#shortfiction

34 posts
  • yatharth_singh_chauhan 1w

    देर शाम को दरबार बर्खास्त होने के बाद महाराज अपने शयनकक्ष में महारानी के प्रेमालिंगन से अपनी थकान मिटा रहे थे। तभी सेवक ने आकर कोई ज़रूरी सूचना दी और महाराज बुरा सा मुंह लिए कपड़े पहनकर चले गये।
    महाराज के जाने के बाद, कोने में खड़ी महारानी की खास प्रसादिका आगे आई। महारानी के पास आकर, उनके खुले कपड़ों को देखकर बोली, "एक बात समझ नहीं आती, महारानी।"
    "क्या?" महारानी ने उसकी ओर देखकर पूछा।
    "आप महाराज से प्रेम नहीं करती फिर भी..."
    "फिर भी हमारे दो बेटे हैं, हमारी खुशी से हैं और रोज़ रात को हम इस हाल में पाए जाते हैं। यही न?" महारानी ने उसकी बात पूरी करते हुए पूछा। महारानी के चेहरे पर एक कोमल मुस्कान थी।
    उसे देखकर प्रसादिका भी मुस्कुरा दी और बोली, "जी।"
    महारानी खड़ी हुई और बोली, "हम महाराज से प्रेम भले ही न करते हों फिर भी अपने राज्य और पति के लिए हमारा दायित्व बनता है। अपने राज्य को हमनें दो वीर राजकुमार दिए हैं और अपने पति को हम उनका अधिकार, उनके हिस्से का प्रेम देते हैं। रानी होकर हम बहुत से राज़ ज़ाहिर नहीं कर सकते। उन्हें होंठों में दबाकर रखना पड़ता है।" महारानी उसकी ओर मुड़ी और आगे बोली, "जैसे यह हमारा एक राज़ है...और जैसे तुम हमारा एक राज़ हो।"
    प्रसादिका मुस्कराई, उसने महारानी के चेहरे को अपनी हथेलियों में भरा और उसके होंठों को अपने होंठों में।
    ©yatharth_singh_chauhan

  • yatharth_singh_chauhan 5w

    Voices

    I hear voices but I don't question their existence. It is because I won't like them questioning mine.
    ©yatharth_singh_chauhan

  • yatharth_singh_chauhan 5w

    Guilty as Charged

    Another man's wife finding peace in his embrace. He never wanted it to be that way. Yet guilty as charged because he actually liked it that way.
    ©yatharth_singh_chauhan

  • yatharth_singh_chauhan 5w

    Flashlights

    They stalked the lady in the parking lot and circled her with flashlights in hand. Just to amuse themselves. Pushing the troubled lady into a corner, they laughed.
    She requested, at first, and then warned them of consequences. However, they didn't listen. Suddenly, their laughter turned into shrieks.
    Their parents hurried to them and found the boys screaming at a woman. Blood was oozing out from her nose. The Parents tried to ask 'em about this. Suddenly, the flashlights gone off except for the one pointing at the lady and her eyes opened.
    ©yatharth_singh_chauhan

  • sarahrachelea 15w

    We're just friends.

    ~ liar
    ©sarahrachelea

  • aeon_thanatos 20w

    Pretty Flower

    She still smiles. Twenty years and her smile still remains the most beautiful spectacle of life. I wish she was with me today, alongside us. I wish I could hear her frivolous laugh, her sparkling eyes and her face full of joy compensated for my every pain. I wish she could see what we created.
    "Daddy, look at this flower, its so pretty."
    "Yes, my baby doll, what do you say we give it to Mommy?"
    "Lets plant it beside Mommy so that it will remain beautiful"
    "Sure baby"
    There was her smile again in something more precious for us.

    ©aeon_thanatos

  • eshasharan 44w

    I heard footsteps on the stairs.

    The sleep crawled into me late, as usual. Breathing paced, throat went dry, gasping for breath woke up clutching the bed. "What's with me?" rubbing my face reached for a glass of water.

    Not surprised 'it's empty.'

    I heard footsteps on the stairs.
    'Someone is in the house?' My heart drummed against my ribcage.

    The air was chilly with a dead silence,swallowing the fear, I took a sharp inhale.

    The door opened quickly pushing chilled air, making aware to every tip of my skin.

    "I can't sleep, it's cold" someone whispered close to my neck. I dare not to look back.

    "hmm?"

    "Can I wear your skin, so I can feel warm?" 

    "you going to kill me?" my lips trembled, hot tears streaked cheeks.

