The Wooden Rose

Day was dafting. Night was near. Time was not good, not good at all. I crawled on my elbows to hide behind a large terra cotta colored boulder. My shotgun was dragging along with me, its strap creating a dangerous rash on the right side of my neck.
“Lasp behind soldier, Lasp behind!” a low voice crackled through the walkie-talkie in my pocket. It was speaking in code-though it had proved not to be too efficient. When they said ‘Lasp Behind.’ they meant for me to fall back, gather ammunition, and return to the war, to win…or die trying.
A shadow shifted from a spiky bush across from me.
“That’s a negative.” I denied the order. If an enemy was across from me, I wasn’t going to lose the moment.
The crackled from the Walkie-Talkie silenced.
I dragged my body slightly further along the dusty sand, and lifted my shotgun into position. With a jaunty shake of my head, I nodded my helmet into position, and took a deep breath. Shifting the gun slightly into a groove in the rock, I pulled the trigger. Boom. Boom Boom. The thundering sound of eleven bullets echoed around the deserted area.
The shadow around the bush froze, and fell slowly to the floor. A dust cloud lifted around the bush, and I noticed the soldier’s head was peering from the side of the spiky leaves. I pulled for another bullet- precaution, not the sadistic joy of overkill.
Feeling as hollow as the inside of my gun, I walked over to the motionless body.
My tears didn’t run. Not anymore. I knew I had to do this. I bent near him, and ran my fingers over his fresh blood, running crimson over the dull green of his military suit. I stared for a long time at the red liquid on my fingers, the carefully rubbed it on the crusty cross dangling from my neck.
“I pray to lord-may your soul rest in peace.”
As I stood up, I noticed the crinkling rustle of paper. I glanced down. This soldier’s pocket was open, and the corner of a paper was flapping sharply in the hot wind.
Gingerly, I grabbed the thick, smooth paper between my thumb and forefinger. Slowly, holding my breath at a rather shocking feeling of anxiety, I tugged the paper out.
A page. White, and blank, stared up at me. I laughed at my self, the hollow noise ringing in the deserts.
(I now realize, how foolish I was-not having turned the paper over, but I realize that was the path I took, to avoid truth.)
The wind blew sharply again, a corner of the paper, rolling in the wind, revealing-color. My laughter stopped short.
With my two coarse hands, I gripped the paper, and turned it. Slowly. Carefully.
A photograph.
My throat choked up, and my heart swelled. Or shrunk. I couldn’t tell, but I did know, the feeling, was horrible. It was guilt…and sorrow. The guilt was caused by the sorrow, and the sorrow, by the guilt.
The sorrow was there for the mother and son in front of me, the ghost of their presence captured in a 6 by 8 frame.
I stared coldly at the young brown eyed lady, sporting a thin, dark blue t-shirt, which bulged abnormally around her belly, and at the blond baby boy she held in her arms.
My heart throbbed again. The speed of my blinks began to grow rapid.
“Aaugh…God” I cursed, wiping the tears streaming down my face. Two sloppy tears splattered the curled picture.
That’s when I noticed the writing. In neat writing, good as type, it read:
Stanley, and Ginny ‘Ginerva’ LaStef
I looked down at the soldier lying at my feet. In golden thread, the name Justin LaStef was stitched in his military suit, near his chest.
The raindrop tears grew into a thunderstorm.
“Great God!” I groaned. “I ruined a family. Another family….” I buried my face in my hands. “No…NO” I bellowed.
The afterlife wasn’t looking too bright for me.
“Soldier. Listen, I need you to fall back. Fall back y’hear?” This time, General Armstrong was ordering me personally.
I nodded. Then, realizing that the general wouldn’t see this movement of mine, I pressed the button in the side of the Walkie-Talkie, and spoke, my voice as cracked as the signal. “That’s…..a positive?” I said, my mind wiped numb for everything, except the murder written by my hands.


~*~
“Damien.” Someone tugged on the other side of my bag. I turned around, and smiled.
“Roma. I need you to let go of my bag dear!” Roma pulled up a faulty pout, and shook her head, her black hair tossing about.
“No.” She whined in a childish voice. I chuckled.
“I’m not going to war yet Roma.” She let go of the bag with a silent gasp, a shocked look now expanded over her face.
Horror shook me. “Roma!” I dropped my bag, and jumped to her side. I grasped her by the shoulders, and shook her. “Roma!” I whispered, looking down on her face. Her big, light brown eyes were now swimming with tears, and her pink lips were trembling like a leaf in a windstorm.
“I almost forgot.” She whispered, her voice quaking. She sniffled, and wiped her tears away. Her hands trembled at the collar of my shirt, as she smoothed it out, and pushed me slightly away from her, to get a full look at me. She nodded, and smiled a small smile, that left my heart faltering.
I smiled, and pulled her into a hug, pressing my cheek against the top of her head.
“I won’t be gone long.” I promised her, holding her at arms length. “I promise you.” She nodded understandingly. I smiled, and bade her a goodbye…
“Damien…Damien!” A voice echoed somewhere between the present, and the past, and then I realized where I was.
My head jerked upwards, and hit the metal of a jeep. My mate Camden Moone sat across me, shaking my knee.
I groaned, and rubbed the back of my head, glaring through half-closed eyes at my friend.
“We’re being transferred to the Second Base. We’ve got a hostage situation going on there.”
“Our side, or…”
Camden looked up grimly. “We’re missing five soldiers, two of which were shot at 5:10.”
I looked at Camden quizzically. “Soldiers attempted a rescue.” He explained.
I winced, and my hand jumped to the cross. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Same.” Camden said shortly, pulling out a paper from his pocket. I was fleetingly reminded of Justin LaStef. Except, Camden looked nothing like LaStef.
Camden had brown short cut hair, like the rest of us, and blue eyes, big as headlights.
“We’re supposed to take hostages?” I asked naively.
All the soldiers around me shot odd looks at me. “Oh.” I mumbled, now realizing that we had to do the same as the soldiers at Second Base-try to retrieve the hostages.
“Honestly Damien.” Camden sighed. I saw a smirk play across his face.
I groaned at my foolishness, and closed my eyes to rest my head against my seat. “How long until we get there?”
“Two days.” Camden said, following my lead.
“That’s a long time.” I whispered.
Camden nodded. “It’s a long mission. We better rest up as much as we can, but some of us have already started…” he said slyly, obviously referring to me. I grinned sheepishly, and scooted my head further back.
“That means, some of us will be able to rescue more than others.”
With that, I dozed back to sleep.

