The Message

#MiracleChallenge : Week – 10

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Challenge No : 5

Write a Tiny Tale /Poem using below prompt image in 5 or less sentences(for tale) and 5 or less lines(for poem)

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He came back home, exhausted. It was late, and she was probably already asleep since she had to go to work early in the morning.

He cursed his life, but then, suddenly, his mood changed. His heart warmed up as he noticed that she had left a message on the table, using his childhood toys. Smile, her message said, and he did smile, remembering why life was not so bad after all.

Fluffy’s Escape

#MiracleChallenge : Week – 9

Challenge No : 5

Write a Tiny Tale /Poem/ Haiku/ Senryu using below prompt image in 5 or less sentences(for tale) and 5 or less lines(for poem)

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Kids grow up, and then what happens to teddy bears? Fluffy didn’t want to find out, so he broke the laws of his people and started to run.

He ran as fast as he could, until he reached a perfect place to rest, a bench in a park which was painted with the colours of autumn. As sunlight embraced him for the first time in his life, Fluffy felt free.

He would never be somebody’s toy.

The Awakening: A Prologue

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He woke up in dark. At first he thought he was blind, but slowly he got used to the darkness and the tiny streak of light which came through the roof was enough for him to see his surroundings. He didn’t recognize anything. And suddenly, he realized he didn’t even know who he was.
He couldn’t remember his name. No memories of the past could be reached, no matter how hard he tried. He breathed in deeply.

Calm down.

He needed to start from smaller things. He got up from the bed. There was almost no furniture beside it, just an empty chair on the other side of the room. Was this how homes were supposed to look? Something told him it wasn’t, though he couldn’t picture any home at all.
The only source of light was coming from the roof. Was this some kind of a basement? The word just came to him, and it almost felt like a vague memory. Was it possible for him to climb up?
The roof wasn’t tall. He could easily reach it with his hands. He came to the source of light, and he realized it was a trapdoor. He pushed it, and it opened easily. So, he wasn’t some kind of a prisoner.
He took the chair, put it underneath the opening, and climbed out. No, he wasn’t a prisoner. He was being kept safe. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he was certain it was true.

Am I really safe?

He was now in another small room, but it wasn’t dark. The sun came in through the windows. He looked outside. He was surrounded by nothing but grass and trees. He was being kept safe. Far from everyone. No one should be able to find him.

But why?

This room was also almost entirely unfurnished. Just an old couch. But there was a door, and it led to the bathroom.

How did he remember that?

Yes, it was a bathroom. Small but clean. Obviously, someone came here. Watched over him. He could almost picture a face, but it was blurry. He looked at himself in the mirror. And then it came to him.
The blurry image was of a woman. He still couldn’t remember her name. But he remembered how he came here. And he knew he had to wait for a few minutes, and the rest will come as well.

He remembered the pain.
He remembered crawling here, and he remembered her, finding him.
He remembered the blue light.
He remembered how peaceful it felt.
And, finally, he remembered who he was.

He was the Lord of the Underground. And he came back to finish what he had once started.


Do you remember those East and West stories of mine? Well, they never left my mind completely. I’m changing the concept and making them into a novel. Maybe… Anyway, this is where it all starts. 😉

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

A Visitor

#MiracleChallenge : Week – 7

Challenge No : 4

Write a Story/ Poem using Prompt Theme – A VISITOR

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Celestine was home alone, and she found it soothing. She filled a cup with coffee and made herself cosy, sitting sideways and lifting her legs over the curved arm of the sofa. She took a sip from the little cup and felt a cloud of peace envelop her. The tapping of the rain was the only sound that could be heard. This was exactly what she needed.

Suddenly, the door rang. It sounded like a scream, too loud in the soft quiet of the room.
Who could it be? Celestine’s husband was on a meeting and her sons had just recently left the house. There was no way they could be back so soon.
Celestine approached the door with caution. She didn’t know why, but she felt uneasy. Something wasn’t as it should be.

“Who is it?” she asked but no answer came.

Why did she give a day off to Bertha? Her kind servant would’ve made her less anxious, and she would be the one to open the door.

“Who is it?” Celestine asked again.