    "Never"

    I breathed relief.
    "I can take it when you 're still alive".
    ©eshasharan

  • mr_harriz 45w

    Survival of the fittest

    This world is an enormous Jungle
    And in it walks the most cunning of foxes, venomest of snakes, vultures ready to scavenge the fallen and Hyenas who brings down even the vicious of predators

    And ofcourse those who don't know this forest and it's ways falls victim to many of these deadly creatures.

    And a caveman should prepare their children to face the dark side of the jungle despite the danger it embodies.

    And while he goes for the hunt, he must not close the cave with his kids inside in the name of safety, rather he must take their kids to the hunt with him, despite the danger.

    He must do this so that when his life is coming to an end, his child will be a man; the friend of the the forest, ready to start his life in this mighty Jungle.


    After all it's the survival of the fittest.
    ©mr_harriz

  • by_ftr 46w

    Yes I broke the law;
    Jumped your border,
    To feed my children.
    Even did the work that you abhor...
    And now you want me to feel guilty?
    You say:
    Go back,
    Go back to your country.
    Fight for your freedom!
    Yet you forget,
    That we tried that...
    And your government funded the death squads
    That killed our youths.
    When our priests stood up
    And demanded our military to listen to God,
    To have sympathy and stop slaughtering our poor...
    It was your embassy
    that gave the order to have them butchered...
    Yes, even the nuns.
    So don't forget,
    When you tell us to fight the cartels and dictators
    To clean up our mess back home...
    Remember it's your money
    That has kept them in charge all along.
    ©F.T.R

  • sarahrachelea 48w

    ••• Evilicious •••
    Crushed, crushed
    Hush, hush
    Cursed, cursed

    Sip this Bloody Mary
    Sink into jar of ink
    And slash their heart into pieces

    She's in love with him
    When her devilish soul intertwined
    With his inner demon...

    ©sarahrachelea

  • by_ftr 52w

    Hay veces que la vida
    Me hace dudar tantas cosas amor.
    No sé si aiga vida después de esta,
    Pero al ver tu sonrisa
    Por ese corto segundo
    que dura toda una eternidad
    Vuelvo a creer en milagros.
    ©F.T.R

  • by_ftr 52w

    Sometimes believing in dreams is hard
    Society loves to tear them down
    Even worse
    It may turn you against them
    So the job of the parent is not
    To keep the child forever safe.
    No, naivety is not the solution.
    Never hide the cold reality of life
    From your kid.
    Prepare them for it,
    But teach them
    That the goal is to protect their dreams
    Not to trade them for comfort.
    We all become adults
    But we don't have to give up the inner child.
    The purpose of growing up is to make those
    Dream true
    Not to give up on them.
    A parent should always believe in his children,
    Even
    And specially
    When the child doubts itself.
    ©F.T.R

  • by_ftr 53w

    Being sore, beats being bored.
    ©F.T.R

  • by_ftr 55w

    Summer, summer hours
    dreaming of snow
    Got nothing
    On how often
    I think of you.
    Princess of the Oasis
    Keep your sacred waters
    The taste of your lips is all the refreshment I need.
    No darling, I am not here as a conquistador
    Or a beggar to rob you of your freedom.
    I'm here as a pilgrim to worship at your feet.
    I'm not here to take but bathe in your waters,
    Lay under the shadows of your hair
    And find shelter in your arms
    As I lay between your legs.
    Let me explore your singing dunes my muse,
    Write their melodies down
    And tell the world of your wonders
    While keeping you my little secret.
    That hidden well
    I bring my soul to reinvigorate.
    ©F.T.R , A.A

  • paulwrites 68w

    #sliceoflife #shortfiction #shortstory #writersnetwork #readwriteunite #mirakee #mirakeeworld #relationships #people #springtimecafe


    Dizzy Meet Devin

    From "Tales From The Springtime Cafe"


    Every day on the way home from school, Dizzy Darling counts the number of times he doesn't break his mother's back. Skipping over every crack in the sunbaked pavement, it helps him stay focused. If he allows his mind to wander he may dwell on how other kids make fun of his name, the girls calling out in mock sweetness, "Oh Dizzy Darling, your hairdresser must speak with mine because your head is just atrocious," and the boys trying to trip him up and saying, "Oh, you must be dizzy."

    Some days he could bless his mother out for bestowing him with such a name. She'd once confessed that she and his father (no good so-and-so that he was) would listen to old jazz music of Dizzy Gillespie through the long nights in better times, meaning better times before their son came along, which in turn meant better times before the scumbag abandoned us.