~*~
I wandered the streets of London, trying to find the perfect gift for Roma. I wished for her to have something to remember me by when I went to war. I passed a small shop, which looked like it was just barely getting by. ‘The Knowing Of Gone’ it was called. For some reason, I was attracted to its homeliness. As I pushed open the door-and it opened rather easily the low jingle of chimes announced my arrival. The room was dusty, and the golden glow of light, which dappled the room, shone upon the flying particles around an old pink chair.
“A story.” I mumbled to myself as I went to feel the thin cloth of the pink couch, trying to imagine its story, or the one of its owner. After a while, I began to feel rather alone, and I must admit, a smite bit like a trespasser.
“Hello.” I called out; surprised at how timid my voice sounded when it bounced around the walls. “Hello?”
A shuffling noise came from behind a small counter. I feel a bit ashamed admitting to this, but I did, at the moment, feel-what is it called? Scared out of my wits.
“Oh dear! Children! Growing more and more impatient these days, but what can I do?” A low huff of breath and-“I’m coming deary!” From behind the counter, a stout old lady hobbled out. Thin grey hair curled around her head, and her deep grey eyes twinkled with childhood. She resembled the ideal grandmother, what with the extreme touch of a light pink shawl wrapped about her.
“How may I help you?” she asked, her arms folded across her chest, her head cocked to one side.
“Uh…” I began. My eyes darting to the many corners of the room. “I need something to give to my fiancé. While I’m gone-for her to remember me by.” I said awkwardly.
“War?” she asked bluntly.
I nodded.
She sighed as if in despair, and vanished again behind the counter.
She came back with three boxes. “Take a look at these.” She said, setting them out separately on the counter. I walked over, and peered into the boxes.
The old lady hustled me back, keeping my peering gaze away. She tenderly picked up a mirror. “This is Aphrodite’s mirror.” I looked at her. She tossed her head. “Well, that’s what I call it anyways.”
She handed it to me gingerly. “If you look into it, and long with your heart to see anyone you love, you will.” I looked at her with the gaze of a non-believer.
“Well test it if you must!” She said raged. I looked into the mirror, and to my surprise, I saw the clearest image of Roma, bustling about the kitchen preparing my favorite, dumplings with spicy apple broth. It was as if she were right behind me.
When I looked away from the mirror, I noticed the old lady was grinning wildly at me, and wagging her eyebrows. “Whaddi tell’ya?”
I smiled, and set the mirror down. “No, I don’t want her to look in, and find me shooting at some one. It would overwhelm her!”
The old lady nodded knowingly, and put the mirror away. “How about this?” She pulled a small silver ring from the second box. It had a heart shaped red gem on it. “If you long to see someone, then this ring will pull up the exact form of them. Full form.” She added for emphasis.
I held the ring in my hands, and thought despairingly of my sister, and there in the room stood her full form, smiling and waving at me, her light brown hair curling at her shoulders.
I smiled at the lady. “Brilliant!” I praised her. “But I think it would make her more desperate for me to come back home. I don’t want to arouse that within her. Longing you know?”
The lady chuckled in response, and set the ring away. “Well this is the last memory gift I have.”
Out of the long, and slender box, the lady pulled out the most delicate looking rose. “You won’t be able to test it dear, but you have my word for its magic.”
“What does it do?” I asked, lost in the beauty of the flower.
“It warns you, or rather…informs you, when some one you know is…gone. Passed on rather.” My heart suddenly felt heavy.
“How do you know?” I asked her.
She smiled sadly at me, and bent into the drawer of the counter. She pulled out a rose-exactly like the beautiful red beauty in my hands, except for the fact, that it was wood. “My son.” She said, stroking the petals of the rose. “War.” She chuckled bitterly.
She turned her thoughts to me once again. “When someone you love is dead, the living rose turns wood. It doesn’t need watering, because it doesn’t die, until the owner’s own does, if you know what I mean…”
I nodded. “I’ll…. I’ll take it.”
The lady nodded, and began packing up the rose.
That night, I gave the rose to Roma, and told her about it’s magic.
“I’ll put it here.” She had said, pointing at the thin crystal vase in out cabinet. “But promise me, that you’ll never let this rose turn wood?”
I smiled. “I promise.” And in the back of my mind, I thought if I was really going to be able to fulfill this promise.
~*~