“Your old friend,” a male voice said, a voice she couldn’t quite place, but it evoked even more fear. Fear she couldn’t explain.

Celestine finally decided to open the door. She gasped. The first thing she saw were glowing, silver strands of hair. Though wet from the rain, they looked soft and beautiful. Celestine knew immediately who the man on her doorstep was, and she couldn’t believe it.

“You won’t invite me in?” the unexpected visitor said.

Celestine was too stupefied to do or say anything, and she didn’t stop the man when he walked through the door. He went straight to the living room and she, as if suddenly awakened, ran after him.

“Eric…” she spoke, his name the only word she could utter.

“My darling Celestine,” he faced her with a wide smile.

She could now see his face well, and she found it unchanged. How could that be? He looked just the same when she last saw him, and that was almost twenty years ago. She couldn’t find a single trace of aging. His face was the same as the day she put a bullet to his chest.

“How can this be?” she asked herself.

“You know I’m hard to kill,” he was still smiling.

“But you… You haven’t changed…”

“I come from where the magic is, dear Celestine. I told you so many times, magic exists and it is there for the taking, only if you dare to do it.”

“I don’t want to take part in anything like that!” fear was threatening to overcome her, but Celestine stood strong.

“I know that,” Eric’s smile became a smirk. “You’ve proven to be quite untrustworthy. I’m not here for you, anyway.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want my son.”

Celestine’s mind immediately produced a picture of her older son and his silver hair, the same as Eric’s. The son who never acted like a part of the family, who always searched for something else, something different. The son in whose eyes gleamed a dark spark of magic.

“What are you talking about?” it was best to act stupid, she decided.

“I know he’s mine. And you and your husband know that as well.”

“He’s not yours!” Celestine cried out.

“Well, consider yourself warned. He will learn the truth and you can do nothing to prevent it.”

He smiled again, and this time his smile was eerie. Evil.
Celestine didn’t even realize he left her house. She stood, petrified, unable to accept what had just happened. They fought magic and now it came to fight them back.


Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Miracle Challenge: Legs and Tails

#MiracleChallenge : Week – 6

Challenge No : 5

Write a Tiny Tale /Poem/ Haiku using below prompt image in 5 or less sentences(for tale) and 5 or less lines(for poem)

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Mermaids wish for legs, girls wish for tails. Everybody wants what they cannot have. But sometimes, just sometimes, the unthinkable comes true.

Sadly, truth is not a fairy tale, others don’t live their lives as it seems. Mermaids learn soon that princes can be mean, and girls drown, grasping for air, realizing it’s too hard to always swim, and swim.


So, this is my first time participating in the #MiracleChallenge, and I hope I did it right. XD It was certainly fun, loved the prompt image. 🙂

It Would Come at Night…

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It would come at night and steal children. It would sneak into our village and into our homes, no matter what we did to prevent it. Somehow, it would always find a way. We sent people to the woods, on a hunt, almost every night. Nothing was ever caught or even seen.

But in the end, every it turns out to be a human.

They dragged our neighbour, Mr Hal, out into the street. He was on the ground, on his knees, making a manic laughing noise. My parents didn’t want to tell me what had happened, but I knew what all the blood meant. His hands were dark red, and they dripped on his clothes. His mouth was red, too. He was it. They caught him. They didn’t let us children enter his home, but I was disgusted nonetheless. I couldn’t help but imagine it all, his teeth tearing apart the body of Mrs Alanna’s baby, and many babies before. A cannibal among us. A baby-eater.

“Where are the bodies of other children?” a man screamed at Mr Hal.

“How did you get into our homes?” another shouted.

They wanted answers. Without them, they felt even more wounded, helpless. Could one of us really be the monster we feared?  Everyone was too disturbed to pay attention to me, so I managed to get closer. Mr Hal laughed at the questions, his eyes darkened by a glow of insanity. How was he able to trick us all, to hide his true face?

“Where are the remains of our children?” a woman cried.

For a moment, Mr Hal’s eyes cleared, his face turned pale.

“I don’t know,” he growled. “I only killed one!”

“You’re lying!” a man kicked him hard and Mr Hal fell to the ground.

