thoughts-n-paper - Tumblr blog

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

A dense forest stood between the river and the village. Throughout the day, people would travel through the woods to get to either end. The mornings were for the men, as they would go to work at the dam. They would often collect at the small shop outside the facility and have tea with the thrashing sounds of the water in the background. Then, with fresh cigarette butts and leftover tea leaves dissolving in the river, they would march on to disappear till the evening. Once the sun would become brighter, the women would come with their little ones with a pile of clothes wrapped up in bedsheets and thrown over their shoulders. The toddlers would spend the time splashing water at each other while the women washed the laundry. If they had time, they would teach the toddlers to swim later, but that was rarely the case as most of their time would be spent calming down crying children or resolving fights between them. In the evening, the men would walk back to their homes and collect their slightly elder children, who would spend the time after school playing by the river bank.

There was a small dispensary at the border of the village, but rarely was it occupied by a medical professional. Most of the times, a local boy who moved back after working as a pharmacist in the city would be the one prescribing the medicines. And for emergencies, the villagers would travel to a luxury resort built deep into the forest for rich industrialists to vacation. The 24/7 doctor stationed there would treat them at a lower price and would even pay home visits for an extra fee. But these instances were rare, the reason none of the villagers ever complained was because of a special plant that grew by the river. It was an exposed secret passed from generation to generation about the healing benefits of the herb, and so, every day the villagers would crush it and garnish their food with it, or once a week the women would bring home a bunch of its leaves to cook and the whole family would eat it. The outsiders cared little to notice how rarely the villagers got sick or the long lifespans they seem to survive and those who noticed passed it as good genes, a healthy diet and active living.

It wasn’t until one of the village women went into labour; the wheels started turning. The woman in question had a relatively healthy pregnancy until the due date, but the day of, she started getting tired. Usually, the villagers would call ahead to the doctor in the resort so that he can be on guard in case of any complications, but since it was her fourth child, judging by her previous deliveries, the villagers did not care to this time. They tried to call the doctor, but he did not pick up the call, so the only resort was to take her to him. The herb was an excellent source of energy, so they packed some dried leaves in a container and put her on a cart attached to a bicycle that her elder son was using to drag her. Meanwhile, her youngest was sitting with her to feed her the herb every five minutes. Her husband handed the second child to another elderly woman and started walking behind the cart with his friend. It took them about half an hour to reach the resort and another fifteen minutes to get through the management and reach the doctor’s waiting room. The screams and cries of the woman did help in speeding up the process, but it also meant that they were asked to wait in one of the staff quarter at the edge of the compound to avoid any disturbance to the guests.

The doctor came rushing in and asked a bunch of questions, then handed his notes to another woman and left. The nurse then explained that he is busy taking care of a guest and could not look over the delivery. The nurse would take care of the woman. While the village woman was inside giving birth, her husband sat outside, sweating partly with worry and partly due to heat as he watched his sons sleep by the trees standing at the boundary of the woods. He saw a man bring cold water inside. This was his third trip when he came outside, the husband asked the worker if everything was alright. The worker nodded and sat down beside him, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “It is very tense in there.” This scared the husband. “What do you mean? You just said everything is okay.” The husband raised his voice. “Relax, your wife is okay. Your baby will be okay, too. It is one of the guests.” The worker placed a hand on the husband’s shoulder and gently pushed him to sit down. “It is the owner’s son-in-law. He had an allergic reaction. We do not have the appropriate medicine so the doctor is in deep shit right now.” “It’s okay, our doctor is a smart man, he will cure him.” the husband reciprocated the gesture by placing his hand on the worker’s shoulder. “You don’t get it.” The worker said while shaking his head, “If anything happens, we will be out of work and the owner will make sure the doctor cannot get a job anywhere else. I live alone, I can do any kind of job but the doctor has two kids who are still in school, who will take care of them. He is an educated man, he cannot do labour work like us.”

The husband bowed his head. The doctor had been a godsend for the villagers. Even though the herb was the major medicinal source, there were always some scenarios where they needed the help of western medicine. “Did you try the Upchar?” the husband asked quietly.

“No, these are not dumb villagers that will be happy eating leaves, believing it will heal everything. These people are well-read they have spent years in different countries. You think that after whatever doctor gave could not save him, your little home remedy will.”

“But, we can at least ask?”

“Shut up, man!”

“Hey! What is happening there?” A voice came from inside the campus. And a few seconds after that, the doctor emerged from the dark.

“Nothing, Doctor. He was just talking nonsense.” The worker tried to dismiss the topic.

“Alright then, go get some cold water to the clinic.” The doctor ordered the worker and then turned to the husband. “I hope your wife is doing well. I will just check.”

After a few minutes, he came out and said to the husband, “She will be fine, the baby should be ready to come out within an hour now.” With this, he nodded and then moved ahead to go back to his priority patient.

“Doctor, wait.” The husband shouted from behind.

The herb was boiled in water with tea leaves from the local tea plantation and given to the sick guest. The doctor was apprehensive at first but after much convincing and only as a last option; he agreed to experiment. The two villagers, of course, were confident that the guest would be up and running in no time. And so he did. The village couple had come back a few weeks later for a routine checkup of the child and mother. The doctor had then told them about the miracle. “We were sure he wouldn’t make it back. But, your secret medicine worked like a charm. He was breathing on his own by the morning and was ready to leave for the city by that afternoon.” The doctor’s eyes were wide and gleeful like a child as he repeated the story. He had been telling the same tale of the miracle plant to anyone who would lend an ear.

A few months later, the family came back and immediately called to meet the doctor. They wanted to thank him over lunch and ask him something related to the medicine he monitored. The doctor approached them with fear in his heart. He was afraid that the herb had generated some side-effect, he cursed himself for being so quick in praising the village idiot.

“Tell me, doctor, what was the medicine name that you gave me that night?” The man asked, yet it felt like he was ordering him to disclose the information.

“Uh...It was.....It was an experimental drug. Why do you ask?” He asked hesitantly.

“Well, ever since the dose, I have never felt better. Whatever it was, I would say experiment successful.”

The doctor smiled, but he was still hesitant to disclose the name. He wasn’t sure what the reaction would be, knowing that he gave a medicine which he had never tested and is used by villagers for garnishing. He sat down the couple and told them the complete story.

The man paused for a while and then turned to the doctor and ordered that a branch be brought to him so he can get it inspected. For the span of the rest of his vacation, the guest drank that tea every morning. On the day they were leaving, he ordered one of the staff workers to fetch him a pot and plant the branch in that. Observing this fondness for the herb, the doctor sighed thinking that he will be praised for introducing such a good product, but when the guest gestured with his finger for the doctor to come to him, glancing at his staring face, his fear came back. “You are not saved yet, I am having this plant tested. I will send word of the results. If it is good news, I will personally come here. If not, I will wait for your resignation in response.” The doctor nodded lightly and tried to swallow his spit but stopped midway, as it might be too much of a movement over his guest’s convenience.

They were all sitting in a dining hall. While the entire family of the resort owner sat around the table, the doctor and the men from the village who came that night stood near the gate. The owner and his son-in-law were sitting at the two ends of the table, which was placed at the centre of the room. The door was in the line of the exact middle of the table, so neither the owner nor his son-in-law had to turn their head too much to talk to the villagers. The two wives and the children were busy eating and least bothered by the new attendees. About two weeks after the son-in-law had returned with the potted plant, he sent a message that he will be attending again and to inform the villagers that he wishes to speak to them. Judging by the content, the doctor could not comprehend whether it was good news or bad. He reckoned that the man forgot about his plan and now the judgment would be passed in his court of comfort.

It did, however, take a lot of convincing to get the villagers to meet the owner. They were apprehensive to enter the city people space, they had never interacted with someone who was not raised in the same place as them, and even when they did, it was mostly businessman and officers who treated them as nothing more than a piece of assisting equipment.

This time didn’t seem different, either.

“So tell me about this ‘Upchar’?” the owner of the resort asked.

The villagers and the doctor looked at each other, confused and scared.

“It’s okay, don’t be scared. Tell us.” The owner repeated in a calming voice, gesturing towards one of the villagers.

The other villager gently nudged him forward and slightly tilted his head to tell him to start.

Once the first words were spoken, both the villagers entered a groove. They both synchronized their words and matched each other’s expressions. Soon even the children became interested in the story.

They started with the story of how the herb came into being. A sage was once walking on the trail of a hill to reach the temple of Sun, but the road was long and during the course, he moved through time very quickly, as a result, by the time he reached the base of the thousand steps, his knees had given up. Concerned that he might have to return from the village empty-handed, they offered to carry him up, but the sage refused. He wanted to worship her with the youth that matched the youth when he started the journey.

He requested shelter from the villagers, and they obliged.