The jeep stopped in the middle of nowhere. A dull green tent was set up, it’s cloth swaying slightly in the dry, and heated wind. I shaded my eyes with my hands, protecting myself for the light of the sun, and the bits of sand that were threatening rather, sensitive eyes. All the soldiers remained seated in the jeep for a split second, as if they were reluctant to leave the safety of the jeep. The driver got out of the jeep, and handed each of the soldiers a small stubby pencil, and a piece of paper. Once all the soldiers were given the writing materials, the soldier who had drove the car explained what they were supposed to do.
“This could be your last night in our beautiful world,” several soldiers flinched at the way the aged soldier said these words. It was almost as if he was a professional. “We want you to write to your friends and family-and remember, they must all be addressed in one letter. On our way back to the camp in Richote, we will personally make it possible that these letters are delivered to your beloved. Because we don’t want them to have to know that you are gone, when, instead of you on your arrival day, comes a box, with all your belongings, and a note that says, ‘Your husband/wife/daughter/son was very loyal to our country, and we take it an honor, as well as misfortune, that they could not survive in this fight to save our country.” The old man wiped his misty eyes. “We don’t want that at all.”
Damien shuddered at the thought of Roma finding a box on the doorstep, before realizing that the rose had turned. He didn’t wish for it, but there was a fifty percent chance that this was ought to happen. All the soldiers knew, because this rule was printed in each of their fates.
The other soldier spoke now. “You have ten minutes at the most, then we must hurry…” This soldier’s voice was soft, and jumpy.
Everyone nodded, and began to scribble on their papers.
Damien just stared at the yellowed paper. What would he say?
He looked up at Camden, who was writing away, his handwriting neat and loopy.
Damien looked down at his paper again. Then he began to write.
‘Dear mom, dad, Izabel, Tim, and Jojo, my little pup, and my dearest Roma.
First off, I want to tell you all that I leave each and everyone of you very very much, especially at this moment in time. Mom, I really miss your cooking now-this camp food isn’t anything compared to your cooking ma. And Tim, I can’t wait to come back and beat you at football. It’s quite obvious that you cheated last time, but that’s okay, because this time, I'm not going to go easy on you… Izabel, love, don’t worry. I will be there in time for your wedding, and I will walk you down in dad’s place. Trust me, because I promised you right? That everything would be perfect on your wedding day, and that I will be there to celebrate it with you all? Tell Jojo I say hi, and give him a bacon strip. For my sake. The poor pup is always walking around asking you for food, but you all are such, that you don’t even notice!
And Roma, I shall be there for our wedding as well. It shall be fantastic, much like Izabel’s wedding. Don’t worry about how clean the house should be when I get there, because you know as well as I do that I like our home messy. (It looks cozier that way.) But I must say, that you should probably make those fantastic apple dumplings of yours. Mmm, my mouth is watering just thinking about them….
And so are my eyes. Mom, Tim, Izabel, Roma. I know you all know what can happen to me here. I’m not telling you to expect it, but be ready. . More like, prepared. I’m trying as hard as I can on my part, being as cautious, and careful as I can, but you know a soldiers life. Full of surprises.
Don’t forget,
I love you all,
Damien.
Damien signed his name, folded his paper, handed it to the soldier, and stepped into the tent Ready for instructions. Ready, for anything
~*~
A bullet passed by me, and collided with the thickness of my bulletproof jacket, leaving no impact on me, except for a racing heart. I sprinted to the safety behind a crumbling building. Around me, shouts, and orders echoed, the calls of newborn birds, falling to their death…
Camden had told me that our soldiers were being held in the building across from the International Restaurant, a drab, and unhygienic place. I glanced around me, and noticed a huddle of four or five men, all dressed in black, their bulging eyes looking at everyone threateningly. Above them was a sign that read:
Good Night Hotel
I observed that all the windows in this building were sealed shut. I strained my neck to look across the street, and to my advantage, the building across from the hotel, was none other than the International Restaurant.
“This is it.” I said to myself, and with that, I snuck towards the entrance of the Good Night Hotel.