    Skipping over the cracks, Dizzy looks at no one as he goes along. If he avoids the gaze of others, perhaps they can't abandon him like dad did. They couldn't blame him for how miserable life was like mother was want to do. In this, Dizzy has no real friends. Maybe a few classmates he speaks to about homework or what is on the cafeteria tray that day, but no real conversation. The only conversations he has are in his head with imaginary characters he has made up for a comic book he hopes to write one day.

    He is having just such a self conversation when he runs into the cigatette smoking man. Not the one on the X-files show he likes to watch, but the one who always looks like he is in a hurry, coming out of the Springtime Cafe, digging a pack out of his pocket and flipping an unlit cancer stick into his mouth. Even Dizzy knows the guy never lights it, but today he doesn't notice because he is too lost in his head's own conversation. Instead, he plows into the man as he comes out the door.

    The guy stumbles on his feet, the cigarette never reaching his mouth. It lands carelessly on the pavement, just like Dizzy, who has tripped over the man's feet.

    "Whoa there, son," the guy says, reaching down to help Dizzy up. "You alright?"
    Helping him up, he offers a genuine smile. "Nothing is worth kissing the dirt for."

    Dizzy apologizes profusely and goes to pick up the man's fallen cigarette.

    "Don't worry about it. I was done with it anyway." He mashes it into the pavement with his shoe as if he is putting out a lit smoke.

    "I really am sorry," Dizzy says, hanging his head low and not looking at him.

    "Hey kid, no biggie. I said it's okay. You okay? No injuries?"

    "No sir."

    "Good, I'm glad."

    Dizzy still won't look at him, despite the man's friendly nature. He hears the man sigh, perhaps a little exasperated, and only then does he dare to look up.

    But the man isn't looking at him. He is staring back at the window of the cafe. Through the glass, even Dizzy can see what holds his attention. A waitress with long dark hair and light almond skin, smiling at customers, her step lively and almost infectious. In that moment, Dizzy falls in love too.

    Devin pulls another cigarette from his pocket and places it in his mouth. After a few moments, Dizzy looks away from the window and up at the man.

    "You going to light that, mister?"

    "Nope."

    "She's pretty," Dizzy says.

    "Yep."

    They both continue to gaze longingly, as a man pushes past them on his way inside the cafe. He bumps Dizzy rudely, but the boy is used to such things from others. With a glance, he is able to tell the man is as much a bully as the boys at school. Dizzy doesn't waste much time on the asessment and instead returns his gaze to the man beside him, who is still looking at the waitress through the window.

    "What's her name?" he asks.

    "Colleen."

    Dizzy smiles. "Pretty."

    "Yep."

    This could go on forever, one word exchanges, and still it is more conversation than Dizzy gets at home or school. He'll take it.



    Follow hashtag #springtimecafe for more stories


    Paul D Aronson. 2019. All Rights Reserved.

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    Dizzy Meet Devin

    From "Tales From The Springtime Cafe"

  • paulwrites 68w

    #sliceoflife #shortfiction #shortstory #writersnetwork #readwriteunite #mirakee #mirakeeworld #relationships #people #springtimecafe

    Devin and The Urge

    From "Tales From The Springtime Cafe"


    Devin gave up smoking years ago, however he did not give up cigarettes. He carried a pack in his pocket every day just in case he gave in to the urge. Thankfully, for seven years the urge had been quiet. Perhaps it was because Devin's life had been somewhat stress free since giving up the habit. Maybe it was the fact he practiced meditation daily in place of firing up. Or it could be he was just stronger now and had it in mind not to let anything run his life, except himself.

    Devin, Mr McMaster to the waitresses, had been coming to the Springtime Cafe almost as long as he had been quit on the tar and nicotine. A regular routine, he would show up just after lunch, trying to catch that quiet time before the after hours office workers showed up. With his daily newspaper laid out before him, he'd sit at table two in section three, waiting on his coffee before he'd begin.

    His favorite waitress, Colleen, a young unmarried mother with a smile that lit his afternoon, would fill his cup. Black, one sugar. Then with a cheery "back in a sec," she'd leave him there to attend to her other customers if she had any. Sometimes she'd sit at another table in the corner to refill the salt and pepper shakers. Devin would reach for the pack in his pocket, glancing at her, before returning to his newspaper. Minutes later, he would be asking himself why he even read the rag, as his father had once called it. All it was was a reminder of how hateful the world had become. The only good news were the movie times for the cinema across the street.

    Briefly he considered getting up from his table and walking over to the booth where Colleen diligently filled the shakers, slap his hand down on the tabletop and declare, "Miss, we are going to the movies today." Then he realized how stupid this sounded and it kept him grounded to his chair.


