Firdaus
Partner
'Is there no way out of the mind'-Sylvia Plath
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus

It was a pleasure

For the friends I made

For the ones I would have

For the things I learned

For the things I would have

For everything and nothing

For time well spent

For the place that was home

I thank my good fortune

I stepped into Prose

I shall not spill a tear

For I shall leave you with smiles

May you write so brilliantly

That the Universe gasps in awe

May you make friends for a lifetime

And forever more...

18
8
10
Juice
103 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus
It was a pleasure
For the friends I made
For the ones I would have
For the things I learned
For the things I would have
For everything and nothing
For time well spent
For the place that was home
I thank my good fortune
I stepped into Prose
I shall not spill a tear
For I shall leave you with smiles
May you write so brilliantly
That the Universe gasps in awe
May you make friends for a lifetime
And forever more...
18
8
10
Juice
103 reads
Load 10 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Cussing under my breath

Jumping to conclusions

Judgemental pricks

This world is full of

Treats and dirty tricks

Fucked up minds

And naughty quirks

Listen to their stories

You judging turd

I dare you to not love them

Once you've walked in their shoes

Sorry my verse is a little crude

I'm trying to be polite

To people who are rude

By talking to them

In their own tongue

Excuse me I'm almost done

25
7
16
Juice
108 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Cussing under my breath
Jumping to conclusions
Judgemental pricks
This world is full of
Treats and dirty tricks
Fucked up minds
And naughty quirks
Listen to their stories
You judging turd
I dare you to not love them
Once you've walked in their shoes
Sorry my verse is a little crude
I'm trying to be polite
To people who are rude
By talking to them
In their own tongue
Excuse me I'm almost done
25
7
16
Juice
108 reads
Load 16 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Trident Media Group is the leading U.S. literary agency and we are looking to discover and represent the next bestsellers. Share a sample of your work. If it shows promise, we will be in touch with you.
Written by Firdaus in portal Trident Media Group

Dream Catchers: The Art Of Sleep

The Congress of the Rat People had just legalised Nightmares. People thronged the Rattus Square, dressed in their halloween best. As soon as the judgement came through, the crowd erupted. A wave of black flags went up like flames, leaping to lick the sky with forked tongues. Black was the new rainbow. Finally, the right to choose nightmares over dreams, was a reality. Social media sites were abuzz with chatter. Profile pictures were black squares.

Terror had just been unleashed.

The nuclear wars had wiped out the Sunshine People, leaving behind only a few, who had hidden in burrows and holes, like rats. Finally, they were able to build underground cities; survival instincts trigger the genius in human beings. Spectacular cities sprung up beneath the earth's surface. The Rat People stayed there for more than a century. Sadly though, deprived of sunshine they were struck by strange diseases.

When the contamination gradually cleared, the Rat People had emerged from the bowels of the earth and flourished. Though now they were shrunken in size and had lost the ability to sleep.

No sleep meant no dreams. Thus, were born the Dream Catchers. A highly skilled lot. They had developed machines to catch dreams of their perished ancestors.

I was one of them. Truthfully though, I was the apprentice to one of the best.

The man I call the best is Mr Penn Muridae. He's a handsome man in his mid-thirties. He is tall, around five feet with a charming smile. He towers over me by almost half a foot, although for a girl I'm pretty tall. Mr Muridae, is a genius. He goes to the wilderness alone to collect dreams. He never takes anyone, his trust level is pretty low. I'm sure there's a story behind that. He has some peculiar looking machines that he never lets anyone touch. He comes back with transparent cylinders containing fog. White fog for dreams, grey for bad dreams and black for nightmares.

He's been gone for a month now. I've been holding fort. Business has been brisk, we've had bulk orders for dreams from various dream spas. I just got an email from a Nightmare club for a large order. We don't sell nightmares openly, it's all done very discreetly. Today after the historical judgement, we won't need to worry anymore, though we'd have to get a licence first.

The door bursts open as Penn walks in dragging his machines behind him. He gives me a little nod and goes straight to his high security secret chamber. I watch as a tiny little blonde walks in behind him. He has never taken me inside, he says because I'm too smart. Only his playthings go with him. I feel the green talons of jealousy curl around my little heart. I push the feelings aside, I have too much work to complete plus he's so much older. Well that is how I keep my head on straight, because my heart starts racing every time he looks at me. On occasion I have seen a certain way he looks at me, but I'm not really sure what it is. Maybe my infatuation gets the better of me.