He requested food and water and again, all his wishes were fulfilled. Still disappointed that they could not help him achieve his goal, all the young men collected and went to the temple to ask God to take their energy and vigour and transfer it to the sage. Watching hundred young men standing at her feet, willing to give up their lifetime, the Sun gifted them with a root. She asked them to offer this root to the River and in a month, a leaf will grow from it, followed by a branch and then a whole plant. It will grow in all seasons, it will only drink the water it needs and let the extra pass and above all, it will provide the human that consumes it, a healthy, disease-free body.

So, the villagers accepted the gift and planted it by the river, and in a month a stem the height of a toddler emerged with leaves sprouting from every node. After they had dried the leaves, the sage drank it with his tea and overnight his body was revitalized. His bones no longer hurt, his back was straight again, and he no longer needed a stick to rely on. One day, after he was confident in his health, the sage went up the stairs to satisfy his fate. The entire village gathered that day. Some women even packed some tea containing the herb for his journey, and the village chief gifted him a new cloth to wrap himself with. But once he went up, he never came back. He disappeared into the arms of the God he dedicated his life to, but he left the villagers with a very special gift, a sacred secret passed on to generations and protected with life.

Now, it had become a part of their life, their meals were tasteless without it and their medicines were meaningless.

“Lovely story. It will market very well.” The son-in-law said to the owner.

After that night, in days, the village was flooded with men from the city, who went into the forest and started plucking leaves of the plant. Once their trucks were filled, they left without a word. The same chaos would rain down on the village from time to time. They would stay for a week and then leave to come back next month. Once word reaches that the city men are coming on a particular day, the villagers would gather up the leaves for themselves enough to long seven days, during those seven days, no villager would go by the river, children would instead play in the field in the village, women would let clothes pile up and the men would go to work through the long route. Everybody knew what the city men kept coming for, but powerless to do something, the villagers would just pray to the Sun and the River for forgiveness and go to sleep, swallowed in guilt.

While the villagers were living their routine lives, the city was buzzing with a new flavour of herbal tea. Known to contain anti-oxidants, used to increase immunity and elongate your lifespan, every health-conscious person soon started lining up for the brand. The resort owner even got a famous sportswoman to endorse it, yet they were not quite happy with the numbers.

"Tea is a good venture, but it is still a very limited market." The owner said to his son-in-law over dinner.

"Yeah, I think you are right. The target consumer size is very small compared to other products." The son-in-law paused for a second. "I do have another idea." He hesitated again.

"Tell me." The owner placed his hand over his son-in-law's.

"I am thinking cosmetics. It is a wide market, and nearly everyone uses something or other for face or hair. But I am not yet sure what the product will be. I mean I don't even know if the plant can be used for cosmetic use or not."

"Doesn't matter." The owner cut him off. "Cosmetics is a good idea to pivot to. People are less apprehensive about what they put on their body than what they put in. I mean, someone who doesn't like the taste of green tea is still willing to put it on their face."

He kept looking at a distance, thinking to himself until he snapped out and turned towards the son-in-law. "Design a plan to test it in different products, try with the most basic ones. Face Wash, soap and shampoos. If we get good results, then phase one will concentrate on these. If not, then switch to face packs, serums and oils. At least one of them should work. If we are lucky, we might be the next cosmetic billionaire."

And they did end up being very lucky. As soon as they got an eighty percent approval rate for shampoos, the owner passed the order to start manufacturing. Since the tea business was still strong, the shops and influencers did not hesitate to endorse the shampoos too. They had to drop the sportswoman though. They told her she was perfect to sell a health drink but hair care was something the audience could not identify with a sportsperson, even though she had a very healthy set of hair on her head. Instead, the owner decided to hire a movie actress who had recently dyed her hair pink and put a synthetic hair wig on her.

As predicted, the sales skyrocketed and pretty soon, they had ventured into every kind of hair care product they could come up with.

"What was the ratio for skincare?" The owner asked in the meeting room. He and his son-in-law were sitting at one end of the table while three men sat on the other.

"About sixty-forty." One of the three men replied.

"Start with face washes and we will see from there. I expect a full launch blueprint by the next week."

Once the skincare products were launched, their business grew exponentially. Soon, factories and walls started being put up near the village. Since transportation was costing them a big chunk, the owner decided to start production near the source itself. They cleared up wide land areas only to put up barriers around it and plant the same herb within the boundaries. The villagers were asked to come work at the factory but watching the ruination of their sacred land, they all refused. As a result, the owner hired labour from outside and built huts to move them near the factory. Now, instead of once a week, there were men present near the river all the time, plucking away. And the villagers had to move aside, many of the young children never got to learn to swim, the women stayed in the village waiting for their husbands to collect water from the river just so they could continue with the washing and everyone over time forgot how their food used to taste.

The resort was shut down and instead became a company guest house. Executives and investors interested in catching a glimpse of hard work would come and spend their days in luxury and visit the factory for an hour, take a stroll by the river and would leave, ready to throw more money into the venture.

A few years later, the complete texture of the forest shifted to just an arrangement of blocks on a piece of land. The herbs still grew outside the boundaries, but because every area was heavily guarded, the villagers could never reach it. Since they all had refused to work at the factory, out of spite, the owner had refused to extend the new irrigation system to their lands. So, for any extra need of water, the village men often ended up going downriver, quite far from their homes, just to fetch it from the river.

The resort turned guest house had now been demolished and a detoxing centre stood in its place instead. Seeing the rise in consumers for the skincare line, the owner decided to turn the herb into a luxury product instead. So, as an experiment, he stopped production of all the basic products and made deals with high priced brands. Another actress with a lifestyle blog was instead hired to endorse it on her website. The growth was slow but eventually, it became the latest commodity to have in your bag. They started with skin and hair serums and with the help of few dermatologists that exclusively dealt with the upper class, they were able to bag that market. The dermatologists of course never recommended that product as it would be unethical, but they would often slide into their conversation about what the latest popular socialite was using. And the targeted ads on television for common folks were proved minuscule as compared to the jealousy of the rich. Soon, every woman and man with a certain amount in the bank was lining up, and the limited accessibility and production proved that it was highly essential to get the product before their nemesis did.

Soon, word started spreading about the forest and the tea they had come up with years earlier. People were getting curious about the origins of the herb, freelancers wrote blogs about the benefits of consuming it orally and theories started emerging about an immortality drug. Since control was in the owner's hands, he pivoted again. This time he let the rich have their privilege and simultaneously started a detox centre. The promise was to vacation in nature, away from the buzzing city, spend your mornings watching the sunshine between two mountains, have breakfast between the fields of Upchar and take an evening stroll by the river. Some activities were full-body herb scrub, bath in the healing waters of the river or authentic leaf plucking experience. Each room had two branches of the herb on either side of the bed so the guests could sleep under an umbrella of filtered air, all food was garnished by the dried herb and the menu offered various other ways to consume the plant.

Rich families would come and stay for a week or two, during which they would, as they would describe, detox themselves, clean up the city off of them so they could return to be intoxicated again. Some of them would visit the village, it was mainly politicians or someone involved in charity. They would bring used clothes or sweets for the children, take a few photographs and leave, completing the tour in just under thirty minutes. The village stood in a bubble all this time. While everything around it shifted, the villagers lived their lives like they had been doing forever. They made arrangements around this inconvenience grown near their household, but they were still not affected by it.

Until one day, few men came to their houses in a big van. They started asking questions about the herb and the owner and the villagers, naïve as they were, told the whole story. Thinking that was the end of it, they all went to bed in the illusion that nothing will change. In the next few days, a lot of vans started coming to the village. They all asked the same questions, and the villagers gave the same answer. One day the owner came. He had another man following him in a white car with a red light over it. The owner stepped out and ordered one of his servants to bring a chair. The man ran inside the nearest house and pulled out a chair to be placed under a giant tree. The owner then walked up to the white car and opened its door. From it, a tall man emerged, dressed in white as he walked straight to the chair and sat down with one leg over the other's knee. He made a little coughing noise, and one of the other servants took out a bottle of water and handed it to him. After taking a small sip, he handed the bottle back and nodded to the servant. By this point, the whole village had already gathered outside to observe this enigma.

"Who is the village chief? Sir wants to talk to you."

An old man emerged from the crowd and approached the tree. The owner came forward to the tree too but was stopped mid-way by the man in white.

"Your people are saying they are not happy with the factory, and sir here tells me that you will not take jobs there either. Why would you do that?"

"Our God will not agree, Sir."

"You will get jobs, better water, you can also have your leaves back. Would your God not be happy to see you happy?"

"It will be immoral, Sir."

"What is immoral? Do you want to live a better life? The old lady said that she has not visited the temple because her knees hurt ever since she stopped drinking the herb. Now, how would you get to know about your God's happiness if you cannot visit her?"

"But Sir."