~*~
Back in London, Roma was asleep, snuggled in the warmth of her bed, comforted by the warmth of her dreams. Downstairs in her house, which she had so tirelessly cleaned for the arrival of Damien the next day, a rose lay in a crystal vase.
Roma was so attached to this particular rose. It was as if her life were caught up in it. Maybe that’s why, everyday, the first thing she would do was check for the life of this beautiful rose. She would descend her staircase praying that her rose was still as soft, and alive as her cat, Tigger.
However, at this moment, Roma was asleep, and assured the rose was alive, and glowing with beauty. She wasn’t there to see her precious rose fight for life, the tips of its petals and leaves turning hard, and wooden, then soft and alive. How long would this rose fight off its death? Slowly, the rose turned to wood, first its petals, then its leaves. A great, and terrible beauty, a truth, any possessor of the rose wishes not to face. A truth, Roma would find gaping at her, its perfect beauty, mocking her loneliness.

A World Of Emotion

Today I looked outside my window,
and I saw the sea.
A roaring, crashing, splashing sight,
Full of misery.
Who will be there to soothe its plight,
to soothe its anger away?

Who else can see its its
foaming madness?
At the tip of every wave.

Today I stepped outside my door,
and looked down,
upon a nest.
Empty, bare, with few feathers,
as the remnants of its past.
The loneliness of this nest, struck as new to me.
The longing of warmth around it,
once more,
the song of want and pain,
whistled through my soul.

Tonight, I pushed my curtains aside,
and saw no moon aglow.
It's children-all the stars-twinkling,
what made their hearts so sore?
They saught their mother far and wide,
blinking tears away.
When one could not take pain any longer,
it broke, and fell away.
That night, I saw many stars fall,
with a spray,
of brilliant light,
the fire of their hurt,
soon washed away,
in the blackness of the night.

Today I saw some parents bade,
farewell to their daughter,
as she was blown away-so gently,
by a knight of chivalrous manner.
They cried, and waved their handkerchiefs,
in the pale blue sky.
What is goodbye-
I had not known,
until I saw the tears in their eyes.

Out in my garden, as I roaned,
I saw a flower tilt.
And the beauties around it too-
began to tilt.
Shared sorrow?
of sorrowful death?
I hath not the answer.
But whatever tis was,
it was shared.
Now I know,
That even nature cares.

That night in my dreams,
or was it a nightmare?
I saw a great tiger roam.
A majestic white coat,
embossed with black,
eyes yellow,
like glowing coal.
It's teeth were sharp,
curled by a pink tongue,
as it extended its legs and roared.
Then the tiger nestled on the floor,
and rubbed its wet pink nose.
Contempt was written all over his posture,
as it lay in the dark foliage.
What fear did the greatest hunter face?
being king of its world-
no one could control his fate.
it was he who decided,
on others' life and death.
he who counted their days.

But as I awoke the next morning,
one question still whispered on my lips.
This world so full of emotions-
flaying about the brim of patience and tolerance,
did it reach him at all?
As he lay on his belly and yawned-
For him, were all this articulate, and specific rules...
Gone?

Life

If you have ever,
Been alive,
Then you have felt,
Demise.
The feeling where,
Your heart feels torn,
The time when,
All hope is gone.

If you have ever,
Been through life,
then you know love,
the warm surprise.
The feeling when
All is well,
And the world couldn't be,
A better place.

If you've had your days,
then you know Betrayal,
The feeling when,
Trust becomes frail.
When you think,
Everyone's eyes,
are there to steal,
Are there to prise.

If you've had it your way,
then you know joy,
The wonderful gift,
That you seemed to have earned.

If you've been broken,
then you know sacrifice,
hurt from inside,
Ready for the pain, and demise.

But this is life,
With it's ups and downs,
And these are its days,
with smiles and frowns.
Somedays, you might laugh up some thunder,
Or cry yourself a river,
Which you wish to drown under,
But without this pain,
Without emotion,
What is life,
You'd have not a notion.

Description Of A Pic~

With long skinny legs, the graceful crane stalked over the pool of water, its neck bobbing up and down to snatch at the swimming fish. The crane paused, and flayed its pearly white feathers, and stared down at the water with intent eyes. The fish stopped swimming around so frantically, and eased to a slow flow. The crane's eyes seemed to smile, as he looked at the prey, and with a flash of white and orange, the crane flew away, with a fish clamped in its beak.

Water!

Silence. That's all I could hear for miles around. Above me the water glistened, as sunlight danced on nature's mirrors. With a long kick, I broke through the surface of the water. I looked around me, gasping for breath, and saw my red surfboard bobbing up and down, as the waves rippled through the ocean. I swam my way to my board, my body numb to all sensation, thanks to the icy spray of the ocean water. I gasped as soon as my hand felt the smooth wood of my surfboard, even though I had caught my breath pretty good. I sat on to of my board, my feet dangling off either side, squinting in the harsh sunlight.
About ten miles away was Lambada Beach. I groaned and positioned my self onto my board, on my stomach. I swam the rest to the way to land, grateful for the drinkable water I'd find there.
"Water!" I whispered, and my voice came out cracked, and dry. I cleared my throat and continued daydreaming about two cold bottles of Aquafina...