The secret chamber is where Penn digitalises the fog and saves it on memory chips. My job is then to duplicate the chips, write a code for blocking duplication and one view self-destruct feature. Then I file them in the categories marked by him. The dreams have only two categories: dreams and sad dreams. The nightmares, however, are put under X, XX, XXX and 'Black'.

Penn comes out from the chamber.

"Axle," he calls out, summoning me to his cabin. Yes, my name is Axle. My older brother is Gear and younger sister is Piston. What do you expect when your father is a motor mechanic.

I pick up my notepad and walk over to his cabin. He's busy on his computer. He looks up when I enter.

"You've had a busy month I assume," he begins, a smile curling his lips, my breath catches. "I want you to take a week long break. Take as many dreams as you want or even a nightmare," he winks.

I suddenly feel terribly tired. I really need this break. He always gives me a break when he is digitalising. He locks himself in and works non stop for days.

He hands me the key to the safety box in which we store the memory chips.

"Axle, did you take the nightmare heart stimulator test?" He inquires, his eyes locked on his computer screen.

"Yes I did, and I qualified for Black!" I say proudly.

"Great!" He sounds impressed. "Just be careful with that stuff, kid."

Kid! I am 22 years old for god's sake. I cringe inwardly at the term. He senses my reaction as I hover in his office, shifting weight from one foot to another. Somehow I have this urge to tell him how much I missed him. He looks up and I see that strange look in his eyes, it's just a fleeting thing but I get the feeling he likes me too. Just as suddenly, it is gone and I doubt whether it was really there or I had let my imagination get the better of me.

"Go have a fun holiday, meet people of your own age, you work too hard my love."

The endearment always makes me blush, but this time I flush with anger at his callous brush off. I spin around and stomp my way out of the cabin slamming the glass door behind me, not caring what he thinks about my tantrum . Exhaustion making me careless and rude.

Fuming and cursing under my breath I pick up a couple of dreams. Then as an afterthought I pick up an X rated nightmare. 'Black' is for another day.

He isn't in his cabin when I go back to return the key. So I place it on his table with a hurriedly scribbled thank you note, tucked under it. I am already regretting my reaction.

My one room apartment is on a quiet street. I haven't been home for over a week. I strip, take a shower and get into my soft pink pajamas. I slip the nightmare chip into my dream helmet and place it over my head, then strap it under my chin securely.

Dreams let you relax, but they say nightmares freeze the brain, putting a person into a semi-coma, the closest thing to sleep. When the person ‘wakes’ up he feels rejuvenated. Sometimes though, too much stimulation stops the heart, resulting in death. Maybe one day we will learn the art of sleep, but for now, this is it. I press the power button on my helmet and hurl myself into the unknown.

21
12
20
Juice
131 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Trident Media Group is the leading U.S. literary agency and we are looking to discover and represent the next bestsellers. Share a sample of your work. If it shows promise, we will be in touch with you.
Written by Firdaus in portal Trident Media Group
Dream Catchers: The Art Of Sleep
The Congress of the Rat People had just legalised Nightmares. People thronged the Rattus Square, dressed in their halloween best. As soon as the judgement came through, the crowd erupted. A wave of black flags went up like flames, leaping to lick the sky with forked tongues. Black was the new rainbow. Finally, the right to choose nightmares over dreams, was a reality. Social media sites were abuzz with chatter. Profile pictures were black squares.

Terror had just been unleashed.

The nuclear wars had wiped out the Sunshine People, leaving behind only a few, who had hidden in burrows and holes, like rats. Finally, they were able to build underground cities; survival instincts trigger the genius in human beings. Spectacular cities sprung up beneath the earth's surface. The Rat People stayed there for more than a century. Sadly though, deprived of sunshine they were struck by strange diseases.

When the contamination gradually cleared, the Rat People had emerged from the bowels of the earth and flourished. Though now they were shrunken in size and had lost the ability to sleep.

No sleep meant no dreams. Thus, were born the Dream Catchers. A highly skilled lot. They had developed machines to catch dreams of their perished ancestors.
I was one of them. Truthfully though, I was the apprentice to one of the best.