"No more discussion. It is decided. Sir, here will guarantee one job for a man and one for a woman from each family and two, no four bags of leaves will be delivered to the village every month. Now you should be happy and stop telling people about how the company and government are screwing you over. Understood?"

The chief looked at the village crowd and then back at the man in white. "Yes Sir. Thank You, Sir."

Saying this, the man in white walked over to the owner's car and said something to him. In response, the owner bent down and said something inside the car. A few seconds later, the resort doctor stepped out of the car with his head bowed down. All the villagers could see was the man in white ordering something to the doctor while the doctor nodded his head without making any eye contact. As the cars left, the doctor started approaching the villagers and they instantly knew their bubble was about to be burst by the Devil's advocate.

A week later, all the vans returned to the village, along with the white car with the red light on top.

The servants came and placed a table and chair at the centre of the field, and all the reporters swarmed over like ants to sugar. The man in white came out of the car with a bunch of papers rolled up in his hands. He placed the papers on the table, sat down on the chair, and pulled out a pen from his chest pocket. He signed the papers and stood up, holding the papers up while the reporters started taking photographs.

"This is the order. One man from each family will be given a job in the plantation, the village will be given two bags of leaves per month and the irrigation system will be extended to their homes soon. Also, because the older people had complained that they are unable to visit their local temple, it will be shifted to the ground in a much prettier temple funded by the state government. As we speak, the idol is being taken down and shifted to a temporary tent until construction can complete. And in place of the temple, we would construct a marble replica of the plant Upchar, it will be crafted by the best and will be a jewel to be admired by people across the country. I thank you for bringing the plight of the villagers to my attention. Till next time."

With this, he rode away in his white horse and following him the vans left too, leaving the villagers back in the bubble.

#original #short story #life #consumerism #capitalism #industrial #deforestation #nature #original story #original stuff #english story #stories

1 note · View note

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

You can shove it to the back of the cupboard

keep it in the shoebox resting under the bed

these emotions, that you were handed

drown them in the backyard lake

it'll be easier to smile

your heart can swallow now

maybe we'll catch them in another life

or just ignore them by the seaside

We can abandon the nostalgia

burn down our childhood dreams

the insidious flowers in your notebook

let us plant them in the woods

the mermaids are calling us

a new road to plat

your feet accompanying mine

leave the things that made us, behind

#original poem #poem #life #poetry #poets on tumblr #original poetry #poetic #poetscommunity #original #moving on #starting new #starting #writers and poets #poetsofinstagram

2 notes · View notes

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

As Lamia opened her eyes, she could feel her back pressing against the hard mattress, she had a drip attached to her left hand and her head was hurting as if she had banged it against some metal plate. She blinked multiple times till the room came in focus. It looked like a warehouse, with shelves of boxes on one side and a medical bed on the other, she was placed in a small corner, beside the hard bed was a table, over it was placed a battery-powered torch and a red notebook with a pen tied to it. She moved ahead to pick it up but suddenly felt her whole energy leaving her body as she exhaled, she instead decided to drag herself to the bathroom which was separated by a metal sheet made to act as a wall and get herself a glass of water. But the pipe attached to her did not let her go far. She followed it to the source which was a big bottle placed on a movable stand. Attached to the stand was a note, "Do not detach."

She stared at the needle placed in her skin, forming a thin slight bump on the back of her palm. She thought of removing it, even tried to move it by a fraction of a millimetre, but the pain needed too much effort to bear. She held the stand and moved it along her towards the bathroom. It was a standard bathroom found in any convenience store. Only, this was a little bigger, just enough to put a shower and a slab where a towel was placed. She made her way to the sink, which was two steps away, and opened the tap.

That's when she looked up in the mirror and was left even more baffled. She did not have hair on her head, the last time she remembered, she certainly had hair. She rushed back to the yellow stained cot, but there were no strands of hair present. She rushed back to the mirror and ran her hand hovering over her head. She looked around the bathroom, there was a small pot with stacks of toilet paper by its side. She opened the medicine cabinet and it was empty except for a toothbrush, toothpaste and a couple of bottles of moisturizers, there was a bar of soap by the sink and that was all. She stepped out and out of the corner of her eye, she could see a closet and decided to inspect that first. She opened it and found identical sets of clothes, similar to what she was currently wearing, a pile of identical undergarments and boxes of tampons on the upper shelf. She closed the closet doors and turned around, and took a deep breath. She stood there for some time, trapped in a spot, she could move in any direction but she did not know where. This was a new place and she still hadn't learned to make her way around the bed yet.

In her eye line, she could spot a board on the opposite wall. It seemed to be filled with slips of paper and some photographs. On the right was a steel operating bed with a set of stirrups attached to it, and on her left was a shelf with cardboard boxes stacked on it. There was no door in sight, just a few small windows near the ceiling. Lamia could catch a glimpse of the sky in them, she felt a sting like it was after a long time that she was seeing natural light. She went back to the bed, picked up the notebook and flipped through it. It was empty. The torchlight was just that, a torchlight. She was confused, why is she here, why is all this stuff here and how is she supposed to get out?

She walked up to the board on the other side of the room. At first, it all looked too cluttered for her to decode. It was all post-it notes and diary pages. She picked up one post-it at random and it said: "Name: Louisa, 22" She looked at the photograph, it was a young blond girl with blue eyes and a wide radiant smile.

"Louisa," she thought to herself. That named was a stranger to her, just like she was. She placed the post-it back and ran back to the bed. She picked up the notebook and pen and started writing everything she knew.

Her name, Lamia.

Occupation, OB/GYN.

Husband, Eric.

Parents, Dead.

Children, none. She paused. It was like her brain checked out for a millisecond to bring back a memory, but returned empty-handed. She continued.

The last thing, it was dinner in a restaurant, a Chinese restaurant, Eric's favourite. They were having wine, no he was having wine, she was drinking water. They were celebrating.

She paused again. Yes, children, none.

She ran her hand on the synthetic material draped on her body to check for pockets, there were none. She decided to take a lap around the room, past the stained bathroom and the metal bed with some medical equipment scattered on it towards the board. Just as she was about to cross the board, she noticed her photograph on it, beside it was a post-it note which said: "Name: Lamia, 39."

Lamia took the photograph off the board and took a closer look. It certainly was her, she had her long black hair, her cheeks had the natural blush in them and her eyes had very slight noticeable dark circles. She suddenly got the flash of earlier when she looked at her face in the mirror, bald, zero muscles sticking to the bone and every vein visible under her skin.

She placed the photograph back and moved on to another section of the board. There were several photographs of other women, with their name and age attached to them. Mostly ranging from late teens to mid-twenties. Some of them had newspaper clippings attached to them, almost all of them mentioning that they are currently under arrest for violating the Right to Live Act.

Lamia remembered when the Act was passed, she lost half of her clientele, even before the Act was official, she was one of the few who carried out procedural termination of the fetus. There was one clipping that had the word murder mentioned in the headlines, a photograph of a sweet little girl in ponytails was beside it, "Name: Hailey, 15". Lamia flinched. It said her body was found in an alley, cause of death was blood loss. She had recently given birth, but no signs of a child were found near the body. The police suspected that the murder took place somewhere else and the corpse was dropped to the spot. The cops refused to give any statement or even confirm whether it was a murder or not.

It did not make sense to her, it was all too confusing and Lamia was a little too tired to make sense out of non-sense. She moved to the operating bed. The cold touch of the metal against her fingers was the only familiar thing till now. She had loved being a doctor, the thrill of bringing a new life in the world, the rush of blood towards her palm as she went in to pull out a baby. There was a mobile rack by the bed, in it every piece of equipment she would need to perform her surgery of choice. She picked up the scalpel and ran her fingers against the sharp edge. It still had a scent of disinfectants on it, her favourite smell. Every patient she remembers always hated that smell, the distinct hospital smell, but this was what made her love the hospitals even more.

She collected herself and moved her attention towards the shelf, it seemed like the only logical location to look for explanations. But she didn't know where to start, there were about twenty boxes placed and the numbers marked on them but not in sequence. She decided to open the box marked with number 1.

At the top of the pile inside was a small photo album. She opened it and found family pictures of a little girl with her parents and grandparents and then friends, she kept flipping till she came to her teen years where Lamia recognized her as the murdered 15-year-old. She dug inside and found a file containing all the newspaper clippings with her parents' interviews along with the manuscripts of all the video and radio interviews they did. She could only go through half of it as it became unbearable to read the plea of these parents for their daughter to return to them. Next was her journal, Lamia opened the first page and as she traced her fingers through the name Hailey written in pink, with hearts over the 'i', she closed the journal and dumped it back in the box.

This was sick and demented. Going through her belongings was enough to turn her stomach, she was dreading to meet the person who collected all this.