Destined

1. The Game

The sun beat down harshly on his dark skin, but despite the pain he felt in his side, he kept running. He had to catch it, the shadow that was staying away from him, it simply couldn’t get away! Stumbling, he caught up with the mysterious figure. As he turned it around to face him-
The young boy woke up sweating bullets. He turned over on his cot, then shot up, and peered out the door of the hut.
“Aiya!” He groaned slapping his wet forehead, “Not again!” Rolling out of bed, he went outside in his banyaan and dhoti.
The village was wide-awake, while this young boy was still rubbing his drooping eyes. The chatter of the village made the boy look around in wonder. Several ladies were out in their friendly groups, and brightly colored sari’s and with their pots to fetch the water. The young boy spotted his mother and sisters and waved exuberantly. They wagged their hands back at him. Around him, the men had already started their daily jobs. Among them, were his elder brother and grandfather. His father was not amongst the many marketing village men, because he was an accountant. Everyday, his father would walk several miles with three other village accountants, to their merchants’ homes, which were located on the outskirts of their village.
The young boy scanned the many markets searching for his brother and grandfather.
“Mika, ay! Over here!” The boy turned around at the sound of his name. His furrowed eyebrows relaxed as he saw his brother waving to him. The boy ran his arm over his sweaty forehead, and began to sprint towards their market.
Each shop was nothing but a vast, flat piece of smoothed wood, mounted atop two wheels. This way, the sellers were able to move the position of their shop. Some marketers would stake four long wooden poles in the packed ground, and create a shady canopy to shelter them from India’s blistering heat. This is exactly what Mika’s relatives had done.
“Mika, why are you always late?” His grandfather asked in his withered, wise voice. He was slicing mangoes. Mika’s grandfather handed a thick slice to him. Mika stuck the mango slice in his mouth, and ran it along his teeth, gathering the fruit between his pearly whites and his tongue.
“Umm.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“He’s just lazy, he doesn’t want to do any work. Just let him sleep all day, that’s all he’s good for.” Mika’s brother complained.
This snide comment made the already cranky Mika furious. He jumped off the market cart, and began pounding at his brother with his bony fists.
“Ouch…Ow...Mika…STOPPIT…that’s it you’re lychee juice!”
Mika’s brother turned and fought right back, pulling at his hair, pushing, shoving, picking him up…
“Veeru, Mika…Both of you, Relax!” Mika’s Grandfather pulled the clawing tigers apart. They glared at each other venomously. Mika began to snarl. As a response, Veeru raised his heavy fist, as to show him the effect of Mika’s annoyance.
“Hey…Veeru, stop that. He’s your younger brother, learn to treat him like one.”
Veeru folded his arms, and ducked his head slightly. “Why doesn’t he treat me like an older brother first?”
“Well, would, if you’d treat me like a younger brother, you make it seem as if we’re the same age.” Mika spoke in an utterly fake humble tone.
“You just be quiet.”
“Naah.” Mika mocked.
Veeru began to complain to his grandpa.
Mika stuck his tongue out.
“Mika, stop teasing your brother.” Dadaji said tiredly.
Mika shrugged his skinny shoulders indifferently, and slyly rubbed a fresh bruise. He plopped back on the cart, and reached for a ripened mango. The mango was so ripe, that when he poked it with a long finger, it left a dent in it. Smiling, Mika tossed the mango into his right hand, and with his grandfather’s penknife, cut a round hole in the mango’s top. He pressed the opening to his mouth, and squeezed the fruit. Immediately, a burst of mango pulp flowed into his mouth. Mika closed his eyes and enjoyed the soft texture, the sweet taste, and felt, with a sheepish smile, mango pulp dribble down the corner of his mouth, and under his chin. He opened his eyes slowly and then gave the mango another squeeze, another, then another, until all the pulp was gone.
With his nimble fingers, Mika peeled open the mango, and slowly pulled out the large seed.
“Don’t drop that Mika, or we’ll have ants the rest of the day.” Veeru warned without looking at his brother.
Mika glared, then looked at the slippery seed, and smiled to himself. With both of his hands, he pushed one end of the seed into his mouth, and licked off the rest of the pulp.
With a sigh, Mika jumped off the cart, and tossed the remains of the mango where he was sitting just moments ago. He glanced at his brother who was placing the apples in an agreeable manner, and his grandfather, who was conversing with a group of elders.
Mika grinned slyly, and ran off to the younger children who were very involved in a game of cricket.
Mika began to hear the shouts of disagreements from the game, as well as the shouts of his brother, insisting upon him to return to the shop.
“Mika, get over here, you’re supposed to help…Mika!” Mika strolled on towards the game, completely blocking out his brother’s pleas.
“HEY! That’s not fair, that was an out, and I hit your wicket.”
“No you didn’t, see, its still there.”
“That’s because you put it back up…I even saw you with my own two eyes!”
“Wait a minute.” Mika shouted holding his small palms up. “Hold on.”
“Vaibhav,” Mika said turning on the young lad who was insisting that he hadn’t knocked down a wicket. “Did you put the wicket back up?”
“Way no!” he insisted holding his hands up.
“Okay, Ashish,” Mika said turning on the bowler, who declared he had knocked down a wicket. “Did you actually see him put the wicket back up?”
“Well, maybe not him, it was actually Mayuresh, but Vaibhav knew, I know he did, he even signaled him to slip the wicket back up!”
“Signaled him?” Mika shot a puzzled look at Vaibhav and then back at Ashish. “What type of signal?”
“He…He scratched his nose in his direction.”
Mika began to chuckle. “So, if you scratch your nose, it becomes a signal? Scratching a nose means you are sending someone a signal?”
“You know what, this is just a misunderstanding, lets just go on with the game, and by the way, who wants me on their team?”
Several kids shouted ‘ME’, but Ashish just sulked.
Vaibhav jogged up to Mika and said in a low voice, “Thanks, bhai, you really saved my skin back there! I didn’t expect him to see me put the wicket back up!”
“Well next time,” Mika glared, “Be much more careful.”
“Yes Boss.” Vaibhav said slapping Mika on his back and laughing.
Ashish stared hard at the backs of the two buddies, and beckoned his friend over.
“Hey, do you know who they are?” Ashish asked pointing at Mika and Vaibhav.
“Of course sir, they are Mika, and Vaibhav, everyone knows who they are.”
Ashish plowed his hair back with his thin fingers. “Do you know why everyone knows them?”
His friend shrugged his shoulders.
“Because, they always cause trouble. They bother everyone. Stealing, skipping their day-school, and their jobs.”
“They do that?” Ashish’s friend gasped. “Don’t their parents give them a good spanking?”
“They ought to, before the boys get spoiled.” Ashish sniffed.