The man I call the best is Mr Penn Muridae. He's a handsome man in his mid-thirties. He is tall, around five feet with a charming smile. He towers over me by almost half a foot, although for a girl I'm pretty tall. Mr Muridae, is a genius. He goes to the wilderness alone to collect dreams. He never takes anyone, his trust level is pretty low. I'm sure there's a story behind that. He has some peculiar looking machines that he never lets anyone touch. He comes back with transparent cylinders containing fog. White fog for dreams, grey for bad dreams and black for nightmares.

He's been gone for a month now. I've been holding fort. Business has been brisk, we've had bulk orders for dreams from various dream spas. I just got an email from a Nightmare club for a large order. We don't sell nightmares openly, it's all done very discreetly. Today after the historical judgement, we won't need to worry anymore, though we'd have to get a licence first.

The door bursts open as Penn walks in dragging his machines behind him. He gives me a little nod and goes straight to his high security secret chamber. I watch as a tiny little blonde walks in behind him. He has never taken me inside, he says because I'm too smart. Only his playthings go with him. I feel the green talons of jealousy curl around my little heart. I push the feelings aside, I have too much work to complete plus he's so much older. Well that is how I keep my head on straight, because my heart starts racing every time he looks at me. On occasion I have seen a certain way he looks at me, but I'm not really sure what it is. Maybe my infatuation gets the better of me.

The secret chamber is where Penn digitalises the fog and saves it on memory chips. My job is then to duplicate the chips, write a code for blocking duplication and one view self-destruct feature. Then I file them in the categories marked by him. The dreams have only two categories: dreams and sad dreams. The nightmares, however, are put under X, XX, XXX and 'Black'.

Penn comes out from the chamber.

"Axle," he calls out, summoning me to his cabin. Yes, my name is Axle. My older brother is Gear and younger sister is Piston. What do you expect when your father is a motor mechanic.

I pick up my notepad and walk over to his cabin. He's busy on his computer. He looks up when I enter.

"You've had a busy month I assume," he begins, a smile curling his lips, my breath catches. "I want you to take a week long break. Take as many dreams as you want or even a nightmare," he winks.

I suddenly feel terribly tired. I really need this break. He always gives me a break when he is digitalising. He locks himself in and works non stop for days.

He hands me the key to the safety box in which we store the memory chips.

"Axle, did you take the nightmare heart stimulator test?" He inquires, his eyes locked on his computer screen.

"Yes I did, and I qualified for Black!" I say proudly.

"Great!" He sounds impressed. "Just be careful with that stuff, kid."

Kid! I am 22 years old for god's sake. I cringe inwardly at the term. He senses my reaction as I hover in his office, shifting weight from one foot to another. Somehow I have this urge to tell him how much I missed him. He looks up and I see that strange look in his eyes, it's just a fleeting thing but I get the feeling he likes me too. Just as suddenly, it is gone and I doubt whether it was really there or I had let my imagination get the better of me.

"Go have a fun holiday, meet people of your own age, you work too hard my love."

The endearment always makes me blush, but this time I flush with anger at his callous brush off. I spin around and stomp my way out of the cabin slamming the glass door behind me, not caring what he thinks about my tantrum . Exhaustion making me careless and rude.

Fuming and cursing under my breath I pick up a couple of dreams. Then as an afterthought I pick up an X rated nightmare. 'Black' is for another day.

He isn't in his cabin when I go back to return the key. So I place it on his table with a hurriedly scribbled thank you note, tucked under it. I am already regretting my reaction.

My one room apartment is on a quiet street. I haven't been home for over a week. I strip, take a shower and get into my soft pink pajamas. I slip the nightmare chip into my dream helmet and place it over my head, then strap it under my chin securely.

Dreams let you relax, but they say nightmares freeze the brain, putting a person into a semi-coma, the closest thing to sleep. When the person ‘wakes’ up he feels rejuvenated. Sometimes though, too much stimulation stops the heart, resulting in death. Maybe one day we will learn the art of sleep, but for now, this is it. I press the power button on my helmet and hurl myself into the unknown.
21
12
20
Juice
131 reads
Load 20 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
The Great Write! Granted, writers want to write well, but what makes a "Great Write?" If you are primarily a reader on Prose, please join in the conversation, too, by entering or commenting on what makes for a Great Read. All forms of entries and viewpoints are so appreciated for dialogue! (*I won't be submitting a post myself...just reading/conversing if you tag me @MsH : )
Written by Firdaus

Just my thoughts

A great write is something that grabs me by the throat and tells my mind to shut up and pay attention. A great write is something that sucks me into the pages and I disappear from the real world. A great write is something I don't skim over to get to the good parts. A great write does not see me grabbing the nearest dictionary. A great write does not throw at me big words expecting me to catch them. I most probably won't or maybe just tuck them away in the folds of my brain for future reference. See? Connection lost. But beautiful language is always a plus, though please don't overdo it. A great write shows me, never tells me. A great write is not the shopping list of a character's features. A definite put off. A great write is something that will stay with me long after I've shut the book. A great write is nothing but an old story told in a new way. A great write is inside every writer struggling to come out, trying to break through pretentious writing, trying to be the original language of the individual. A great write...I can go on and on. Haha.