Lamia moved to the next one, she opened it and again the first thing she found was an album. This time it was a slightly older girl in them. She must be at least 19, so Lamia went to the board and started comparing every photograph to the girl in the album. "Name: Angela, 22", the article attached to her picture said that she moved to a foreign country and hence was untraceable by the authorities. It was believed that the alleged abortion incident led her to escape the country. There were no interviews in her box, just screenshots of her phone, to her boyfriend who kept messaging her but she never replied, to some of her friends she said that she was in Paris living with a cousin and to her parents, she said she was in Italy on an exchange program. This only increased her confusion. There was something off about this one but it wasn't as easy to pin as the earlier one.

One by one Lamia kept going through the boxes and assigning them names from the board. With each album she picked up, she dreaded it being hers. She did not want to know what was in her box.

"Name: Rory, 27", Lamia matched the face to the board, but as she flipped through she noticed that she had turned from a curvy girl to a stick figure. In retrospect, she could remember all of them looking a lot thinner in later photographs. Rory was arrested shortly after the last photograph, so in her box were her interviews. Lamia opened the first page of her file, the heading read "I was left with no choice". The article began by saying how this innocent girl was responsible for murdering a life and the price for it was short term amnesia. It said that once Rory got pregnant and she did not want to keep it, she approached a doctor whose name will not be disclosed yet. The doctor told her that the situation will be dealt with and the next thing Rory remembers is not being pregnant anymore but she had also lost 7 months of her life. A small price to pay according to her.

It was like with each piece in place the rest of the pieces kept getting smaller, making it impossible to assemble. It seemed logical to expect her box somewhere in there. She let go of her project to identify each box and rushed through them till she found her family album. She finally came upon it, it was the last one.

She skipped through the pictures of her childhood and opened the last few pages which contained her baby shower photographs. She did not remember having a baby, she went in the box again and found a bunch of certificates, degrees she acquired over the years and a baby blanket. The memory was coming back to her in flashes, she was sitting by the window in the nursery. They had decided to put on a wallpaper resembling a garden, she remembers being happy as she looked around at the drawn on butterflies stuck to the walls and her knitting that blanket. Lamia snapped out, something bad happened, she remembered the feeling of despair, in the back of her mind she knew what but she chose not to go there. Until she picked up the next document in the box, a medical file and the first page was her discharge form. Miscarriage.

She felt dizzy, she went back to the bathroom and bent down to drink some water from the tap. After splashing her face with water several times, she went back to the shelf and sat down near the box, she took a deep breath, now that she was forced to confront her tragedy, she could move on and figure out why she is in this place and what is her connection to the other women. She picked up a book, "Ancient Fertility Rituals: Secrets from the age-old tribes still practised today", there were several pages bookmarked with post-it notes, lines highlighted and some even had handwritten notes stapled to it. She opened the one with the thickest set of papers attached to it.

It told about a nomadic tribe that would feed a stillborn baby and the placenta to an infertile mother to pass on the soul of the child so that it can heal itself in another womb and be born. Disgusted, she moved to read the notes.

"Trial 1: Failed. Trial 2: I am hopeful, the results should come in a month." "Trial 2: Failed. Trial3: It is becoming hard to track a stillborn, the ritual specifies consumption within 12 hours." "Trial 3: A woman came to me for an abortion, Eric has drafted a proposal."

Lamia shut the book closed and tossed it aside.

The next item was a newspaper, the headline "The evilest woman in the world" and below that was a photograph of her being taken from her home in handcuffs. She had to run to the bathroom again, this time to throw up. Only water came out but the dry gag was even worse.

She opened one of the boxes before her, the one which was arrested for abortion. It was the same story as the second girl, she went in for an abortion and suddenly 8 months of her life were gone. She went through her pictures and towards the end, she too had lost an enormous amount of weight, she looked like she had aged 30 years. In an interview where she described her health, she mentioned that she was now anaemic and had a severe vitamin D deficiency. Lamia opened another box and it was the same story, abortion, missing months and a drastic deterioration in health. This pattern followed till the first girl, the one who never returned.

She went back to her stack, there, placed on top, was a plastic bag filled with photographs. The room in them was quite similar to the one she was in, the bathroom was nearly identical with the bed near it and a stand by its side not much different than the one she was attached to. She picked up the newspaper again and the words seemed to start floating in front of her eyes.

Cannibalism.

Vile practice.

Child Sacrifice.

Murderer.

Devil.

She had to rush back to the bathroom to throw up again, this time no matter how much she rinsed, she could not wipe out the taste of blood in her mouth.

'The doctor confessed that her last patient, unfortunately, passed away during the birth and in a state of haste, she made the wrong decision to leave the body in an alleyway. The young girl had come to the doctor for treatment after finding herself pregnant at 15 years of age. The doctor justified her actions by stating that those children were doomed to die anyway, she only thought it justified to use their death to bring a child into the world that would be welcomed. Her spree of cannibalism went on for 7 years, tracing back to a year after her first miscarriage. She went on to bribe coroners to get access to infant corpses but once that seemed to be too complicated, she took matters into her hands and started luring naïve women in the guise of giving them an abortion.

Some of these women managed to escape the law by moving to different countries, but the department managed to arrest most of the women, and despite their own traumatic experiences, they are not exempted from serving time for going against the Right to Live Act. But what about the little girl who made one mistake and had to lose her life. Her parents still fight on to get the accused the death penalty.'

One of the magazines had managed to perfectly summarize her entire ordeal in a few words. Although, it felt like reading about some other version of herself. She remembered how much she had wanted to be a mother, the paranoia every time she saw a pregnant woman. It had started affecting her job. Her body was not healthy enough to create life and even though Eric was willing to adopt, she refused. She wanted to do this, she wanted to prove that her body was not hostile. But the desperation, the drive to kill, it was still a stranger to her. It was like a vivid bad dream she had a night, and in the morning she knew the things she did but they did not feel real enough to have happened to her.

Suddenly, there was a static noise in the room.

"Dr Walters, could you gather why you are here?"

Lamia wiped her tears and stood up. "Yes."

"Care to elaborate."

"I kidnapped women under the pretext of terminating their pregnancies, and" she gagged, "consumed the remains of their child."

Outside the room there was a commotion, Lamia could hear none of it.

A huge crowd was gathered holding posters with "Death to Murderer" and "Kill the child Killer" written on them.

A reporter stood in front of the camera, "This is the second trial of Dr Walters. Her memory of the incident was wiped 24 hours before the trial began. The last time, she did own up to the crimes but when asked what her punishment should be, she pleaded that her memories had been wiped and hence been changed by the experience. If she refuses the sentence again, she will be put on trial on the date decided by the judge. Earlier in the year, Mr Eric Walters, Dr Walters husband had been put in the penitentiary as per his demand, where he will spend the rest of his days. Let's see if like him, his wife has some humanity left in her yet.

#life #original #shortstory #short story #criminal #trial #original story #original stuff #writers #writers on tumblr

1 note · View note

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

lying within the walls of poppy

inhaling filtered ash

floating in your blood

specks of white and black

muffled voices

echoes in your skin

the fields are lush and green

far away from the living

she places her dreams outside

in a cracked crystal ball

gifts of nights that never came

wave goodbye on shooting stars

her dresses and her rings

she buries them by the sea

for once her palms are empty

she clenches her lashes in between

all the unwound toys around her

waiting to be played by the ghost of a brother

the habit of looking up

she just can't let go

sitting by the river

as she matches your life

by your bed, she sleeps

with hallucinations of flowing white

I can imitate your smile

the bread we shared

and the words exchanged

as our days passed

we might have forgotten our faces

now taking in the air meant for you

I watch, calling back my memories

as you forget to breathe at 28 feet

#original poem #covid poetry #poem #life #poetry #poets on tumblr #original poetry #poetic #poetscommunity #original #covid poem #covid crisis

2 notes · View notes

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

breathing in the cardboard air

no roof over my head

it is not enough to let me by

need more space to ascend

conversations with an echo

no windows to inspire

the brown walls don't filter

those intruders from guests

living from foot to foot

losing myself in a reverie

when I fly, I will soar

but as I look up

I can see only the red spot

blinding me

one night, any night

the stars will melt

dancing aurora beside me

meanwhile,

I sit with smoke from half-lit butts

a whistle on my wine-stained lips

waiting for paper to disintegrate

#original poem #poem #life #poetry #poets on tumblr #original poetry #poetic #poetscommunity #original #escape #i feel like im suffocating

7 notes · View notes

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

When people speak of fairies, they often think of the wise fairy Godmother or the tiny passionate Tinkerbell, but let me tell you the truth, fairies can be as vicious as any wolf you might encounter in the woods. Take my mother, for example, I am about to fail a class and might not be able to graduate but here she is shouting at the principal, questioning his competency and making things worse. To be honest, I should have known this would happen. Ever since I was a toddler, my mother was ready to fight the Alaskan giants if she felt that they insulted me, although that seems a lot better than calling the man, an imbecile elf.

