared with raw rage, “Did you divulge details of the rendezvous to Materazzi? “

Rivulets of sweat poured down the face of a kneeling Venky. “I..I…Forgive me…” he stammered.

“Eat this bullet” screamed Kok Jeen before the deafening sound of the Smith & Wesson blew out Venky’s brains.

(Word Count: 198)

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Donna McNicol . For more details visit HERE

To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, click HERE

 

The Phantom

(Photo Credit: Ted Strutz)

He was 13 when his stepfather took him to the Opera for the first time.  In fact, he was more dragged than taken along with his mother. It may well have been for the good of humanity if he had stayed at home. Obsessed by the travails of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Phantom”, he put himself in the disfigured character’s shoes. The murders began unabated.  First to go was his step father, who was found with his head smashed in by a chandelier.

When the cops finally came for him 35 years later, 18 body bags had been accounted for.

(Word Count: 99)

This story was written as part of the FRIDAY FICTIONEERS challenge, more about which may be found HERE

For more stories based on the above prompt, click HERE