Category Archives: Fiction

The Saga of Bri & Tiff


The two sisters were nothing alike. The eldest one Bri was tall, fair and a very shy person. The younger one was of medium height, dark, and wildly popular among her numerous friends. They hardly talked to each other, except when both were home, and fighting would erupt on their shared bathroom.

They could have avoided the confrontation over the bathroom by using other bathrooms in the house. Both wanted exclusive rights to the one nearer their bedrooms, and neither wanted to let go.

As soon as Bri would hear Tiff arriving home in her car, she would rush to the bathroom to take a shower. Tiff would bang on the door to let Bri know that she needed to use the bathroom. Bri would happily ignore the interruption, and annoyingly take as much time as she pleased.

To make matters worse, Tiff would retaliate by locking the bathroom from her side, and leave a light burning indicating she was in there. In reality she would be sprawled on her bed talking on the phone. This would piss off Bri. There was no end in sight except when their father was home.

Both would take a pause from their fighting. The war for the bathroom would erupt with a new vigor once their father left.



Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


She looked into the mirror, and saw her red nose burnt by the sun. Her eyes went to the woman who was her mother. She stared at her smiling mother for a while, and thought, “Will I be as pretty as her someday?”

“Of course darling! You are a lovely girl”. Her mother lips caught in a smile promised her silently. A string of pearls adorned her neck. Her hair caught in a chignon looked beautiful. Her face looked flawless, and her timeless beauty gave her portrait an eternal grace.

Time is elusive as it goes on. Years later a little girl gazes at her reflection. Her braid is partly undone. Her grey eyes looks into the eyes of her mother, and ask her, “Will I look someday as pretty as you?”




Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

The Last Time


I don’t have a book to my name yet. My daughter keeps on urging me. When will a book materialize, I simply don’t know. Here is an idea of a book:

Raffia had come to attend her brother’s marriage in the village. She had not wanted to come, but had no excuse not to attend her only brother’s wedding festivities. 

It was the morning of the wedding, and Raffia couldn’t be found. She wasn’t in her room. Tons of terrible thoughts assuaged her mother. “Now where she could be at this hour?”

This was the first time she had come to her parents’ home, after her marriage which took place nine months ago. She looked happy. Her parents were visibly relieved at her happiness. They had forcibly married her to a man of their choice.

And now she was missing.

Read the story “The Last Time”, and find out what happened to Raffia.


Write the blurb for the book jacket of the book you’d write, if only you had the time and inclination.

Looking Glass


“Hi! You look revolting today”.

I look here, and there, not realizing my looking mirror has spoken. This is the first time it has spoken to me, and I am afraid it may be a ghost. The  “Others” in the house have gone out, and I am the only one at home.

A quick search of the room shows no one is about —- no ghost is visible, as I cast fearful glances around.

“I am talking to you”, the looking glass tilts suddenly to flash the light at me, and I catch its’ movement.

Its earlier quote strikes my fuzzy brain, “why did you call me revolting?”

“You look pale, and there are dark circles round your eyes”.

I am afraid of going near it, so I don’t look into it. I wonder aloud, “looking glasses don’t talk”.

“They do! Haven’t you read about Snow White’s stepmother’s mirror?”

“Oh that! It’s just a story”.

“Stories are based on true happenings”.

As I think over it I hear the movement downstairs. The Others have returned, and IB (my grandson) knocks, “Dado, come downstairs to eat.”

I follow him. “Oh me gosh! I totally forgot the interview.

The Interview

Interview your favorite fictional character

Giving Up


I have answered this prompt two-three times previously, so I am writing a story.


She felt like having a photograph. The idea appealed to her. She liked him. His younger sister willingly gave it to her, when she asked for it. She kept it at her bedside. It was comforting to have something of him, plus it brought him nearer.

Days went by, and she noticed him around other girls — talking, laughing, sharing, or whatever. Her heart wanted this too. He never had time to seek, or sit beside her. He never tried to talk to her. He was avoiding her, though at the time she wasn’t aware of it. Was she in a haze? Maybe she was preoccupied with worries of her own.

One day her friend came for a visit. He was so enamoured by the girl. He pulled his chair close to her friend to talk. And suddenly it dawned on her that he had no feelings for her.

A pain engulfed her. That night she couldn’t sleep. She wondered at her own stupidity. How could she have been so blind? How did she let her own infatuation grow?

The loss tormented her. There was no respite. She shed tears feeling bereft.

Next morning she got up feeling numb. She picked the photo, and silently returned it to his sister.

If I Had a Hammer

If you could learn a trade — say carpentry, electrical work, roofing, landscaping, plumbing, flooring, drywall — you name it — what skill(s) would you love to have in your back pocket?



Suzanne Collins, Judy Picoult  are my favorite authors. As per WordPress prompt I better ask them to write my biography. Will they do it?

Let us find out:

1st e-mail  to Judy Picoult.

Hi Judy, how are you? I love your writing. Would you be interested in writing my biography? What it entails, please let me know? My e-mail:sheen@——–phone number———-

No answer. At third try I better write to Suzzane Collins.

Hi Suzzane, this is Sheen. I am writing in the hope if I can interest you in writing my biography. I have come across so many people like me who adore your writing. If we can talk on telephone we can work out the details. My e-mail address is sheen@——— my phone number———

No reply — no telephone — nothing.