I had never been good at school, I was not born to do this. I cannot do magic, cannot fly. I do comparatively good at empathy, but that is probably due to my human side. All my teachers earlier were very understanding in cutting me some slack, but the new guy doesn't want to bend the rules and my mom just doesn't understand that.

As we entered the house from a tiresome argument with no conclusion, I watched my mom sink in her bed as she tried to push her tears back to space behind her eyes. On the side table there stood three photographs, one of her with her husband on her wedding day, one of her holding her baby and one of me and her on my first day of school. The one with her baby was the only one facing towards her pillow so that it is the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. I was never jealous of him, but I did feel that my mother's life would have been easier if she never interchanged us.

I wound up the music box, placed it beside her and tiptoed to my room as the lullabies of her ancestors brought her calm.

I often wondered what the other me would be doing right now, my brother from another mother and raised by my own. And just in case, miles away he wondered that too, I started keeping a journal where I would write everything that happened on the day. I would walk him through every road that I mapped, what conversations mother and I had and what kind of jokes she laughed at. Just in case if he ever plans to return, he would never have to feel out of place because he had me to guide him, and just in case if I ever went back, I think I would have the same.

A knock broke my nap. As I looked outside the tiny round window, I could make out the prettiest face I had ever seen. We were in the same class but it was incomprehensible that she would be standing outside my window. And then it hit me, I looked her in the eyes and said firmly, "You don't fool me."

"Not fair. I need to practice my deception spells." saying that, the figure in front of me transformed into my childhood friend, Jaadu. One of the rules of bending spells, if the target of the trick sees through the rouge, the trickster has to come clean.

"It was good. If not for my trust in my status as a loser, you would have convinced me."

"Ah! I should study the target more. Will keep that in mind. Are you coming?"

Jaadu and I always went to the edge of the forest in the evenings. With the sun coming down and night beginning to rise, you can watch the shadows of all the travellers passing by. Some of them would sit and have their meal or set up camp, completely unaware that we are hiding behind the tree mere steps away, watching them. But the most exciting moment is when you see someone go from one realm to another. Sometimes you can see their shadow change shape or colour or sometimes nothing changes, it is always a surprise how the inter-realm travel reacts.

Jaadu enjoys it because it is something he might never do, he was to be part of the administration, like the fairies of his family before him. This was his way to vicariously travel through these evening rituals.

For me, it was the time I had felt closest to my mother. Although her husband was a traveller, she only planned one journey in her life. The one to save her baby.

In a way I had already travelled from one realm to another, I was just unaware of the magnitude of it. I sometimes think of going back, maybe visit my birth parents, might even bring my mother's son back. She would be delighted beyond belief, and maybe then, she wouldn't regret taking him. But I would always push the thought back, too afraid of the unknown.

The next few weeks were spent retaking and retaking the test until I was cleared to graduate school. There are three categories of fairies, one that is naturally gifted in all arts, whether it is music, the science of medicinal plants or chants and jinxes, they are fluent in all. Then there is the average category, the ones that work hard and learn and the last are the week students, ones who work even harder. And then there is me, the human among magical beings. I am the only one around like me, earlier there used to be a lot of us but with the danger of exposure and the spiritual fabric between realms weakening, it is just me. Potions are easy and I am good with plants and animals but I can't cast spells, at least not the high-level ones. So, it took a lot of convincing the new principal to test me only on the spells that I can do, but I finally succeeded.

Later that night, my mother organized a celebration for me, every house within a mile was invited, distant relatives came too. Some families brought a dish of their choice, some helped clean up space and some brought with them the sweetest water of different streams. But with all the gifts and praises, come the whispers too, how I was not one of them, what an achievement the real son would have been. When I was younger, my mother would often cast a filtration spell on my ears so that I wouldn't hear what they said about me but as I grew older, the spell weakened. She never herself told me the story, would always insist that I was hers just born with different abilities or as I see it, no abilities.

From what I could gather, my mother was with the child when her husband died. The grief was too much for her and the baby and so he was born with defects. A shaman told her that the milk of a human could cure him and so she left him in the first crib she could find and took me from mine as her own.

"Oh my son, come sit with me." my great-grandmother called me."How are you feeling? You are a big fairy now?"

"I am not a fairy Gre-ma." I sighed as I sat beside her.

"Oh, it doesn't matter what elements bind you. Tell me, Elven, how, do you think, is your mother?"

"She seems fine. I think she is alright."

"She is strong, but separation and loneliness often mould us into something much fragile. She has lights of sorrow surrounding her, you must make her happy. Bring her joy before the black lights swallow her."

After the celebration ended, I kept thinking about the words my Gre-ma said to me. She was the most powerful empath in the town, nobody could dare take her words lightly, especially if she said something like that. This was serious, I had to do something to cure my mother.

The next day, when I and Jaadu were sitting in the woods, relaxing as the shadows disappeared around us, I told him what Gre-ma had asked me to do. "Getting a good position in the council would cure all the sorrows of my mother." Jaadu joked.

"I am afraid, that doesn't work for mine."

"I know! My point is, only you know what will make her happy."

I thought about it for a while and by the next morning, I had an idea of what to do. I made up an overnight camping trip with some friends from school, which in retrospect, how mother agreed or believed any of that is beyond me. I checked in my bag to confirm I had the fairy dust with me that Gre-ma had given me the other night, without it, I would not be able to cross over. The plan was simple, follow the map she used years earlier and just knock on the door. Jaadu came to see me off, he wanted to see how my shadow will react.

I, on the other hand, just felt a slight current run through me, and on the next step, everything changed.

It took me at least five minutes of coughing to get used to the air around me. The map was magical, which meant that it would alter according to the destination desired and the time and space which surrounded it. But there still was no magic that can help me introduce myself to my birth parents or tell me how I am supposed to walk when each step is followed by a loud noise and a beast flying past me in a blink of an eye. The first thing I noticed was humans were tall, back in woodland, I was the tallest there, here I barely come up to the shoulders of some of these giants. And they all had different feet, different colours, shapes and textures. And walking for a few feet made me understand why. After walking a small distance, my feet were coloured black, they were damp and a new pink coloured flower had found a way between my toes and was now stuck to my skin. But ignoring it all, I marched ahead.

A few yards away stood the blue gate I had dreaded all through the journey, a million thoughts ran through my mind with each step till I lifted my arm to knock.

I looked around the house as I waited for them to make sense of everything that I had just finished telling them. Surprisingly, it was not that different from my house. it was filled with photographs except for the giant black frame in the middle of the room, which stood empty. Lamps were hanging from the walls, but there was probably some human magic that made it not look like fire. There weren't as many windows, or plants, outside or inside. We all sat on cloud-like cushions with brown milk in front of me.

When I introduced myself, I showed them my infancy photograph which my mother had taken with her. Then I told them about fairies and woodlands. I told them about magic and music, potions and pirouette. And then I told them about my mother, my fairy mother.

"So, you are ours?"

I nodded.

"And, you were kidnapped?"

"Exchanged!" I nodded

."And you live among fairies?"

I nodded.

"And, our son was a fairy?"

I began to nod and then stopped midway, "was?"

"He died ten years ago. Road accident." said the human mother and started sobbing.

My father stood up and came towards me with open arms, "We want to believe you, but we can't, at least not without tests I hope that is alright with you."

"Oh, I can't stay. I just came to take my mother's son back to meet her. I really should go now."

"NO!" my human mother shouted and holding my shoulders requested me to stay.

"I suppose I could stay for another day."

"Wonderful!" the mother smiled and ran to the kitchen mumbling recipes to herself. "She is going to make his favourite food," Father said to me. His eyes followed me suspiciously as I sat back down in my spot.

"Hey Dorothy, Can you do me-." A stranger walked into the house and stopped mid-sentence to stare back at me. "Family member?" she said while pointing at me.

"How can you tell?" mother came out of the kitchen.

"Well, he looks so much like Steve."

"Doesn't he?"

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to run tests."

"What do you mean, Steve?"

"Yes, what do you mean, Steve?"

"Uhm, I am just saying..."

"Wait, but who is he?"

"Oh! It's a miracle from Jesus. My son has returned."

"Jesus! Dorothy, honey."

"Your son, the one whose funeral I helped organize."

"No, you see, he was exchanged, Uhm kidnapped."

"Jesus! Dorothy!"

"And now he is back, back at home."

Finally, silence fell. I looked up and all three were staring at me. "Hello," I said in a low voice. "I come from the woodlands. My mother who is a fairy..."

"Well, he is still processing his trauma." Father interrupted me. "Don't worry, we will have him checked shortly." Saying that he led me upstairs to a closed-door with the picture of a masked man on the door.

"This is your room. I will call you when food is prepared."

