Dusk - 55 Fiction #1

55 Fiction is a form of microfiction that renders a work of fiction within a word limit of 55 words. It is a contemporary form of expression which is greatly thriving among the neoteric writers. This is my first attempt and I hope it is worth a glance!  

“He was perched on the rocks awaiting her return. He reckoned, anything hurled at the ocean, returns with the waves. At twilight, his sleep perturbed, he had gaped from the porch, as his mother tread into the ocean. It was dusk, he still awaited her return. Alas! The waves couldn’t revert her.”

PS: This is about the bewilderment of a naïve and juvenile mind at being unable to decipher the complexities of life and innocence with which it deals with the atrocities of life.

The Avenge

This was originally published at The Writer's Lounge for
‘The Snow Filled Lounge  Contest’

It was Thanksgiving! Winter had just crept in! Father Arthur was ensconced in a corner of the Church. The pearly ivory of the snow and the festivities of the season failed to bring delight or comfort to his heart. With time he had become passive and phlegmatic to the world around.   
Tonight, when the whole world gathered with their families to thank the Almighty, he was in The Lord’s abode, but secluded and forlorn. It had been 15 enduring years since he had prayed at the altar, not because he had lost faith, because nothing was left to plead for.
In a flicker, he envisioned his lifetime, his days of youth, his integration into the Church as an Apostle, his wedding to the beautiful Sandra, and the birth of their baby boy. Everyday at the altar, on his knees and with folded hands, he prayed for his family’s well-being and complacency.

Their lives had been immaculate, .... until an opulent and imperious brat, oblivious in his carousal had trampled his family under his screeching wheels and never looked back to say a word of remorse or shed a tear . It was 15 years ago, on Thanksgiving! Their lives were shattered. Sandra had succumbed to the loss of their child. Since that day he averted himself to The Lord’s service. He had always been a man of God, he sought no revenge for he believed in divine justice.
The door creaked, entered a middle-aged man, clad in black. His gait unsteady and hands trembling. He paced towards the Confession Chamber, on the other side of the veil was Father Arthur.
“Father, I seek forgiveness, for I have sinned, for I have sinned and never lamented. Several years ago, when I was callow and frivolous, I had obliterated a credulous life on this day, before this Church. I panicked, so I fled. Ever since, I have evaded the truth. Few months ago, my 8 year old son was diagnosed with B-type Lymphoma. I had abundant money but I was helpless. He left for his heavenly abode today. I discerned, it was the God’s will.”
“Amen” uttered Father Arthur and smiled. His unspoken prayers had been answered. Today, he had revoked his consecrated values and conceded to the grieving father within him. His apathetic eyes gleamed with gratification. Finally, he had something to be thankful for. Time had avenged his bereavement !!

Word Count: 399

All In A Day's Work

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 5; the fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Life, in general, is rather banausic and dreary. What preserves and upholds the zeal, are the intermittent perks*. Most of us lead a life, but lack the vivacity.  Go to work and cling like an ivy to the computer.. retreat home and stick like a barnacle to the television screen. So what is.. a perfect day.
At the end of a day, if I sit down to draft an account into my daily dairy, I run out of words. The same happened when I wrangled to compose this post. When I ponder over any single day of my life, or my life in general, I am unable to surmise anything. Seldom something noteworthy or momentous ensues. Dawn breaks, dusk falls… everything is still tantamount. I am solicitous, when I grow older, and have a gang of young audience waiting to unfold the groovy and thrilling tales of my youth, all I would have to offer is “The Perfect Guide to playing Farmville on Facebook” or even better, “The Adventures of Amputating Mice Brains”. Would they be fascinated, I think you have the answer already.
Profound speculation only led me to ideas of how to make my or our (all my kins out there) days more worthwhile and fascinating. Life might grant only one shot at things, but with it comes a myriad of choices. It is difficile and confounding to make a choice..’to make the right choice, or the good choice or the convenient choice’. We lead our lives with a vision, an ultimate aim we strive to achieve. En route, the petite and paltry frolics and indulgences which are natural to every human are stifled and annihilated. I do not imply that we should capitulate ourselves to hedonism or trot around the world renouncing our diligence and duties.
As we trace back our steps on memory lane, we long to have the days when life was unharnessed. No deadline to meet, no assignment to submit or no presentations to make. But even now amidst all these and much more, once in a while we could still take a moment for ourselves, to tend to our inner self. We wish to relive our childhood but never endeavor to retrieve the alacrity. How often do we scoot out to get drenched in the rain, or make a paper boat and sail it in the flowing water, or sit with our grandparents and listen to the stories we heard over and over again as kids.. reckoning.. not too often.. or actually almost never.
We as adults, live within innumerable inhibitions and limitations. The harness around souls is sometimes jerked a little too hard. Every adult mind has a peanut sized child within it, which covets to come out and give the adult some rest. It is our duty to give in to its wishes once in a while. Our days are administered by timetables and ‘to do lists’. Now this is inevitable, and if we try to revoke all of it, perhaps we will be tagged as morons and end up with no job or money. But what could be done, is that the few moments in a day that we have to ourselves, after all the daily obligations, we should ensure to spend those moments the way we want, to do what makes us happy and to enjoy the little happiness and gaieties in life.
Each day we meet several challenges and impediments, the same challenges again and again.. we fight our senses to wake up on time, race against time to get ready, then battle the human wave and pollution to get to work, their we brawl against interventions by colleagues and so on. And we deal with all of it like ‘its all in a day’s work’. Then why do we add to the list of challenges by making efforts to resist our temptations. Instead, occasionally we could give in to our temptations, let our senses lead the way.
With the end of the year approaching, its that time again when people make resolutions for the coming year. Some of them consort with these resolutions, while some forget them like the gone wind. But this new year, lets make it a point,  if not an entire day, if not our whole lives but atleast a few minutes everyday, we commit to do what satisfies and enlivens us the most. Drawing, painting, flying a kite, playing cricket in gully, however frivolous, however puerile.
So reeling back to the original question, what is a perfect day.. Different people have different interpretations of a perfect day. To some it’s a day with financial gain, to some its when success comes, to some its when they meet their loved ones. To me, ‘a perfect day’ is a day spent in unconditional and absolute happiness. A day when no tear has been shred, no frown has taken shape.  A perfect day, inspite of all the work in the day :)