“Okay everyone, ready?” Mika asked as he squinted in the bright sunlight. There was a chorus of ‘Yes’’ “Okay, then, lets begin. But first…TEAM HUDDLE!” Several kids, including Ashish groaned. Every child knew, that when Mika called team huddle, he would take an excruciatingly long time, and then come up with a spectacular plan.
Vaibhav grinned widely, but only because he had Mika on his team. Mika and Vaibhav’s team gathered around them, and Mika began to whisper in a low, and serious voice.
“Okay, I will be batsman, and I’m pretty sure Ashish will be bowler, seeing on the fact that he is the captain of the team. And guess who’s the captain of this team? Me, so I will be batsman, any arguments?” There was silence. Mika looked at his team members’ sweaty faces. “Good. Okay, Vaibhav, you will be outfield over there, and… that’s all I’m going to say, you see, I need to save my energy for the game right? So Vaibhav, you take over, and assign everyone their positions.”
Vaibhav’s eyes widened in surprise. “M…Me?” He wagged his palms in front of him. “No no, I can’t do this, I might elect the wrong people!”
Mika shrugged, “Fine, Gaurav, “ a small dark boy looked expectantly in Mika’s direction. “You elect the people.” Vaibhav’s face calmed down.
Mika walked away from his huddled team members, and picked up the cricket bat. Swinging it round and round, he made his way to his side of the wickets. Soon enough, the rest of the team began to jog to their spots, several walked to the bench. Vaibhav walked up to Mika.
“Ready?”
Mika smiled widely. “Since before I was born” Mika swung the bat again.
Vaibhav nodded.
“Ashish!” Mika called to the other team. “You still playing? Or have you backed out already?”
“Chicken!” Vaibhav began to cluck. Several other teammates joined in the mockery.
Ashish scrunched his young face into a grimace, and shouted back across the field. “We are ready, and this time, we’ll beat the juice out of you!”
Gaurav began laughing. “Yeah, and someday, I’ll be earning as much as Amitabh Bachchaan!”
Mika snorted. “Just begin the game.”
“Not, Yet.” Came a voice from behind Mika that made him freeze in his tracks.
“D….Dada?” Mika stammered. He turned around, and his sharp nose skimmed against the skinny belly of his father, Raaj.
Raaj was a skinny man, who always wore a crisp white kurta and a small brown, boxy hat on his head. His sandals were always shining, and even after a whole day’s work, you would not find the smallest speck of dirt on his clothes.
“Y…You came home mighty early today!”
‘The sahab didn’t many bills for me.” He replied folding his arms. “I see you are also free from work early today.”
Mika bit his tongue. “Erm…”
“No more excuses Mika, you’ve been skipping your work way too often, don’t you understand, you are supposed to be helping Dadaji and Veeru with the stand!” Raaj grabbed Mika’s ear lightly, and dragged him away from the field.

Hey Guys.

ok...to all those of you who are actually following me, i'm sorry for the late updates, I was in india for two months, then got caught up in school, my newest post is a part of my story which I hope to publish, I reely need all of you to reply to this. It Is URGENT!!!