The village justice was quick. One of the women who lost a child was the first to throw a stone. Another followed. Mr Hal laughed and laughed, until he stopped – forever.

The night came and we all went to our homes in silence. Nobody wanted to speak about what had happened. The monster was gone but we knew would not be able to sleep. I went to my room, got into the bed, but kept looking through the window. A dark feeling pressed my chest and didn’t let me fall asleep. I looked at the small hills through my window, at the trees and the woods. I looked until it seemed to me that I saw something there…

On top of a little hill, two creatures sat. The larger one smiled, and said:
“And that, my darling daughter, is how they stop hunting you.”

Heart-stabbing, Back-stabbing

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You jabbed the knife straight through my heart. Heart – how convenient that is. You could’ve also stuck it to my back, the back-stabbing creature you are. To be fair, you were trying to save your life. Just as you did that night in the forest.

Come with me tonight, you said, I’ll embrace you underneath the moonlight and we will watch the starry sky. You can never see the stars in the city, it is only in the forest that magic happens.

You always knew how to choose the best words, how to persuade. And you did speak the truth. Magic did happen, but of a dark, twisted kind. That was when you stabbed my heart for the first time, the only time it really hurt. When the creatures came, you ran away. You saw me fall, but you didn’t stop. You just ran, saving your life, and giving mine to them.

But I came back. And now you scream, as you see that your stabbing cannot make me bleed anymore.


Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Six Sentence Story: The Stories of Pain

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We have all met Pain.
It comes to all of us, wearing different disguises.
Sometimes it is hidden in heartbreak, disappointment, abandonment, loneliness.
It can also come abruptly, underneath the mask of loss.
Or it can sneak inside our minds in form of fear; common fears and unusual phobias.
And sometimes, just sometimes, it is the pain of sharp teeth and claws of a monster tearing your body apart.


Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

The Witching Hour

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“My lady!” Frederic gasped.

Frederic had been a servant for the Tormount family for many years. He had seen many Tormount children grow and become adults, slowly before his eyes. And never in his years of service had he felt as afraid for one of them as he felt that night.
Lady Gemma was dripping wet, her golden hair seemed almost grey, and something behind her clever eyes seemed broken. She had been gone for three days, disappeared without a trace, during the night. Nobody knew what happened. Until this night, when just after the clock struck three times, he had heard the knocking on the door. Weak, silent knocking that someone less attentive would probably not hear. He had shuddered as he opened the door. Three o’clock, the witching hour, never brings anything good, he had thought to himself. But sometimes, even Frederic could be wrong. The night brought his dear lady back.

“Where have you been?” Frederic cried out, but he knew he would not get an answer.

Lady Gemma almost fell to the ground, but he caught her with the swiftness of a young man. He took her in his arms, as if she were a child again, and stepped inside the mansion to carry her to her bed.
The household had already awakened. Master Edmund and his wife were standing on top of the stairs in their night robes, their eyes heavy and their minds not yet aware of what was going on. The mistress was the first to run down the stairs.

“Gemma! Oh, my, Gemma is home!” she screamed.

“What’s happened?” the master stood motionless, unable to follow his wife downstairs.

“I don’t know. I heard the knocking and went to open the door…” Frederic started.

“Did she say anything?” the mistress’ hands trembled as she removed the wet hair from her daughter’s face.

“No,” Frederic replied. “We must take her to her room. Warm her up.”

The mistress nodded. Frederic carried Gemma to her room and she followed him. The master soon joined them, together with the two servant girls.
Everyone was silent, doing the best they knew to get the lady dry and warm. The girls bathed her in warm water, dressed her and put her in bed, while the others waited. The mistress then approached her daughter and covered her in warm white sheets.

“She doesn’t have a fever. That’s a good sign,” said one of the girls.

“Yes, yes…” the mistress had retained her strength for days, but now she started to cry.

“We must look after her through the night. Not leave her sight,” the master said.

“Of course. The girls can stay here until the morning,” Frederic said and looked at the girls who nodded in agreement.

“I’ll stay as well!” the mistress said. “I can’t leave her.”

The master approached his wife and patted her shoulder.

“If anything changes call me immediately. I don’t think I will be sleeping anyway,” he told her.