30
10
26
Juice
141 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
The Great Write! Granted, writers want to write well, but what makes a "Great Write?" If you are primarily a reader on Prose, please join in the conversation, too, by entering or commenting on what makes for a Great Read. All forms of entries and viewpoints are so appreciated for dialogue! (*I won't be submitting a post myself...just reading/conversing if you tag me @MsH : )
Written by Firdaus
Just my thoughts
A great write is something that grabs me by the throat and tells my mind to shut up and pay attention. A great write is something that sucks me into the pages and I disappear from the real world. A great write is something I don't skim over to get to the good parts. A great write does not see me grabbing the nearest dictionary. A great write does not throw at me big words expecting me to catch them. I most probably won't or maybe just tuck them away in the folds of my brain for future reference. See? Connection lost. But beautiful language is always a plus, though please don't overdo it. A great write shows me, never tells me. A great write is not the shopping list of a character's features. A definite put off. A great write is something that will stay with me long after I've shut the book. A great write is nothing but an old story told in a new way. A great write is inside every writer struggling to come out, trying to break through pretentious writing, trying to be the original language of the individual. A great write...I can go on and on. Haha.
30
10
26
Juice
141 reads
Load 26 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Firdaus in portal Publishing

Alternate Reality

She pulled back the curtain, her eyes tightly shut. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Bracing herself for the horror that would come, she slowly opened her eyes.

Nothing could have prepared her for the devastation before her. For as far as her eyes could travel, she only saw scattered bodies, some tangled in twisted metal of cars and lampposts and other debris. Buildings and houses had been flattened. They stood like jagged concrete stumps in the distance.

Her breath came out in gasps. The stench of the rot nauseating her. She rushed back to the trapdoor in the corner of the room from where she had just crawled out; her safe haven for the past few weeks or months, she couldn't remember. She had been too scared to come out. Her meagre rations had almost depleted. The air underground had begun to get unbearable to breathe. She shut the trapdoor behind her and sat on the steps leading down. For a long time she sat there, she had run out of tears and ideas. Finally, she gathered some courage and climbed back out. She had to find other survivors.

As she stepped out of the house she heard a constant beeping sound. Then voices, a little muffled, but she could make out what they were saying.

"She's coming back, she's coming back!"

"Check her vitals."

"Everything seems okay."

She heard someone calling her name. A familiar voice very far away. She felt her vision blur. She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again she saw her husband leaning over her.

"Welcome back," he smiled with tears in his eyes.

"What the—" she tried to speak, her throat parched.

"Shhh..." he cut her off, "it's okay, you've been asleep for a long time."

22
5
10
Juice
102 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Firdaus in portal Publishing
Alternate Reality
She pulled back the curtain, her eyes tightly shut. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Bracing herself for the horror that would come, she slowly opened her eyes.

Nothing could have prepared her for the devastation before her. For as far as her eyes could travel, she only saw scattered bodies, some tangled in twisted metal of cars and lampposts and other debris. Buildings and houses had been flattened. They stood like jagged concrete stumps in the distance.

Her breath came out in gasps. The stench of the rot nauseating her. She rushed back to the trapdoor in the corner of the room from where she had just crawled out; her safe haven for the past few weeks or months, she couldn't remember. She had been too scared to come out. Her meagre rations had almost depleted. The air underground had begun to get unbearable to breathe. She shut the trapdoor behind her and sat on the steps leading down. For a long time she sat there, she had run out of tears and ideas. Finally, she gathered some courage and climbed back out. She had to find other survivors.

As she stepped out of the house she heard a constant beeping sound. Then voices, a little muffled, but she could make out what they were saying.

"She's coming back, she's coming back!"

"Check her vitals."

"Everything seems okay."