I had just turned back to stop him, he shut the door to my face. I tried to open it but it seemed locked from outside. I sat down on the small bed, trying to process whatever happened in the last few minutes. And then I remembered the word funeral being uttered. Their son's funeral.

My mother's son. The one I came to take back with me.

I had to get out immediately.

I stood in front of the door and chanted a simple admission spell. I tried to open the door again but it stayed locked. I tried the spell again, but it was all in vain. Casting spells in a new environment is always difficult, even for skilled casters. You have to be able to borrow magic from your surroundings. Often before any major spell, fairies perform cleansing and calming rituals to make the elements around them aware of their intentions, and once the fairies and every particle around them are in agreement can they cast the spells successfully. I did not know anything about those rituals, nor have I ever performed magic in an unaccustomed environment. Being human and bad at magic did not help either.

I sat back on the bed and waited for the door to open from outside. I looked around the room, there stood various balls of different colours all around the room, on a shelf placed in the corner, there were several miniatures beasts like the ones I encountered on my way. On the walls, there were drawings of different humans in various attires and figurines made of cotton and stone of different animals. I lied down and my eyes sparkled as on the roof I could see the sun and the moon and all the stars that the roof could fit, it was the only thing that reminded me of home. I could look at it for hours like I did back in the woodland, I smiled at the memories, glad that I could find at least one familiar thing.

A few hours later, the father came rushing in and closed the door behind him.

"Hey, buddy! There are a few people who want to meet with you. They are super nice and very friendly. They will ask you some questions. You don't have to worry, just nod when I answer those okay?" It was a question he did not wait for an answer to. I was held from my arms and pushed into the front room. There stood the two women from earlier, a man with an unusually shaped head and another woman with a toy in her hands. They all had their mouths in a curve and their teeth were exposed, I think they were trying to smile. The father sat me down and placed himself beside me.

The woman nodded and pushed the toy towards me.

"Hello, I hope you don't mind introducing yourself once again. Your father had already told me about you."

"Uh...my name is Elven."

"His name is Simon. He thinks his name is Elven and he was kidnapped by fairies. He is still recovering from the incident." The father interjected.

"Okay." The woman looked at the man and then back towards us. "Can you elaborate on the fairies that abducted you?"

I looked at the father he gestured me to go ahead. "I wasn't abducted, I was exchanged. My mother, my fairy mother gave birth to a weakling which could only be saved by human milk."

"We believe that the kidnapper left her disabled child with us in hopes to raise a healthier child, obviously for her benefit." The father looked towards the woman, and they both nodded. Like they agreed to not believe anything I said.

"Do you think drugs were involved?" The man asked the father.

"Well, listening to the absurdity, I am certain that the woman herself took drugs and gave my son some too. That seems to be the only explanation for his conviction."

They kept saying the word "Drugs", I didn't know what it meant, but I could conclude that it was bad. And if they think my mother gave them to me, they would never let me go back to her.

"Look," I stood up, "I should go, my mother would be worried."

"I think that should be enough for today, I will answer the rest of the questions." The father said as he directed the mother to take me.

"Oh, just a picture of the family would be great." The woman stopped me and the mother.

All three of us stood side by side as the man took out a small metal from his pocket and a light flashed towards us. I couldn't see for a while but I could feel being steered somewhere.

I was sitting on the tiny bed again, while my human mother was sobbing with her head in my lap. I looked up at the painted night sky and dreamed of the real one.

The next day I woke up to the sound of a crowd of humans in front of the house. A lot of them were holding the same toy as the day before, some had big boxes on their shoulders and behind them was a long queue of the white beasts. The father came in with a gentle smile and said, "Son, how are you? Breakfast is ready. And you remember yesterday, the people in the front have the same questions. Whenever you are ready, we will talk to them. Is that alright?"

I could simply nod. It was very clear that I did not have any choice in that.

The mother came in afterwards and asked me to take a bath, but when I asked for the stream nearby, she started crying again. The father came in and showed me to another room where twisting on a knob I could make it rain inside. He laid down a drying cloth, top and bottom covers and coverings for my feet. It was a strange feeling to not have my feet touch the earth. For fairies, it the only consistent relationship between them and the ground. Although it did feel better to not have my feet be dirty or cold. For breakfast the only thing that looked familiar was fruit, so I picked a red apple and bit into that, while the father and mother stood in front of the black frame, only this time it had a man talking in it.

"We have something like that in woodland too, motion paintings. It is a very complex spell though. My mother's uncle is famous as the most proficient in a 1000 step radius."

They both looked at me and the mother ran out of the room looking like she was about to burst into tears again.

"Hey, why don't we stop talking about woodland in front of mom." He gave me that non-smile again.

The whole day was just sitting in front of strangers and nod as the father told lies. And every time I tried to stop him or correct him, it was blamed on trauma, another word they kept on repeating. According to them, I had a trauma because of drugs and my mother was a criminal and she should be locked up. I did not most of the words in that sentence. They asked me to do magic to prove my story but when I failed, they simply smiled. When I first showed them my journal, they scanned through it within minutes and gave it back to the father. Mid-way through the day, I gave up. I might have been naïve in the human ways but I knew what a lost battle looked like.

They kept asking to take a picture, after a few I gathered they were just still drawings of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I would often catch someone pointing at me and chuckling with his or her friend. The mother spent most of the time crying and repeating that she was just glad to have her son back and she loved the other one too just like her own. In between taking pictures and answering questions, some would come up to me or the father and offer their condolences.

Everything resembled the kind of community I had left in woodland, but that was all it was, a resemblance, a mirror image. People offered help and sympathy but always from a distance. Some neighbours brought their children in hopes I could make friends with them but whenever I tried to talk to them, they pushed me out of the circle and talked amongst themselves, mostly in gibberish I might add.

I missed my mother, I missed Jaadu and Gre-ma. I missed the smell of freshly bloomed flowers in the morning and the lullabies of the moon as it sang us to sleep. Out here all I could smell was something burning, constantly. The food was like eating mould and every variant of the juice I was offered did not taste like its name. I wanted to see the real night sky and not the fake colours on the roof.

By midnight, the father and mother had fallen in deep sleep. And that was when I slipped out, fairies were of course famous for being light feet and my mother had taught me a few tricks early on. I decided to leave my journal with them, in case they ever wanted to visit. Although they would have another day of asking and answering and crying over my departure, I did not feel bad. I realized they were not my parents and this was not my world, my only link was my brother. He was supposed to be my guide, and without him, I had no purpose but to get lost.

I stood at the gates in the woods and waited for the sun to go up and night to fall. And when the moment came, as I stepped through the fairy dust, into the realm of my home, I could make out a figure that I was much too familiar with. And as I inhaled the blossoms, I could see Jaadu smiling at me. And I smiled back.

#shortstory #life #fairy tales #fairies #changeling #originalshort #original #original story

1 note · View note

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

Eve woke up every day with a sense of gratitude.

She thanked her fate for waking up buried in the soft linen sheets, for the luxury spread on her table every meal and for the smile she was blessed to see on her daughter's face every day. She did believe that it was her karma that her circumstances took her from the dirty and worn down roads to the desirous mansion she breathed in. It was that along with her daughter's persuasive powers, but it wasn't all for nothing like they say that suffering does, after all, builds character. And she saw the proof of that every day in the image of her step-daughter, who stood just a meek, timid and impressionable little girl. Ella and Anna, the step-daughter and her blood, even though Ella was the older one, Anna stood over her, both in stature and disposition. It was difficult for her to see Ella as a girl born in privilege and still so distant from the qualities of the rich she had been envious of in another life.

Anna, on the other hand, had taken to the elite lifestyle like fish to water. Eve was so proud of her child. Anna was always the talk of every ball they had been to ever since her debut. Every room that she walked into, she knew how to assert her dominance over the crowd. Eve's heart grew an inch every time she would hear other girls talk behind Anna's back, which meant that she had made her place, that the others were envious and that she and her daughter were on the right track. And then will follow the pitter-patter of the timid Ella, stopping to greet every low life on the street and letting the dirty children rub their hands all over the expensive silk that Eve brought for her. She tried to change Ella at first, polish her into a lady of a respectable household, but she would not listen, "My mother says to be kind to the young and respectful to the older." "My mother said not to let anyone return empty-handed from your door." "My mother this and my mother that..." Eve was tired of listening to what an angel her mother had been and had given up now. Ella was a lost cause, but she was certain Anna would be the one to outshine every other woman that walked their land.

Eve had always had faith in Anna even when they had no riches to call their own, and even though she had no education, she carried herself like a lady of a palace. Royalty was in her every demeanour but just not in her blood.

She went to Anna's room to wake her up, and on her way from the window of the corridor, she could see Ella in night clothes, feeding the local beggars, even though Eve had asked her not to a million times. She shouted from the window, "Get back inside, Ella!" and rushed downstairs to give her a piece of her mind to Ella's face.