A Vignette

Anya

When I’m not sleeping, I’m crying. And when I’m not crying, I’m staring out into space, like a partially dead body. I feel lost, as if part of my life has been forced away. I just came here, to Cleveland from India. Actually, I didn’t come here. I was knowingly kidnapped, by my parents. They tell me I’ll adjust, or, that it was necessary to move, but I tune them out as much as possible. They have no idea how much the move has changed me. I don’t feel like myself anymore, as if I’m no longer Anya. Everyday now, I pray in the Indian fashion, begging the gods to spark a miracle, sending me home.
Here in Cleveland, everything is cold, even the people. But back in India, it was impossible that you hadn’t laughed, at least once with all the people in your community. Here in the Cleveland apartments, I don’t even know who lives next door to me. My parents suggest, that I walk around the community, and try to get familiar with it. Some days I listen, other days, I bite my lower lip, and blink rapidly, forcing back my tears. When I do step outside though, I begin to notice the differences right away. The roads aren’t dusty and crowded. There aren’t dogs and cows roaming free in the street, or friendly marketers, yelling the rates of their fruits, vegetables, or bangles. I miss the sight of the bright clothes, which had hung from stretched rope, or porch banisters. I missed the sound of the people yelling across the street from their house windows, asking their neighbor, if they’d like to drop by for a cup of tea. Mostly, I notice the silence. The silence, which feels colder than the snow, makes my days in Cleveland unbearable. At night, the silence of the streets, the thought of the nights in India, where people would still be outside, singing, talking, the distant honking, the moans of cows, keep me wide awake.
One afternoon in June, I was wandering in a new street, when I noticed what used to be a vacant lot. Now, there were many people crouching beside plants, slowly running their coarse hands against the newly blooming plants, or the green leaves of their healthy flowers. These folks had made a garden of the lot. For one enticing moment, a small smile stole over my face, at the same time a small thought bloomed into my sore mind. I would grow lotus flowers, the national flower of India. The beautiful pink flower would be like a small connection to home, and would serve as an excuse to get to know the community. That night, I asked my mother if she could bring me lotus seeds. My mother, realizing that I was finally getting myself involved in a community act, agreed. The next day, my mother presented me with shallow tub, a water can, clay soil, and two packets of Lotus seeds. I looked at the blue tub puzzled.
“Lotus grows only in water.” My mom informed. As I began to leave towards the garden, my mother hurriedly told me that she would be coming too. I smiled again. I had always known that my mother enjoyed planting flowers. Together, my mother and I approached the Gibb Street Garden, and began, at once, to stab at the packed soil, as to place the tub in the small area. It was hard work, but when I began to insert the small seeds into the terra cotta, I couldn’t help thinking of the blooming flowers. Once we had planted the seeds, I began to look around the garden to see if anyone needed help. I saw an old Korean lady, Sae Young, struggling to dig the packed soil. I went over to help her, and during that time, she began to tell me her story, how, years ago, she had moved from Korea, and felt so alone, to how, recently, her husband died, all the way to the time when a gunman broke into her small shop and knocked her will to be with people right out of her heart. Now, she was herself again, she wanted to be surrounded with many people. She had overcome her obstacles. I met many people that day like Sae Young, many people who had overcome hindrances, and it reminded me of the history of India. How we had fought against the British, and succeeded. And right then, in that moment, found a piece of my home in that garden, and in the gardeners. So all along, I had been at home, and never realized it.


Please post a comment telling me what you think of my story

-To leave a comment click on the title, and scroll down until you see a comments box-

Daily Poem

Halloween

Halloween is not so great,
And even though the costumes are fake,
I get scared.
The monsters and witches,
Frankenstein with stitches,
Pirates and ghosts,
Those are the ones I hate the most.
Why can’t they be butterflies,
Or cuddly penguins,
Instead of spies,
Why can’t people be something nice,
Instead of something evil,
And as cold as ice.
So I decided to be something,
Different because,
I didn’t want to scare myself,
So I was,
Santa Claus.
Big and red,
Soft and kind,
Had a big heart,
And could read minds,
When I went trick-or-treating,
Feeling really great,
I ate all my candy,
Then got a stomachache.
Halloween is not so great.
OH- OH -OH

Daily Poem

Lace



She loved him so,
She loved him so,
Maybe that’s why,
She didn’t want him to go.
She loved him so,
She loved him so,
He was her son you know.
So when he left,
She gave him her lace,
And took one long gaze,
At his young face,
She hoped,
And prayed,
That he’d return,
Her belief,
Was quite firm.
He had gone,
Oh so far,
Why did he have to,
Go to war?
She prayed all day,
She prayed all night,
That he’d return,
From this perilous fight.
Days went by,

Then months then years,
Not a letter from him,
She had nothing to hear.
Waiting all day,
The poor old mother,
Was faced with the worst to fear.
Then came a letter,
A small packaged letter,
Wrapped with the lace
She had given her son.
Upon reading the note
The mother,
She cried.
For she had found out,
Her son had died.
Had died with the lace,
The lace tied on his arm,
Had died with the lace,
‘Twas his,
Good Luck Charm.
So the mother,
When she died,
Had the lace tied,
As well,
To her arm.

Daily Poem

Chuckle

I know I’m a little boy,
But I have nothing to fear,
So sit around,
Cause you’re about to hear,
A story,
A story,
About me and a bear.
He roared, and growled,
And showed me his teeth,
I made him smell my breath,
Boy! Did that make him flee.
But I’m not done,
Oh no, oh no.
I fought a lion,
You should have heard him roar.
He shook his mane,
And opened his mouth,
So then I screamed,
And the lion,
began to shout!
So now you know how brave I am,
And if you’re ever scared,
Think of me, and then,
Fight that fear,
Like I did the bear,
Or call me over,
I’ll be there.
A snake,
or a cake,
I finish them off,
Every little bit.
Call me for anything,
Even flea,
Just not for ants,
Oh no not me,
Cause if you do,
I’ll wet my pants.