*perks :– refers to twists and turns :P

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.


In the back alley of the Church,
she squandered all through her exiguous life,
in frost, in fever, in hunger, in strife.
Seeking shade from wind and rain
But in despair and vain.

Clad in rags with unkempt hair,
she wandered frivolous here and there.
A tattered doll clenched under bare arm,
& in the other was her good luck charm.

Her eyes brimmed with innocence
and heart pounded in envy,
while the uptown girls giggled in a covey.
Their lustrous eyes and dainty frocks,
trendy fedora and silky socks.

The subtle gestures anguished her.
She sneered at their extravagant fur.
How she wished that their fates trade,
& blend her into the elite shade,
while the pretentious hellions frayed.

Oblivious in fury, she hurled
her good luck charm,
it rapped a boulder in alarm.
Lightening glared and resonating thunder,
The earth quivered and wobbled
like agitated lava under.

Stars and Butterflies,
 wove an ethereal cocoon around.
An elegant dress and satin scarf,
and tinker bells sound.
“The Uptown Girls sat on a wall,
The Uptown Girls had a great fall.”

Their ties with fate severed,
 ground beneath their feet wavered.
The rags and tatters graced their
haughty selves,
& egos withered to the size of elves.

Pride sparkled in her eyes,
With looks she could mesmerize.
With Luck and Fate now she was armed
She was, indeed, by the fairies in heaven,
….. CHARMED …..

PS: This is the fairy tale of a 10 year old that spends a major part of life surviving and envying the privileged ones. I wish their wishes get fulfilled once in a while and such tales come true so that their ‘faith on fate’ remains perpetual and resolute.

A Battle Lost, is Another’s Victory

This was originally published at The Writer’s Lounge for
‘The Snow Filled Lounge  Contest’

It was that time of the year again, when the world was engrossed in festive and revelry. It was the time of the year he spurned. The world draped in silver and adorned with resplendent ornamentations sparkled. Despite the dreary gloom cast by the gray sky, the incandescent smiles on elated faces rekindled the milieu.

Throughout the year, his hands to mouth existence did not perturb him. It was this time of the year when his compunctions and frailties confronted him. Inspite of striving hard, he had failed to give his ‘Little Angel’ what she wished for. Every year she hoped for a Christmas with a garnished Christmas tree and presents in a sock, and was disheartened. Today, on Christmas-Eve, perched on a quarantined bench, he prayed .. for a way.. to bestow his ‘Little Angel’ with the joys she deserved and coveted.
A tall, young man in a beige suit strolled down the archaic and bygone path. Bemused and flustered, he sat on the other end of the bench. Despite the icy evening breeze, droplets of sweat trickled down his brow. Few minutes later, he walked away abruptly. On the bench lay a chestnut leather bag. The bag was rammed with wads of banknotes and a card, on which with golden letters was carved a name and address. 

The forthright and righteous him was compelled to deliver the bag where it belonged. But his paternal instincts were transcendent. The euphoric gleam in her shallow eyes would be priceless. His prayers had been answered, a path had unfolded, to tread or not was his choice. His heart delivered the verdict. Tonight, for once, his ‘Little Angel’ would have the Christmas she wished for. On this day of Christ, his inner demons had taken over him.
He was baffled. He had never traded his values for corporeal contrivances. Abdication could cost him his career, but ceding to their demands would mean forfeit of his morals. He accumulated the cash in a leather bag and set off. With a tormented and oblivious head on his shoulders, he meandered away. He was battling his inner demons. Lost in scuffle, he walked away from a bench, forgetting his bag. When realization struck, he smiled and reckoned, perhaps the choice was made for him. On this day of Christ, he had evaded his inner demons.

One man’s lost battle, is another man’s victory !

Word Count: 399