She heard someone calling her name. A familiar voice very far away. She felt her vision blur. She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again she saw her husband leaning over her.

"Welcome back," he smiled with tears in his eyes.

"What the—" she tried to speak, her throat parched.

"Shhh..." he cut her off, "it's okay, you've been asleep for a long time."
#flashfiction  #300wordstory 
22
5
10
Juice
102 reads
Load 10 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Together, we can break the world record for longest book. When this challenge gets the necessary number of entries, it will expire and we will turn it into a book. Each entry will be its own chapter. Feel free to build from existing entries or write something radically different.
Written by Firdaus

And thus it began...

I inserted the little pen drive into the slot. There was one audio clip I always listened to before going to an important meeting, lest I forget my origin.

I double clicked the voice clip icon. It started playing. At first there was silence then a little rustle, then I heard my voice–a much younger voice.

Dear diary slash pen drive slash wherever I may store this. It's almost midnight. I'm whispering because I don't want to wake her up, not that she will, because I gave her a couple of sleeping pills. She's totally zonked.

Today has been a weird day. First I heard rumours about some town being attacked by zombies. Really?? Ha! There was panic in our town until the Mayor intervened and rumours were quashed. Why can't people grow up! Zombies don't exist!!

My parents have been away for the weekend. I have the house all to myself. I called my girlfriend over for a movie but she said she couldn't come as she had homework to finish. At around ten she turned up on my porch looking rather sick. She said that while taking out the trash some kind of animal had bitten her and ever since then she'd been feeling nauseous. So she had come over since she didn't want her parents fussing over her. I wanted to take her to the hospital but she just wouldn't listen. I've been worried. She won't let me look at her wound too. Stupid stupid!

Her head was aching real bad and I think she's got some allergy because her head seemed to be swelling with a rash. She said she just wanted to sleep, so I gave her a couple of sleeping pills from my mom's cabinet and a painkiller.

There was a pause then a rustling sound.

I just checked on her. I think she's running a fever. The creepy thing is that when I stroked her head a large clump of hair came off. I quickly stuck it back. She looked so white too. This is not good.

Another pause.

Oh no! Whaaaat...She's trying to get up. Oh my Gawd! WTF! What the hell is happening...

There is a lot of noise, sound of things falling, glass shattering, someone screaming then–silence.

I sat there remembering. Pocketing the pendrive I got up to go for the meeting.

"Welcome, we've been expecting you." she smiled, her smile as fake as her eyelashes. Perfectly made up red lips curled upwards, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

I shuffled nervously into the room. The stench of live human flesh made me anxious and hungry. I thought about her brain pulsing in her pretty skull, then I quickly shook the thought off. I was here to negotiate a deal, focus was necessary. A man sat next to her, immaculately dressed in a fine suit and tie. He didn't look at me just stared ahead, and why would he, I wasn't a pretty face. His expression was inscrutable.

The room was dimly lit, just a lamp hanging over the large table they sat at. I clumsily sat down in a chair across from them.

She pushed a sheet of paper towards me.

"We have four thousand pieces to give you. You must sign this document. It states you will not attack the city for the next twelve months," her smile was gone and she was all businesslike.

"We were promised six thousand—" I began but the man cut me short.

"Take the deal," he stressed, "we have enough firepower to wipeout your entire species."

He was still not looking at me and I could feel my anger rise. I glared at him and that's when I noticed the thick makeup he was wearing.

A hider! He was one of us.

He suddenly looked at me, his eyes as dead as mine, pleading me to take the deal. I too didn't want unnecessary bloodshed. Four thousand human livestock would be sufficient for breeding and eating for a year.

I signed the paper. Yes, once upon a time I had a name, now just another zombie.

16
2
22
Juice
187 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Together, we can break the world record for longest book. When this challenge gets the necessary number of entries, it will expire and we will turn it into a book. Each entry will be its own chapter. Feel free to build from existing entries or write something radically different.
Written by Firdaus
And thus it began...
I inserted the little pen drive into the slot. There was one audio clip I always listened to before going to an important meeting, lest I forget my origin.
I double clicked the voice clip icon. It started playing. At first there was silence then a little rustle, then I heard my voice–a much younger voice.