"You wretched girl, how many times do I have to tell to stop feeding strays. Do you know what this food costs your father? Still, you insist on wasting it on lowlifes. Next time let them pay for it, or a better idea, you finish it yourself. At least I will have one less mouth to feed." She dragged Ella, by her hand, inside the house with whispers of Ella following behind, "I was just trying to help."

Eve distinctly remembers the days when she was counted among the lowlifes too, and she despised herself for it. She knew first hand what a burden these people were, how shameless they were to ask the rich for everything, nobody ever showed her mercy for it, and she didn't want them to either. Now that she is rich, she is still no one to be changing the nature of society. Eve found her way out, and others ought to too. If they cannot, it's not her fault, just her pleasure.

On the breakfast table, Eve sat admiring her daughter. "Mother, can I have pink petals in my bath today?" Anna asked her.

"Of Course. I will ask Mrs Peters to go and get some from the garden."

"But I want the one from Ella's garden."

"Of course you can."

"But..." Ella said quietly. "Only I go in there."

"WHAT?" Eve was always tired of Ella's mumbling. "Speak clearly." She shouted at her. "Lady of such a big house should be heard from miles away."

Ella stood up, "Only I can go in that garden."

"Then you can go and collect it for Anna," Eve replied and gestured with her eyes for Ella to sit down. And Ella, without any quibble, sat back in her chair. Another thing Eve despised about her, she would never rebel or revolt. Ella would do what was told to her without any objection or question. Eve would have put up a fight, and Anna would have done the same. It made her furious, "Go to your room Ella!" she said with a sigh, exhausted with trying to comprehend the girl in front of her. Ella stood up and ran out of the room sobbing.

"Ugh! She is frustrating." She said to her daughter.

"Its okay, Mother. You try so hard. Should I ask Ella to fetch the petals for your bath too?"

Eve looked at her with a smile and nodded.

Later they went into the parlour where they sat going through the magazines to find a new dress to get made. It had been their favourite thing from their earlier days when they were living shelter to shelter. They would often sit by the streets and watch rich and lavish ladies step out in their best dresses and fantasize about having them one day. Anna wanted a new dress for the dinner party they were supposed to attend when the father returned from his travels. From the corner of her eye, Eve could see Ella plucking the flowers from her garden, and with every bud, she plucked she would apologize to the plant. Eve chuckled and thought to herself, 'What a silly girl'.

She often felt guilt at shouting at her, but then she would see Ella do something like this, and she would say to herself, 'This girl needs tough love.'

Anna's sudden gasp broke her chain of thought, "Mother, the Duke's son would be attending the dinner next month." She stood up and pretended to faint, "He is so handsome! Oh, Mother, I must have the best dress and the best hair and the best shoes. He should lay his eyes on the best satin when he sees me. Oh mother, how wonderful it would be if he marries me." She took Eve's hands and pulled her into a twirl. They both laughed and fell on their respective chairs.

Although far fetched, Eve could imagine it happening. Anna wasn't the most beautiful, but what she lacked in traditional looks she made up in her talks.

They decided to go to the shops that very day to choose the fabrics. In her excitement, when Anna told Ella about the Duke's son, she just smiled and went back to tending to the garden. "You could have at least faked some happiness," Eve said to Ella as soon as Anna left.

"But I am happy, mother."

"Speak loudly, child. You are always laying there in your garden, feeding strays or cutting grass. Clean yourself up and make yourself useful. Tidy the house or fetch some groceries. Do something.", Eve said in rage and in that rage, she picked up a glass planter and dropped it on the ground. "Clean that too," she said over her shoulder while stepping out of the small metal gate.

That evening they were sitting surrounded by the linen they had bought earlier. "What did you bring for me, mother?" Ella came running into the room.

"No. Don't come here." Anna quickly pushed her away from the sheets. "Oh, mother, she will spoil them."

Eve lifted her head, and there stood Ella in a white apron covered with black clouds, the hair wrapped with a dirty scarf, and her hands had black grease all over them.

"Oh, God, Ella." Eve took her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I will go clean up." Ella said embarrassingly.

The next morning Ella asked Eve again, "What did you bring me yesterday?"

"Well, Ella, dear, dirty girls like you do not get pretty clothes."

"But what will I wear to dinner."

"You can wear something of your mother's. I am sure she had a lot of fancy dresses in her closet," Eve said dismissively.

Eve knew it was unfair to Ella, but she also knew that Ella had enjoyed certain luxuries all her life. She wore beautiful dresses and had been swooned over since she was a little girl.

It wasn't fair that Ella had all the toys to grow up with while Anna had to fight with other girls over a doll they found in the donation pit. It wasn't fair that Anna had to collect the money herself doing odd jobs to buy the cheap replica of a dress she saw at a big store. A little unfairness ought to give Ella some perspective.

Over the next week, as Anna would sit with the dressmaker and play with laces, Eve would catch Ella sitting in her room, trying to sew up the holes in the old fabrics. And while Anna spent her evenings reflecting on the lights coming from the expensive jewellery she was trying on, Ella would be off to the market to feed the stray animals. While Eve and Anna would go for tea parties with other socialites to measure up the competition, Ella would be playing with the cook's children in the house.

Eve was not extremely surprised with her behaviour when she first met her. Ella's father is just as naïve as her, which was why it was easy to get him to marry Eve. Eve does not want Ella to grow up like that. It is above all the responsibility of a mother to teach a girl how to be a lady.

"Mother!" The scream of Anna echoed in every room, and everyone ran at once.

"Anna, what happened?" Eve inquired.

"It does not match. None of it matches." Anna fell to the ground crying. In her hand was the dress she was to wear for the party and on the bed lied the beautiful necklace specially made for her. The dress was pink, the gems in the necklace were a lighter shade of pink. Eve understood Anna's sorrow. Eve too would have been crying had it have happened to her.

"This is not so bad," Ella said dismissively, and both Eve and Anna shot her a deadly look. "No, it is bad." Ella quickly corrected herself. "I mean, it is fixable. Is it not?"

"Go away, Ella."

Ella left the room, trying to justify her statement to herself as Eve sat by Anna, failing to console her.

They finally decided to look for other options. Before leaving for the market, Eve went to Ella's room to give her instructions for dinner. She opened the door and paused. She had to avert her eyes for a second from the light coming from the window. But as soon as her eyes adjusted, there stood a goddess-like beauty in front of her. Ella was wrapped from head to toe in gold, with enormous earing dangling from her ears, and she wore blue shoes which sparkled like diamonds while her auburn coloured hair lay lightly against the shimmer of the fabric. It took Eve a moment to realize that the princess in front of her was the same girl who was willing to touch the new material with grease-covered hands.

"How do I look, Mother?"

"No!" Eve shouted and slammed the door behind her as she walked away, flushed with anger.

Ella, in that one moment, had proved that it doesn't matter how much Eve and Anna lather themselves with expensive dresses and learn the proper etiquettes, they would never be equal to her. There was a type of light, the same one Eve had noticed in her husband, and Eve knew she would never be able to reflect that. It was something to be borne into, not something a person can acquire by marriage or adoption.

But even though Eve may not be able to grab that light, she would not let it blind her.

She turned around, walked up to Ella's room, took a deep breath and knocked.

"Anna is crying a lot. She is so sad. Ever since her father passed, this had been the happiest I had seen her." Eve lifted her hand and lightly wiped a drop from the corner of her eye. She took Ella's hand in hers and lifted her head to look her in the eyes. "I know you think it is stupid. You do not care for such superficial things. It is not a big deal to you."

Eve could see in Ella's eyes a slight hesitation. She might need a little more convincing.

"Anna has always been so disappointed. I know you cannot comprehend growing up in poverty. Everyone in our circle doesn't treat us as equals. You know where we come from, the shit hole we used to live in. People have trouble accepting us. They snark at us, talk behind our backs. This night, the party is her only chance to change that, to elevate herself. I hope you understand.", saying this Eve burst into tears. What surprised her was how genuine they turned out to be. Eve didn't think about it at the time, but as she watched her little girl twirl in shining golden circles, she realized how much of it was true.

On the day of the party, their father reached the house early in the morning. And both the girls did not leave his side since then. He always brought gifts for the girls from all over the places he visited. Beautiful scarfs and porcelain dolls, shining cutlery and perfect mantelpieces, and all the silk he could fit in his bags. He adored the three women and never shied away from showing it. After lunch, Eve and Anna went into their rooms to get ready for the party while Ella and her father went to the garden to plant the flowers he picked up from his last destination.

The garden was their sanctuary, which had brought them together when Ella's mother died, and they continued the tradition years after. Eve would often watch them from her window, and her eye would catch the light reflecting off them, and she would feel this ping of jealousy that the most expensive things would not be able to diminish.