    2019 Paul D Aronson. All Rights Reserved.

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    Devin and the urge

    From "Tales From The Springtime Cafe"

  • paulwrites 69w

    #sliceoflife #shortfiction #shortstory #writersnetwork #readwriteunite #mirakee #mirakeeworld #relationships #people #springtimecafe

    December & May

    From "Tales From The Springtime Cafe"

    It's Monday morning and I'm sitting at the Springtime Cafe once again, watching all the A.M. people get a kick start to their day. Coffee, danishes, breakfast, conversation, whatever one needs to begin is right here. There's even a duo set up with their acoustic guitars in the corner playing a cute little Ingrid Michaelson song. Several waitresses move about, taking orders and offering their own voices to the conversations at the various tables and booths. This morning I spot two of them right away.

    Mags, or Maggie for long, is a middle aged lady, perhaps 40 or so, but she moves through the place like she's twenty-five. She has blond hair, from which I can spot a few grays, though I never try to look that close. She gets picked at that enough by some of the regular guys who come in and perch at one of her tables while awaiting their carpool. Of course she usually just shoots them down with a look from her steely, gray eyes. If that doesn't work she has a tone to her voice that might remind you of your mom telling you a whipping is coming. For this reason alone, I can't help but like her.

    The other waitress is just as likable, a little more bubbly perhaps, because of her age. If I had to guess she's about 30, maybe a few years younger. If Mags acts and moves around like a younger woman, then her co-worker flies around the room like a college girl late for class. Her name is May, and perhaps her parents should have been scolded for naming their child Maybelline, but she too made the best of the jokes and cajoling from the guys who frequented the cafe, some of them drawn indoors by the sight of her alone.

    I speak from experience here. I myself was just tooling down the street on the way to a cubicle job I hated when I looked over and saw the brunette waitress through the window of the cafe. Her hair was long then, falling over her shoulders and slightly down her back. From the street, I saw her smile at a customer, and from that day I knew I would want her smile to be at the start of my morning for the rest of my life. Perhaps that's an exaggeration, but as if on cue she arrives at my table, while I sit here like a dumbfounded idiot watching her approach and jotting it down. If I drew instead of writing about her, she may take more notice, but as it is to her I'm just another guy, maybe a teacher at the local college, working on a thesis while waiting for his coffee.

    "Still at it," she asks, as she steps up to the table, the soles of her white shoes tapping lightly as if a near perfect dance routine had come to a temporary stop. For a moment I set my pen down and commit her to daily memory again.

    "Always," I grin. "But I'm running out of inspiration. What you got for me today?"

    She smiles and her brown eyes almost become copper, bright and cheery and passing it along. She looks around the room and her eyes stop on the guitar playing duo. "They aren't really brother and sister," she says.

    I raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

    "Nope. They are spies."

    I nod my head. "Interesting."

    "Yeah, but they aren't interested in state secrets. They are here to spy on you."

    I play along and feign surprise. "Me?"

    "Yes. They know you are in here everyday writing something important in that notebook of yours."

    This is May's daily game. She always tries different ways to get it out of me. I guess I make her curious as I'm in here all the time, alone and never with anyone, just me and my pen writing, writing, writing.

    "One of them thinks you are a novelist. The other thinks you might be plotting a bank robbery."

    "Well, you can inform them that I'm neither one, though I guess novelist would be closer than a robber."

    "Fair enough for now. I'll let them know." Then she gives me her routine wink. To some it may seem flirtatious, but I can't take it that way, for she is May and Springtime to my winter. "Coffee," she asks, and just as it always seems, I'm the only one in the room. That is the magic of May. When she is talking to you it's as if you are the only person for miles. Like today, there's at least 30 people in the cafe, and yet when she looks at me I feel like we are alone.

    "Yes, coffee," I agree. "Two creams. Two sugars."

    "You may want an extra sugar to escape the spies," she offers playfully.

    "No, but if you could get them to play some Belle & Sebastian it could make my day lighter."

    She laughs, and it is light and airy. "I'll see what I can do."

    I watch her walk away and return to my notebook. Some days I just sit there and follow her walk, the way her legs move, the swish of her waitress skirt as it shifts from side to side with the melody in her steps. But today, I am inspired and go back to writing. Within a few minutes, the duo begin playing Belle & Sebastian.