Dear diary slash pen drive slash wherever I may store this. It's almost midnight. I'm whispering because I don't want to wake her up, not that she will, because I gave her a couple of sleeping pills. She's totally zonked.
Today has been a weird day. First I heard rumours about some town being attacked by zombies. Really?? Ha! There was panic in our town until the Mayor intervened and rumours were quashed. Why can't people grow up! Zombies don't exist!!
My parents have been away for the weekend. I have the house all to myself. I called my girlfriend over for a movie but she said she couldn't come as she had homework to finish. At around ten she turned up on my porch looking rather sick. She said that while taking out the trash some kind of animal had bitten her and ever since then she'd been feeling nauseous. So she had come over since she didn't want her parents fussing over her. I wanted to take her to the hospital but she just wouldn't listen. I've been worried. She won't let me look at her wound too. Stupid stupid!
Her head was aching real bad and I think she's got some allergy because her head seemed to be swelling with a rash. She said she just wanted to sleep, so I gave her a couple of sleeping pills from my mom's cabinet and a painkiller.

There was a pause then a rustling sound.

I just checked on her. I think she's running a fever. The creepy thing is that when I stroked her head a large clump of hair came off. I quickly stuck it back. She looked so white too. This is not good.

Another pause.

Oh no! Whaaaat...She's trying to get up. Oh my Gawd! WTF! What the hell is happening...

There is a lot of noise, sound of things falling, glass shattering, someone screaming then–silence.


I sat there remembering. Pocketing the pendrive I got up to go for the meeting.

"Welcome, we've been expecting you." she smiled, her smile as fake as her eyelashes. Perfectly made up red lips curled upwards, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
I shuffled nervously into the room. The stench of live human flesh made me anxious and hungry. I thought about her brain pulsing in her pretty skull, then I quickly shook the thought off. I was here to negotiate a deal, focus was necessary. A man sat next to her, immaculately dressed in a fine suit and tie. He didn't look at me just stared ahead, and why would he, I wasn't a pretty face. His expression was inscrutable.
The room was dimly lit, just a lamp hanging over the large table they sat at. I clumsily sat down in a chair across from them.
She pushed a sheet of paper towards me.
"We have four thousand pieces to give you. You must sign this document. It states you will not attack the city for the next twelve months," her smile was gone and she was all businesslike.
"We were promised six thousand—" I began but the man cut me short.
"Take the deal," he stressed, "we have enough firepower to wipeout your entire species."
He was still not looking at me and I could feel my anger rise. I glared at him and that's when I noticed the thick makeup he was wearing.
A hider! He was one of us.
He suddenly looked at me, his eyes as dead as mine, pleading me to take the deal. I too didn't want unnecessary bloodshed. Four thousand human livestock would be sufficient for breeding and eating for a year.
I signed the paper. Yes, once upon a time I had a name, now just another zombie.
16
2
22
Juice
187 reads
Load 22 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Tanka

weak morning light

slants through curtains

I watch dust motes

dance in the blades

cutting thoughts of you

15
3
23
Juice
97 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Tanka
weak morning light
slants through curtains
I watch dust motes
dance in the blades
cutting thoughts of you
15
3
23
Juice
97 reads
Load 23 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Fiction

Life

Dodging muddy puddles he ran into an alley. Rain was coming down thick and fast. There was a little tin shade protruding from a wall just round the corner. He took shelter under it, shaking off the water from his hair and clothes. It was late evening and rapidly getting dark. The sky was an angry grey and the evening was thus darker than usual. Just early November he thought, rain had come as a surprise. The monsoon season was over a month ago, he put it to early winter showers.

A cold gust of wind chilled him. Bracing himself, he jogged on the spot to keep warm. He hoped the rain would stop for a while and he could make his way into the Mall across the road. The auto-rickshaw driver had dropped him off just behind the shopping mall because there was some construction work going on further ahead and the road was blocked. The rain had come down rather quickly and unexpectedly. He looked around the deserted alley still jogging on the spot and blowing warm breath into his chilled hands. It was filthy, a trash dumpster stood a few feet away overflowing with stinky garbage. There was more trash outside and on the narrow road than inside it.

A low dirty wall ran along his side of the road. It was covered in slime. Rain poured down relentlessly as he glanced around praying for some reprieve.

He saw her then.

At first he thought she was a bundle of clothes or rags lying beside the wall. On a closer look, he observed that in fact the bundle was a human being clinging to the wall. She was covered from head to foot in a dirty green shawl which was more a rag. It matched the slimy wall and that is what had camouflaged her from his sight the first time he had looked around. He knew her to be a she from her nose pin. She sat there squatting on the ground clinging to the wall as if her life depended on it. Drenched completely, she was shivering like a leaf in the wind.

