Two of my friends have broken their legs, and one has broken her hip bone as well. Now they are with steel chips here and there. We are all over seventy. Upon hearing this, our children offer advice: “Walk carefully, Mom.” “At this age, bones just don’t heal.” I am walking along a deserted road. Following last night’s rain, there are puddles on the road. A passerby walking nearby calls out: “Aunty, watch your step!” I nod my head: “Okay, dear. Thank you.” I turn around to look behind me—there is no one there. I leap right into a puddle with a splash. Ah! That felt amazing! My body jerks. I narrowly escaped falling out of bed. What a dream!
A torn piece of a polythene bag The wind blows it from the dustbin Carries it for a ride With the wind, it rises and falls It shouldn’t be on the street; it knows But it doesn’t know where to hide Fate sticks it to a passerby’s slipper Forcing it to follow along Until it’s thrown into the dustbin It doesn’t know how long Maybe recycled and given a new form As is the norm
Let us go beyond poetry and choose any form of art or expression. Let us get beyond ourselves.
What is not me can be so much else that choosing is difficult. Opposites will show you in the shadows. A choice of subject will reveal a part of your personality. Don’t let that bog you down.
Look around and find something that speaks to you. Can you see the world from its perspective and express it with your superpower of words?
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Abandoned
An abandoned film studio.
Forlorn, abandoned, how many stories is it hiding in its bosom? If it could speak…If you care to listen, it will tell you-
‘Once upon a time, I was well-known and bustling with activity. proud, renowned directors sitting in their high chairs would shout through their megaphones, “Silence! Camera! Rolling! Action!”
Today, as the Indian film industry celebrates its 100th anniversary, I—once the launching pad for many superstars and legends—long for a bit of recognition and remembrance.
No one comes here; in fact, nobody even remembers that I was once a significant part of this industry.
Now, I am nothing but the ruins of my glorious past.’
I’ve chosen a genre today, instead of a topic or picture.
CREATIVE NON-FICTION
It is also known as literary non-fiction, narrative non-fiction, literary journalism or verfabula.
In short, it is a true story that is well told. You may choose to protect the identity of characters by changing names and other details.
Saudade
My father expired when I was 20 years old. I never really took the time to get to know him properly, as I was a hard-core mama’s girl. I wish I had spent more time with him, and I miss him still, but it is a reminder to seize the moments we can in life. He was witty, humorous, and fun-loving. He could not stand silence; he would always turn on the radio whenever he was at home. He never said a harsh word to my mother, at least in front of us children, which I have read is the best gift a father can give to his children by showing respect to their mother. He never scolded us, either. He always advised us to get up early and go for a walk, a habit he followed religiously. He was very meticulous, organized, and disciplined person. I might have suffered less, had I followed him.
I feel someone is following me. If I look back, I don’t see anyone. Everyone thinks I’m crazy. They advise me to seek help from a psychiatrist. Maybe I’m wrong. Then whose shadow am I seeing in the river behind me? There is no one behind me. Then… They say ghosts have no shadows. But a shadow has to have a body, no?
The Impossible Will Take a Little While (Paul Rogat Loeb)
I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream (Harlan Ellison)
Thirteen Doorways, Wolves behind them all (Laura Ruby)
No Filter and Other Lies (Crystal Maldonado)
Unpregnant (Jenni Hendricks and Ted Caplan)
Use one or more of the above titles in your piece. You may test your prompt engineering skills by generating images from AI with the above titles.
I am Time My destiny is to just observe and collect facts I have no control over what is happening and why I know there are Thirteen Doorways, Wolves behind them all I want to warn everyone, I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream I should scream, but I am helpless I want to tell you not to be fooled by their masks They wear masks of innocence outside the door and mingle with the crowd They aim to win your trust by pretending to be your well-wishers Only to pull the ground from under your feet You think this is not possible The Impossible Will Take a Little While History repeats itself Those who don’t learn from history fool themselves only You are too lazy to fight back You hate whoever wants you to wake up Wake up, time is running out I wish to warn you But I have no mouth
I AM TIME
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Nightmare
Isn’t it a nightmare Thirteen Doorways, Wolves behind them all They are vicious They are ruthless They are set to change the world according to their ideology At any cost If they have to destroy the world to achieve their purpose They will not back out I wanted to warn the world about them Don’t get misled by their masks when they go out They look like ordinary working-class people They will fool you as usual. they always succeed I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream I’m duty-bound The Impossible Will Take a Little While, for How long can you hide the truth Can you survive with No filters and other lies, to save yourself But once you disclose their true identity… They will not spare you Decide Whether to Keep quiet Live and let live, and save yourself Kill your conscience or Out with the truth, and commit suicide It’s death either way
The calm, dormant face of the girl was misleading.
What the police unearthed by removing rocks was the body of a man lying beneath the body of a girl. The girl’s hands encircled the man’s neck, and her legs were around his waist. What was even more surprising was that the girl had been dead for a long time, while the man had died only about 4 or 6 hours before.
Footprints found at the scene were only of the man, suggesting that no third person was involved. The officers were left questioning who the murderer could be.
The forensic expert eventually revealed the truth. He explained that the man was responsible for the girl’s death, but the killer of the man was ‘rigor mortis.’*
The expert further clarified, “The man might have planned everything carefully, but either he was unaware of rigor mortis or simply careless. He brought the girl on his back and attempted to dislodge her into a pre-dug grave. However, rigor mortis made it difficult for him to do so. In a panic, he stumbled and fell face down, which caused several boulders to fall on both him and the girl.
As the saying goes, ‘One who digs a grave for others may very well fall into it himself.’
*Rigor mortis (from Latin rigor ‘stiffness’ and mortis ‘of death’), or postmortem rigidity, is the fourth stage of death. It is one of the recognizable signs of death, characterized by stiffening of the corpse’s limbs caused by chemical changes in the muscles postmortem (mainly calcium). Rigor mortis typically begins to appear within 1-2 hours after death, and is considered fully set in around 12 hours after death, where the muscles become completely stiff throughout the body; it then gradually subsides over the next 12-24 hours as decomposition sets in.
On my way home, I noticed a newly built blood-red shop with a signboard in white: ‘KILLING IS FUN, JOIN IN’. It was strange and curious enough to pique my interest.
I entered the shop to satisfy my curiosity.
It was full of dummies of all sizes and shapes.
The receptionist eagerly invited me to select a knife from the pile; she explained that the computer would aid me in making a mask of the person I wanted to kill.
‘Of course, it’s not free.’ I nodded politely.
Obviously, my first choice was the rude boss, who skipped a chance to belittle me for my slow typing speed.
I followed the instructions, and I was still satisfied.
I have never felt so relieved in my life.
Delightfully, I reached the exit.
My happiness vanished as soon as I noticed my boss entering the shop.
The victim had evidences, witnesses, public and media sympathy and strong belief on the judiciary.
The accused had money, power and a shrewd lawyer who stretched the case so long that he had enough time to buy witnesses, destroy evidences and build proof that he was not present at the place of crime.
Public sympathy died after initial candle march and few days mourning and media lost interest as it thrives on TRP.
Victim lost the case, belief on the judiciary and hope.
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