“I hope nothing horrible happened to her… She doesn’t seem harmed,” the mistress mumbled, as if she didn’t want to say it out loud.

“We’ll know more tomorrow. Now it’s important to let her rest. She’s obviously exhausted.”

The master left the room and Frederic followed him. In silence, they went each to his own room. They both knew they would wait for morning with eyes wide open. Frederic watched as the pale light of his master’s candle disappeared down the hallway. The mansion always looked different in the dark. It seemed less luxurious and felt less like home.
The door screaked as Frederic closed them. His room was small, but tidy. Tidiness always gave him comfort, made him feel like all is good with the world. Everything can be arranged and all broken things could be fixed. This time, it only reminded him how little his room resembled the real world. He had seen many injustices, many evils. All he could hope for was that none of those horrible things would touch those he cared about.
And then, he heard a scream. Piercing, loud, short. Everything was silent in the very next moment. Without really knowing what he was doing, Frederic ran to lady Gemma’s room. He opened the door, without knocking, something he would ordinarily never do. And then he realized what had happened.
The window was open, and the bed empty. The once white sheets were soaked in crimson, the floor covered in red. Three women lied, their bodies contorted, their eyes opened but blank. Just dead meat left of what used to be the mistress and two young servant girls. Their throats have been cut. A massacre.
They were back. Frederic didn’t think it would happen, but it has. He had to find them, end them. He had to catch his lady as well, his little girl, Gemma of the golden hair. And he had to hurry. No time to think. The master must’ve heard the scream and is coming towards the room.
Frederic growled, in anger and in pain, and his pointed, ivory teeth showed. The witching hour had passed, but it wasn’t witches he had to deal with anyway.
He followed the trace of moonlight and flew through the window.


Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

An Unexpected Reunion

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Eric walked into a bar, unsuspecting of what was about to happen. He just came for an ordinary friday drink with friends, a simple celebration of the beginning of another weekend.

Eric greeted Frank and Tom, taking his usual place at the table.
“Alex’s not here yet?” he asked, just to start a conversation.
“He’ll be here soon, I guess,” Tom replied.
“There he comes!” Frank interjected.

Eric involuntarily glanced at the entrance. And then, peripherally, he caught an image that drew his attention. He looked closer, and he felt as if his heart fell to his feet. At the table in the corner of the bar, sat Heather Locke. He hadn’t seen her for many years, but he recognized her right away.

Eric and Heather were deeply in love once. They were high school sweethearts, a perfect couple, until she moved to another town and distance destroyed their relationship. They hadn’t been together for more than two months, but it was the kind of love that you never forget. If fate didn’t interfere, they would probably still be together.

Eric observed Heather for a while, as if he feared that she would disappear from his sight. She hadn’t changed much. She moved in the same way as before, a way he couldn’t describe but could easily identify. Her hair was still frisky, as she often described it, and she probably hated it for being that way even today. Eric, however, liked the way it framed her small face, and made her expression seem fresh and energetic. He felt that her hair described perfectly the hidden part of her character. On the outside, Heather was a serious, ambitious person. She always had good grades and she knew exactly what she wanted in life. But, at the same time, she was a passionate dancer. Even though she had many school responsibilities, she always found time for her dance practices.

“When I dance, I feel like I’m outside of my own mind. I’m completely free,” she used to say. “I love to feel free, to forget about everything.” It was these words that made him fall in love with her.

He once attended one of Heather’s dance performances. He never forgot the image of her, in a light blue dress, floating through air. It seemed as if her feet never touched the ground. She was a bird, escaping from the cage of habitude. Feather Heather.

Eric, the grown-up one, who was sitting in his usual place in his regular bar, mentally prepared to approach the grown-up Heather. He never dared to dream he would see her again, his Heather, the one that got away. With all his strength, he got up from his chair and walked towards her table. He was painfully nervous. This was to be their fairytale moment, a big renunion. This might change their lives.

“Hi, Heather!” his voice sounded strange to him.

She smiled with that familiar smile of hers, the smile that cheered him up so many times before. Her pupils constricted.

Finally, she spoke:

“Excuse me, do I know you?”


Image courtesy of Pixabay.com