A Diamond in You

Gasping, she turned around the corner. She was going to be late. Again. Heaving a deep breath, she began to jog, every so often raising her wrist to check the time. Two minutes late, three, oh boy, five minutes late! Mr. Werscher was going to be furious! She began to slow down as she reached her destination. Before pulling the red metal doors open, the girl tucked her wild hair behind her ears, and took a quick, refreshing breath. With a slight ‘click’ the doors opened. She heard the loud chatter of students.
“Alaya! Late? Again?” Mr. Werscher bellowed red in the face.
“I’m sorry sir, I missed the bus!” Alaya whimpered in her defense.
“Late for that too.” Mr. Werscher mumbled. Alaya narrowed her eyes and glared at the fat man. “Alright everybody, get to your places, and this time, try to keep your lines memorized, and no giggling, Trisha, no fooling around, Charles, and say your lines on your queue, and on time.” Mr. Werscher added, glancing at Alaya. Alaya responded by crossing her arms, and pretending not to hear him. “Okay. From the top.” Everyone began to scramble to their spots. Alaya went backstage with another half-dozen students. She spotted her friend Myra amongst them.
“Hi Myra.” Alaya waved.
“Alaya!” Myra whispered. Then, in a more serious tone, “You were late again.” Alaya flushed red. Mr. Werscher made everything so public!
“Oh well, what does it matter? Drama club would be flop without your talent!” Myra giggled lightly punching Alaya on her arm. Alaya soaked in the compliments. Indeed it was true; Alaya was quite a talented actress. She could play out any role. So far, she had been a mermaid, a witch, a lion, and a detective. All of these roles were prominent. Her talent was never curtained. Even this time, she was playing Miriam, the main character in this crime-play. Myra on the other hand, was simply in charge of the curtains. She wasn’t much of an actress. They both waited for the narrator to read out the beginning lines, and as soon as she was finished with her part, Alaya pranced onto the stage.
“Cut.” Mr. Werscher snarled. Alaya stood there, burned by this action. This was the first time in her life, that someone, even a teacher, had called ‘Cut’ on her. “Tell me Alaya, and explain it very carefully, where on this script does it say that you have to ‘dance’ onto the stage? Where?” Alaya stood their insulted, and angry.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t even started yet.” She reminded the drama teacher.
“No Alaya, I’m sorry, but you started when you walked into this room. As soon as you enter, all of you, understand, that you are no longer yourself, you are your character. Got it?” Heads nodded. “Go ahead and try again.” He added, nodding in Alaya’s direction. She walked off stage grumbling. “And ACTION!” Mr. Werscher screamed. Alaya walked on to stage very slyly. The script insisted that she act as if she were an extremely wanted criminal committing a burglary.
“The diamond is gone!” Alaya gasped, as she pretended to search for something. “How is it possible? Who is it that has gotten the prize, before I, Miriam Willis?”
“Cut.” Mr. Werscher said in a bored voice. Alaya’s blood boiled like water on the sun. “What’s up with the, ‘before I, Miriam Willis’?”
“It’s called adlibbing.” Alaya drawled, trying hard to contain her anger.
“I know what it’s called, but, guess what? I don’t like it. From the top. Again.” Alaya repeated her part, and spoke with clenched teeth. Eventually, the second scene started, and Alaya wasn’t in it till the end. From behind the curtain, Alaya watched, as the cops, who were acting terribly, got by without a single ‘cut’. In fact, they received a round of applause for their act. It was Alaya’s turn again, and she got three cuts, for one line. Unbelievable. Finally, practice was over.
“Remember, performance is today at eight. And please be on time!” This time, Mr. Werscher didn’t look at Alaya. Good for him, because if he had, he would have gotten daggers.
“The final is tonight?” Alaya gasped. “I completely forgot!”
“Alaya? Do you want a ride with me?” Myra called from across the auditorium.
“No thanks, I’ll walk.”
“It’s fine by me.” Myra shrugged her skinny shoulders, and stepped into her black van. While walking home, Alaya tried to figure out why Mr. Werscher was picking on her so much during class.
I think he hates me… Alaya thought. Yep, I think that’s it. Or rather, he’s jealous of me. I’ll bet he wants to act like me. With that story giving her comfort, Alaya went home to practice for her part.

“Welcome everyone, to the original performance of The Craving Criminal performed by Sibyl Elementary School’s fifth graders. Please turn all cell-phones off, and please don’t talk. Also, please enjoy our performance.” With Mr. Wershcer’s words coming to an end, the lights dimmed, and the play began.
The curtains opened, and the crowd applauded.
The play was a huge success. All the students ran to see their parents and siblings, and as Alaya walked over to her parents, a surge of adults followed.
“Your daughter has a very bright future as an actress.”
“She brought tears to my eyes, that’s how real she made her character.”
“I completely forgot this was a play.”
Alaya’s hands were numb form all the hand-shaking she had done in the past ten minutes. As she turned from the crowd, she saw Mr. Werscher advancing towards her parents.
Oh boy. Alaya worried she had done something wrong on the play. She couldn’t recall. In fact, I followed all the tips he gave me during practice!
“Mr. and Mrs. Harrison!” Mr. Werscher cooed. Alaya narrowed her eyes. Something was wrong. She had never seen him this happy before. “Your daughter was absolutely fabulous.” Alaya’s mouth dropped, and her parents beamed. “I hope you don’t mind my impatience during practice,” Mr. Werscher said turning to Alaya. “It’s just that, when you have one diamond among a truckload of pebbles, you want to polish, and make it shine as much as you can! Don’t you agree?” It was amazing. Finally, Mr. Werscher had acknowledged Alaya’s talent! “Your daughter really is a natural when it comes to acting,” Mr. Werscher smiled patting Alaya on her back. “You should have her go a smite bit more public!” Alaya’s parents turned and grinned at her. Just then, a group of kids came, cheering, talking and laughing, and dragged the drama teacher away.
On her way home, Alaya couldn’t help thinking of what Mr. Werscher had said earlier. It’s just that, when you have one diamond among a truckload of pebbles, you want to polish, and make it shine as much as you can! Wow! I’m a diamond! Alaya thought, I really am a diamond!