The broken kaleidoscope wasn’t reflecting darkness. Neither did it trap black spots.
The broken kaleidoscope reflected more colors with a vengeance.
Pieces of blue, pink, orange, green, yellow, and a mix of more colors. It sparkled brilliantly as the more broken pieces accumulated.
Broken doesn’t have to mean losing the ability to shine. Often, being broken lets you show up without your shackles. Perhaps, when you thought you were broken, in fact, you broke off the chain that held you back letting you break free.
Either way, it’s time to shine brightly without fear like the kaleidoscope.
I have recounted this story many times before. Each time I add bits and pieces to the story to tweak it and spice it up, making it sound unbelievable, yet captivating. Without fail, my audience devoured the unbelievable story marveling at my storytelling abilities.
But, I never dared to tell a soul the truth. How will tell anyone that it wasn’t a story? Will anyone believe me that in fact, it was not a story, but an incident that I experienced in reality?
Being a follower of my heart, I hardly listened to my parents or anyone else. So during that camping trip in the fall, when I wandered off from where we camped, I did that knowing that I was expected to do so. The path I followed took me to an unexpected turn of events.
Was it smoke or fog, I didn’t care. I was swallowed by the haze and could hardly see what lay ahead. The 14-year-old I was almost certain that this was a mistake. Maybe I shouldn’t have explored the uncharted territory all by myself. But it was too late to have a change of heart. I knew my eyes were welling up, but strangely tears didn’t touch my cheeks. To be honest, I had a feeling I was not visible in that weird place. I couldn’t touch my hands or body. I couldn’t see my own hands or legs. Even if my family came looking for me, how would have they spotted me if I was invisible? My heart let out a gasp and I screamed my lungs out. Did my terrifying voice cut through that thick haze of fog? I was not sure.
Then, it appeared – a tiny flicker of light moved toward me as if it was held by someone. But there was no one carrying the lantern. I could see the lantern hanging in front of me nothing holding it or even touching it, but staying there supported by nothing but the haze. It moved slightly to my right and I took it as an indication to follow the lamp. The lantern moved again to my right and I followed the light, hoping that I would get out of that scary place.
After walking for what seemed like hours, I saw familiar trees standing tall and leaves on the ground. At a distance, I could hear my elder brother calling out my name. I called back with great joy, tears rolling down my cheeks. I ran toward Steve calling out his name. Then I stopped to say thanks to the person carrying the lantern. But to my disappointment there was no person or lamp.
Was it magic? Was it something evil? Who will believe my story? Unbelievable, isn’t it?
This “fictional” piece is written in response to the one hundred and third edition of Fiction Monday for the word prompt ‘MAGIC’ and the above picture prompt hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
“Sana, are you listening? ” Riya’s voice nudged her. Although her mind has left the park and the bench they occupied a while ago, she nodded and added hurriedly before Riya could point out Sana’s absent-mindedness “let’s walk a bit. I am feeling sleepy sitting here enjoying this beautiful breeze. ”
Sana didn’t want to talk about what had been ravaging her mind. Riya is a sweet, caring, and honest friend. She will come up with a hundred solutions in ten minutes if Sana reveals what’s in her mind. But Sana was not ready to try out Riya’s solutions. She wanted to deal with her problem in her own way.
As the friends walked around the park, Sana noticed a lone figure sitting still on a swing nearby. She walked next to the swing without acknowledging Riya’s chatter.
“Hey! Sanaa! Where are you going now? ” Riya looked slightly annoyed by her friend’s distracted behavior.
Seeing Sana pick up the cute teddy bear sitting all alone on the swing, Riya hollered, “one of the kids must have left her toy here by mistake. “
The teddy bear in her hand seemed to be happy when she picked it up. Sana, too, felt a jolt of happiness, holding the little brown bear in her hand. She hadn’t had one in a long time. She felt this teddy was waiting for her there. The stuffed toy would make a great companion. Someone to share her concerns with, without being flooded with a thousand questions and solutions. Sana was sure this teddy bear wouldn’t judge her a bit.
She walked back to Riya holding her new friend with a smile lighting up her face.
This “fictional” piece is written in response to the one hundred and second edition of Fiction Monday for the word prompt ‘DARK’ and the above picture prompt hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
Mrs. Moorthy was the first friend Riya made in this place. That was almost nine years ago. Today, the park looked empty without her, thought Riya wistfully.
Riya was unsure of the move to this new city. But when a good opportunity knocked on her door, moving away from her familiar neighborhood and building a new life in an unfamiliar big city was the option. After a nervous first week at the office, Riya came down to take a stroll in the nearby park where she lived.
That’s when she met Mrs. Moorthy for the very first time. An elderly woman in her 70s living with her husband in the same community as hers. Mrs. Moorthy immediately recognized the homesickness on Riya’s face and talked to her like a long-lost friend.
Riya was grateful for Mrs. Moorthy. She would’ve never felt comfortable talking to an elderly person like her as she would to a friend.
From that onwards, every weekend they met at the park sharing stories from Riya’s office and Mrs. Moorthy’s life.
For Riya, Mrs. Moorthy was a reliable friend. Her advice was always spot on. She confided everything in Mrs. Moorthy. How much Riya cherished this friendship she knew from day one. But today she realized how much she had missed Mrs. Moorthy’s companionship.
It’s been only a week since Mrs. Moorthy departed this world along with Riya and the park they met regularly.
Mrs. Moorthy’s pearls of wisdom on flavors of life stayed with Riya, but her absence tormented her. Maybe, those pearls of wisdom would guide her to navigate the grief of Mrs. Moorthy’s departure and find another flavor of life.
This five-sentence fiction piece is written in response to the eighty-ninth edition of Fiction Monday for the word prompt ‘FLAVOR’ and the above picture prompt hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
This five-sentence fiction piece is written in response to the eighty-fifth edition of Fiction Monday for the word prompt ‘LOVE’ and the above picture prompt hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
The petals of dandelions appear delicate yet they are so fearless to blatantly show their beauty. It’s not fragile, or vulnerable in a negative sense.
Getting to show off their uniqueness – the fragility, the vulnerability, the ability to free itself from the flower and wander off slowly, elegantly and settle somewhere unfamiliar – isn’t that stunningly brave? Isn’t that simply incredible?
To be not afraid of your own vulnerability, instead flaunt it and mesmerize everyone in the vicinity by simply being you?
This piece is written in response to the seventy-second edition of Fiction Monday for the below picture prompt and the word prompt ‘BEAUTY’ hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
It’s not time yet. That’s what he kept telling himself. He had convinced himself that in order to pursue his dreams he needed to be free of all the commitments in life. Work, family, kids’ education – so many things needed his full focus.
Pursuing his dream of writing a novel would require him to take a break from his demanding work which in turn would affect their financial situation. So, not now. And he wasn’t even sure how successful, he would be as a writer. It’s not like he was trained to be a writer. Writing was his passion. That’s all. So not now.
But it would be a satisfying experience when he finally took the step – that much he was sure of.
That’s what he thought until yesterday.
Today he got the scan results and received the grave news. He is sick. It’s time to take a break from his demanding job and check in at the hospital the soonest.
The unwritten novel haunted his dreams.
This fictional piece is written in response to the sixty-eighth edition of Fiction Monday for the above picture prompt and the word prompt ‘DREAM’ hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.