A wave of sympathy swept over him. The little wretch would fall ill or die if she didn't take shelter he thought. Gesturing to her to move, he tried to shoo her away. She didn't budge. Empty eyes looked at him from under the shawl. He felt helpless.

The rain eased up after awhile. It was now a light drizzle. He could make it to the Mall without getting too wet he assumed. Looking once more in the girl's direction he started to head towards the Mall. On second thought he jogged back towards her. He saw her look up sharply at him, the vacuum in her eyes filling with fear.

He stopped a few feet away from her, "I won't hurt you," he said soothingly. Taking a ten rupee note from his wallet he held it out to her. She shrank further into the wall. She seemed so young. Maybe twelve or thirteen, he couldn't tell. She made no attempt to take the money. He stretched out his hand till the note was almost under her chin. A little hand emerged from the shawl and grabbed the money, disappearing immediately.

"Go have a cup of chai," he smiled.

She didn't look at him or smile, just pulled the shawl more tightly around her. The rain had stopped, muddy water swirled in large puddles all around her. He hovered there for a minute not knowing what to do, looking around with a sense of helplessness and strangely guilt. On an impulse he fished out a mobile phone from his pocket, put it on camera mode, and clicked a picture of her. She visibly flinched. Backing away he turned around and made his way to the Mall.

Before entering the Mall, he uploaded the picture to his facebook wall.

Today behind the largest mall in the city I met the real India.

In half an hour he had 32 likes and 13 comments.

Her father was home early and as usual–drunk. She cowered in a corner of the dark room as she watched him beat her mother, demanding money. It was a scene she watched every few days. Anger rose in her as she watched her mother cry in pain; he was shouting in her face, pulling at her hair. Although frightened by the violence she felt something snap inside her. Rushing towards her father she pushed him with all her might. He lost his balance and fell, hitting his head on the edge of a cot. A stream of expletives, directed at her, poured from his drunken lips. To her horror and dismay he staggered to his feet and lurched towards her. It was raining hard outside. She grabbed the first thing she saw; her mother's old tattered shawl, to protect herself from the cold rain. Swinging the shawl over her head she ran outside. Bare feet splashed through muddy puddles oblivious to the sharp stones, they were used to the cruel ways of the earth.

She heard her father shouting after her. Never looking back she just ran as quickly as her little feet could carry her. Entering a deserted alley she slumped against a wall, panting. The stench of urine, beetle leaf juice and slime filled her nostrils, yet she clung to the wall like it was an anchor in this watery world. She was drenched to the skin, the shawl felt heavy on her thin shoulders. Chill seemed to reach her bones.

That's where the boy had found her, helpless and scared. She clutched the money in her fist, grateful to the boy. Should she go back home and give the money to her father so that he would stop beating her mother–her last thoughts before she blacked out.