    2019 Paul D Aronson. All Rights Reserved

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    December & May

    From "Tales From The Springtime Cafe"

  • paulwrites 78w

    #writingprompt #prompt #shortstory #writersnetwork #shortfiction #pod #horror #death #authors #writingcommunities #fiction

    Authors note: This short story was created from a writing prompt on twitter. I can't remember who posted it, but the first paragraph here was the prompt. The rest of the story is mine, inspired by it. Hope you enjoy it.



    Around The Corner

    The old homeless man didn't talk to people. He was dead silent on the church steps, while the other street people pushed raucous carts and screamed obscenities. "You," he said, lifting a gnarled finger, his eyes milky. "I see death around the corner."

    The woman with the baby carriage looked at him in shock, then horror. Quickly she pushed it in the other direction, hushing the baby within the whole way.

    The homeless man put his hands in his lap and was silent again. A young couple, holding hands and giggling, crossed the street not far from where he was. Once again he lifted his gnarled finger and pointed. "You," he intoned. "I see death around the corner."

    Very quickly, the couple hurried down the sidewalk, casting furtive glances back at him. Their hushed voices revealed to any passerby their uneasiness at being spoken to by this ancient, dirty faced wretch. Once gone however, they didnt think of him again, and the old man placed his hands in his lap in again.

    Another old man, this one better dressed and groomed, hobbled down the walk with the use of a cane. Despite his limp, he seemed accustomed to it, and moved briskly on shaky, spindly legs. The homeless man pointed at him and gave his usual proclamation. "You. I see death around the corner."

    The old man stopped briefly, wobbling on his cane. He didn't look at the homeless man, but just shook his head. Then he resumed his unsteady, but sure walk. He didn't even see the man lower his hands back to his lap. Just another beggar, he reasoned.

    On the church steps the homeless man remained, quiet and reserved between the occasional finger pointing and warning. Everyone either ignored or avoided his judgements as they went about their day.
    A cab pulled up to the curb on the opposite side of the street. The old man watched its rear door open and a very well fashioned figure emerged. Dressed to the nines in a pressed formal tuxedo and top hat, sporting a polished silver tipped cane, the passenger paid the driver. The cab moved on and the smartly dressed gentleman stood on the opposite sidewalk. He pulled a pocket watch from inside his waist coat and looked at it. He nodded and smiled, looking up at the church building.

    The homeless man sat undisturbed and watched the figure cross the street. Slowly, he lifted his finger and pointed at the stranger. "You," he said, as the man stopped at the steps, and leaned nonchalantly on his cane. "I see death around the corner."

    The stranger smiled. "Of course you do," he replied in a deep monotone voice. He looked at the homeless man who just stared back, neither one wavering from their half smiles. For the stranger, his smile seemed to suck the very joy from the surrounding air. For the homeless man, his smile was one of a person who had ran a race aimlessly only to find himself at the finishing line among friends.

    The stranger held out a black gloved hand. "Shall we?"

    The homeless man lifted his hand, his finger no longer pointing outward, and took the stranger's gentle grasp. Allowing the stranger to help him stand, he got up. He slipped his arm inside the stranger's and looked up into his dark eyes. "Thank you," he said.

    "My pleasure," the stranger replied, and the two began to walk together down the walk. No one paid them any attention. The world went about its business. And the two figures disappeared around the corner.


    ©paulwrites

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    Around The Corner

    Short Story / Writing Prompt

  • amit13saini 84w

    आख़री ईमानदार

    रोको तो काटेगा,
    बूझो तो जानेगा,
    किसी की न मानेगा,
    जीते को हरवायेगा,
    नोटों को लुटवायेगा,
    सबसे दूर करवाएगा,
    अकेले मरवावेयगा,

    इसपे तू न ध्यान दे,
    धुआं फूंक साथ मेरे
    रह नशे में झूठ के,
    आ पास, करे रोमांस,
    या हो दफा, पर,
    मुझको तू जीण दे,
    इसको तू जान दे,

    जाने दे, जाने दे,
    देखें कहाँ तक जाएगा,
    बंदूकें चलवायेगा
    झगड़े करवाएगा,
    या तो मर जायेगा,
    या नया जहां बनाएगा,
    आखरी ईमानदार,
    झूठी सच की कहानियां सुनाएगा,
    जूतियां खायेगा ?
    पहला झूठा कहलायेगा ?
    ©amit13saini

  • analytical_monk 92w

    GIFT

    He'd gotten used to wallowing in misery every year while rest of the family celebrated.
    All set to hear bursting of crackers, he laid in wait.
    But it was a rhythm that filled the home instead.

    A smiling face appeared.
    "Enough with the noise, mate. We're trading it for music."

    Bruno barked in approval.
    His master had truly become his best friend.

    ©analytical_monk