Anyone interested out there?


If you could have any author –living or dead – write your biography, who would you choose?

Fly on the Wall

The colors she wore were tempting enough

They added to her allure

She looked beautiful, mysterious 

As she stood in a corner alone

She was a lovely temptress for sure

He had seen her trying to hide in a corner, so that to be invisible to the prying eyes on the patio.  There were many gathered there to have a fun filled night. She looked juicy enough to eat. The colors she wore were seductive enough to lure him to her. She looked beautiful.

He moved slowly towards her as if in a trance. One step at a time. He didn’t want to startle her, and let her move away, or disappear. He moistened his lips at the sight of her, as he advanced in her direction; willing her to remain where she was.

Their eyes locked together, as he came near her. His tongue darted out. She was in his grip, as he swallowed her whole.


Fly on the wall  Thousand Foot Krutch

Fly on the Wall

If you could be a “fly on the wall” anywhere and at any time in history, where and when would you choose?

Wearing Hijab

Dialogue between a Muslim mother, and her daughter. The daughter finds it stifling wearing a hijab. The mother insists she wears it to school, or going outside.

D says, “I don’t want to wear it”.

M, “why not?”


M, “tell me!”

D, “you won’t go off your rocker?”

M, “allright”.

D, “I feel a complete ninny, cause none of my classmates wear it. I am the odd one out”.

M, “but they are not Muslims. Why should they wear it?”

D, “why should I?”

M, “you have to wear it, because it’s ordained by God for us, and as such clear guidance is written in the Quran.  In Surah Al-Nur, and Surah Al-Ahzab, “believing women are told to cover themselves when they go out of their homes”.

D, “I feel ugly, and it’s depressing”.

M, “now you are objecting, but a few years onward you will find wearing hijab beneficial, and time saving. It protects your skin, and hair from the harmful effects of sun rays. You save time by not spending un-necessary hours in getting ready. It shows you as a modest person not given to appearances, so you gain respect, and most important it’s God’s injunction, not to be violated.

Besides, young lady you are getting late for school, and you better leave now”.

Here is a Christian lady who is wearing hijab for forty days. Please visit her journey of hijab. It’s quite interesting.

A House Divided

Pick a divisive issue currently in the news. Write a two-part post in which you take on two personas and approach the topic from both sides. Bonus points for a creative format (roundtable discussion, debate transcript, etc.).


Return Address
by Ben Huberman
Yesterday, your pet/baby/inanimate object could read your post. Today, they can write back (thanks for the suggestion, lifelessons!). Write a post from their point of view (or just pick any non-verbal creature/object).

A tale of woes from my house in the village:


Another morning! The sun is out — bright, and cheerful. He is old, but looks majestic; where as (sigh), I am not that much in years, but I feel old, unkept, and dirty.

You are not here, so no one bothers. Leaves, and flowers rot and dry. When the wind picks up speed they move to my corners and doors. Ants are literally running to and fro. They are having a field day. One or two anthills are growing on the porch.

Sometimes I think Mr. W (the watchman) may be having eye problems that he overlooks my untidiness. He doesn’t see the grass overgrown. He doesn’t see the weeds that are overtaking the grass, and patches of brown drying up grass. The lawn mower has again given up ……..

Myself: I interpret it, “You said the grass is grown. How come the lawn mower is broken, if it has not been used?”
Oh! It has been used by Mr. W at other places, and he was getting a bit of extra money on the side (snickers)

The outside lights keep burning at daytime too. Saves him precious time to switch them on again at night. You will be getting a bill for the new motor installed. How long this new one will last? I am not sure, cause he turns it on to fill the water tank. He goes away. It keeps on running. Hours later Mr. W comes to switch it off. Now you know why you get hefty electricity bills.

I am not happy at how quickly I am detoriating, but the spiders, and wasps are having a ball. They are positively gleeful. They get to build their nests wherever they choose. No one disturbs their peaceful lives.

There was a mega storm last month. It shoved away the bougainvilleas and roses plants off the boundary walls. Too much work for Mr. W to rewire them back to their place. He let them get dry, and then hauled them away. Wise man! Saved himself from extra work in watering them. All they did was: to litter the lawns with falling leaves, and flowers.

I miss you! When are you coming?

Are They The Same?

Daily Prompt: Absolute Beauty
We’ve heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Is all beauty contingent on a subjective point of view?

Adil’s friend Noor had invited him for dinner at his house. Adil’s wife had died suddenly about a year back. Noor and his family were very much interested in him, as a prospective husband for his un married sister. The family wanted to have a close look at Adil.

After dinner, over cups of green tea, the talk turned to Adil’s two children. He thought that his children were the loveliest in the world. He voiced it, as he extracted a photo from his wallet to show them.

The family didn’t see any extra ordinary beauty in the children, as they all turn by turn stared at the photo. The four year girl had a prominent nose, and the two year old boy had a rather large head.

Noor decided to visit Adil. He had not seen him for quite some time, and wanted to check on his friend. In front of Adil’s house two children were playing. Noor called out to them with a friendly hello.

The children turned at the sound of his voice. He was struck with astonishment at the beauty of both children. He suddenly realized, that they were the same children he had seen earlier in the black and white photo of Adil.