12
1
15
Juice
128 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Fiction
Life
Dodging muddy puddles he ran into an alley. Rain was coming down thick and fast. There was a little tin shade protruding from a wall just round the corner. He took shelter under it, shaking off the water from his hair and clothes. It was late evening and rapidly getting dark. The sky was an angry grey and the evening was thus darker than usual. Just early November he thought, rain had come as a surprise. The monsoon season was over a month ago, he put it to early winter showers.
A cold gust of wind chilled him. Bracing himself, he jogged on the spot to keep warm. He hoped the rain would stop for a while and he could make his way into the Mall across the road. The auto-rickshaw driver had dropped him off just behind the shopping mall because there was some construction work going on further ahead and the road was blocked. The rain had come down rather quickly and unexpectedly. He looked around the deserted alley still jogging on the spot and blowing warm breath into his chilled hands. It was filthy, a trash dumpster stood a few feet away overflowing with stinky garbage. There was more trash outside and on the narrow road than inside it.
A low dirty wall ran along his side of the road. It was covered in slime. Rain poured down relentlessly as he glanced around praying for some reprieve.
He saw her then.
At first he thought she was a bundle of clothes or rags lying beside the wall. On a closer look, he observed that in fact the bundle was a human being clinging to the wall. She was covered from head to foot in a dirty green shawl which was more a rag. It matched the slimy wall and that is what had camouflaged her from his sight the first time he had looked around. He knew her to be a she from her nose pin. She sat there squatting on the ground clinging to the wall as if her life depended on it. Drenched completely, she was shivering like a leaf in the wind.
A wave of sympathy swept over him. The little wretch would fall ill or die if she didn't take shelter he thought. Gesturing to her to move, he tried to shoo her away. She didn't budge. Empty eyes looked at him from under the shawl. He felt helpless.
The rain eased up after awhile. It was now a light drizzle. He could make it to the Mall without getting too wet he assumed. Looking once more in the girl's direction he started to head towards the Mall. On second thought he jogged back towards her. He saw her look up sharply at him, the vacuum in her eyes filling with fear.
He stopped a few feet away from her, "I won't hurt you," he said soothingly. Taking a ten rupee note from his wallet he held it out to her. She shrank further into the wall. She seemed so young. Maybe twelve or thirteen, he couldn't tell. She made no attempt to take the money. He stretched out his hand till the note was almost under her chin. A little hand emerged from the shawl and grabbed the money, disappearing immediately.
"Go have a cup of chai," he smiled.
She didn't look at him or smile, just pulled the shawl more tightly around her. The rain had stopped, muddy water swirled in large puddles all around her. He hovered there for a minute not knowing what to do, looking around with a sense of helplessness and strangely guilt. On an impulse he fished out a mobile phone from his pocket, put it on camera mode, and clicked a picture of her. She visibly flinched. Backing away he turned around and made his way to the Mall.
Before entering the Mall, he uploaded the picture to his facebook wall.
Today behind the largest mall in the city I met the real India.
In half an hour he had 32 likes and 13 comments.

Her father was home early and as usual–drunk. She cowered in a corner of the dark room as she watched him beat her mother, demanding money. It was a scene she watched every few days. Anger rose in her as she watched her mother cry in pain; he was shouting in her face, pulling at her hair. Although frightened by the violence she felt something snap inside her. Rushing towards her father she pushed him with all her might. He lost his balance and fell, hitting his head on the edge of a cot. A stream of expletives, directed at her, poured from his drunken lips. To her horror and dismay he staggered to his feet and lurched towards her. It was raining hard outside. She grabbed the first thing she saw; her mother's old tattered shawl, to protect herself from the cold rain. Swinging the shawl over her head she ran outside. Bare feet splashed through muddy puddles oblivious to the sharp stones, they were used to the cruel ways of the earth.
She heard her father shouting after her. Never looking back she just ran as quickly as her little feet could carry her. Entering a deserted alley she slumped against a wall, panting. The stench of urine, beetle leaf juice and slime filled her nostrils, yet she clung to the wall like it was an anchor in this watery world. She was drenched to the skin, the shawl felt heavy on her thin shoulders. Chill seemed to reach her bones.
That's where the boy had found her, helpless and scared. She clutched the money in her fist, grateful to the boy. Should she go back home and give the money to her father so that he would stop beating her mother–her last thoughts before she blacked out.

#fiction  #culture  #skylarkchallenge 
12
1
15
Juice
128 reads
Load 15 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Audio Poetry Record an audio version of one of your poems. Please tag me. I will do one too, and yes, I hate my own voice as well.
Written by Firdaus

Origami of a life

a single paper flower

folded,

unfolded,

then folded again;

permanent creases pressed in

by back of thumbnails,

until the will is bent—broken

made to fit and adorn

an imitation world

a single paper flower

nodding in the breeze

scentless and colourless soul

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4ZRlnQAvJzNRzVsWnFnWUdVaVk

I hope this works. I sound like a paper flower. Scratchy.

26
5
52
Juice
233 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Audio Poetry Record an audio version of one of your poems. Please tag me. I will do one too, and yes, I hate my own voice as well.
Written by Firdaus
Origami of a life
a single paper flower
folded,
unfolded,
then folded again;
permanent creases pressed in
by back of thumbnails,
until the will is bent—broken
made to fit and adorn
an imitation world
a single paper flower
nodding in the breeze
scentless and colourless soul

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4ZRlnQAvJzNRzVsWnFnWUdVaVk

I hope this works. I sound like a paper flower. Scratchy.
26
5
52
Juice
233 reads
Load 52 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku

early winter smog

still clinging to trees

scent of the night

11
1
4
Juice
82 reads
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku
early winter smog
still clinging to trees
scent of the night
11
1
4
Juice
82 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.
Books
Recurrence
Add to Library
399
Advertisement  (turn off)