The entrance hall was lit with the most extravagant chandelier that Eve had ever seen. Everyone was standing around with drinks in their hands, and there seemed to be a cluster of men collected at one end and a slightly bigger cluster of young women at the other. Few people were dancing, and a few stood staring and judging them. Eve's husband took her hand and directed the three of them to the cluster of women.

"Excuse me, Mr Charming." He said while making his way to the centre of the circle.

"I wanted to introduce you to my wife and daughters, Ella and Anna." He faced Eve, "I met Mr Charming in Paris. I told him that he must visit our small town."

"Well, it is a lovely place. Have you visited the lake yet? If not, my daughter would love to take you there." Eve said while handing him her hand.

"That sounds lovely." He said while kissing her hand. "Please excuse me. I must spend some time with my father's friends too."

The rest of the night, he spent a lot of time talking to Anna. Although she had to pull him away again and again from some other debutante every time she left his side, Eve could see that Anna was on the right path. She could smell the envy of every woman in the room as they stared blindingly at her dress and gasped every time she glided to another location.

At the end of the night, Eve took a breath of success as the Duke's son pulled her to a side as they were leaving.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I must confess. I am smitten. I would love to get to know more of your daughter Ella.", this put a dagger into her heart, but she kept her smile and the sparkle in her eye intact, not to let him suspect anything.

"You see." He continued. "I have been in town for over a week, and every evening I would go to the market and around, and I am afraid I have been following Ella ever since she caught my eye. I have not been able to forget her. Your husband had been kind enough to bless me. I hope I have yours too." Eve could only nod and leave.

Anna was devastated. It took her nearly two weeks to step out of her room, and she still insisted on wearing black at all meals.

But seeing the Duke's son interact with her husband and Ella, Eve could see the light, that light, elevated. The house shone like the sun, every crystal sparkled, and every candle illuminated. The three of them would spend the evenings in Ella's garden. And watching them, Eve started to understand how to get it herself.

It was the same thing that attracted her to her now-husband, long before she knew of his wealth. That day, the baker caught her stealing a loaf of bread in front of him, and he, a stranger, bought it for her later. That was the first time Eve realized that people could light up the air around them. It was the light that made her fall in love with him. And after a while, she grew certain, that it was that light that pulled Mr Charming.

Maybe she should let Anna know about the light too.

#shortstory #cinderella #wicked #wicked stepmother #fairy tales #stepmother pov #stepmother

1 note · View note

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

झरोखों में ढूंढ़ते उजाले

मुंतजिर एक इल्ज़ाम हो गया

यू उन्स के वास्ते

हर दम तबाह कर दिया

मुंतजिर - one who waits

उन्स - affection

#original poem #urdu poetry #poem #hindi poetry #poetry #poets on tumblr #original poetry #poetic #poetscommunity #urdu sher

1 note · View note

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

When I opened my eyes for the very first time, I was rolling down the edge of the highway and behind came the sound of screaming and wrangling of metal. I had no control over where I was headed, like a freshly fallen raindrop, the wind was my steering and the slope my navigator. But I wasn't afraid, after all, I got constructed to roll. I was the body in motion that philosophers' would fondly remark on, the turmoil spirit that the scriptures warned about in their text. It was probably the only reason I was where I was. I just had enough of going down the same roads every day with everyone. I wanted to make my path and was determined to do so. I would travel the world, breath different airs and leave everyone I could never sync with behind.

With trees passing by and pebbles trying to catch up to me, I took a slight turn in rough terrain. I almost lost my balance a couple of times but, I kept on rolling, like a man on a mission, I too had eyes only on the horizon. In retrospect, that might have been the reason I ran into a wall and fell on the ground. I lied there for quite a while. It was an uninvited calm after the rushed beginnings. The day was hot and impatient, and as I waited under the shade of a tree for the sun to go down, I just wanted to rest and end this eventful day in the calmness of sleep.

I was waiting for the evening cold to dawn on me when a little child came running towards me and sat down next to me with a book. Soon a bunch of kids followed the first one and sat in a circle around me. They were all of the different sizes and ages. Some had trouble staying still while some kept initiating and breaking fights, but they all listened with close attention when the boy who came first spoke. He stood at the centre of the circle, narrating a tale of the baby rabbit who lived on a farm and was separated from his mother in a fire and as soon as he began, I was mesmerised. I had never heard a story before, but as my eyes followed every gesture of the young boy and my ears attuned to every word he sang, I was transported by every verse he uttered. And when the sun went down to sleep, so did the children. I lied awake dreaming of a new world I had been introduced to for the second time on the first day of my life.

They came again the next day and then the day after that. The boy told a new story every day, sometimes he would add on to the story that he told the day before, and every time he amazed me. The whole day I would lie staring at the still sky, waiting for storytime, the only time I could travel. In that time I could roll down the hill or cover miles on railway tracks, I could move with the people that the boy would speak about.

One day, as I waited for the children to come, a few men came and gathered around me. They were all tall and muscular, and they talked in heavy voices and laughed in roars. Scared, in my mind, I tried to go back to the soft cackles and whispers I usually surrounded my afternoons with, I felt the big hands trying to lift me. I closed my eyes in fear but I could feel them put me on a metallic surface and as the air pushed against me, I slowly opened them. I felt like I did on my first day like I was rolling again.

The van stopped in front of a huge building, and the men took me in. Ropes were hanging around, huge machines placed in perfect rows and big people, big like the men who picked me, some running into each other, some running on their own. The men placed me in a corner, and the next morning a giant man came and lifted me from a side and then dropped me. He did this for a while and then another man came and did the same thing. The whole day they lifted me and then dropped me. My days of staying put were finally over, I was moving but not the real way I intended to. Every day I would be made to go in circles and every day I would travel but go back to sleep in the same spot I woke up in.

All this had ruined me, I no longer had the clear edges, the shine of the rim had disappeared and my will had been beaten down to two dimensions. So, it didn't come to me as a surprise when the same men brought with them a new wheel and threw me out.

I lied among the pile of garbage, tiered and worn out. My days were just passing over. I had gone from spending my days listening to fairy tales to being dragged across a room. Now, it looked like I was left to rot. Accepting the state of the rest of my days, I stayed still. I would watch a piece of paper float in the air and imagine myself as light as that or I would grab a bee sitting on me and catch a ride with it. But my days were defined, and they would have gone as expected had it not been for a pregnant dog that decided to take shelter in the cardboard box near me.

After a long time, I woke up to the pattering of younglings, only this time it came from paws the size of a bottle cap. My days were filled with laughter again. Every morning the puppies would wake me up as they bounced around their sleeping mother and every night they would lay their heads on me and we would all switch off for the night together. We would often be visited by children who played with the dogs, some people would come to feed them and sometimes there would be nasty humans who would come to torment my four-legged family. And I would be there, sturdy and staying strong.

Our days were spent in laughter and jolly when one day a giant claw came and started cleaning up paths. It would pick up a chunk of the garbage and dump it in the large basket it carried around. We were not bothered by it, the day was going as usual when I heard a loud shrill scream. The days after that were very quiet, the one puppy that was left to live would roam around alone and when tired would often curl up inside me and go to sleep to the silence.

A few days later one of the children came and took the lonely puppy with him and left me in my isolation again. Even though I didn't remember them but I was longing for the days I would be rushing against the wind, the days of rolling down the hill or climbing up, going around chasing some other car or even crushing the piles of plastic as the crane did.

I had made my peace with stagnation, I knew that I would never move again and spend my eternity lying in the open field of waste. I wished for the sun to shine just a bit brighter so that I could burn myself or the big pickup machine, which came frequently now, to crush me but nothing happened.

My wish was finally answered when a few men came to pick me up, they were scavenging through the dump and lit up when they saw me. At first, I thought they would take me to the gym much like before and I would be dragged and dumped again, but instead, they took me to a shop.

It was metal and rubber as far as the eye could see, they washed me and dressed me new and took me to another location. I sat in apprehensive anticipation of what was to come. And when I looked up, there stood the most beautiful sight I had seen till now. A giant red coloured shining truck stood in front of me and as I was being rolled towards it, I knew my destination had arrived.

This was my conclusion, my days passed before my eyes, from rolling down the hill to staying still on top of a waste mountain, from being dragged across a room with a rope to listening to children pretend to be flying in the air. I had made the journey and I had learned my place. And when I finally closed my eyes, I knew I would finally be rolling again, even though I won't remember it or even feel it, it was my purpose. I was on my way to fulfil it.

#shortstory #life #stories #purpose #destination #stages of life #original story #english story

1 note · View note

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

I am not of this world

the piece of me

it's lost in another puzzle box

these actions and rules of a native

the clouds that I chase

they are a mirage of other galaxies

they try to slice me and fit me

mould me in the fire

they hit me with hammers

with red rods, they are afraid to touch

but I have been made stubborn

not made from the same metals

their courtsies and curses

they are not enough

uncomprehending at both ends

tangled and confused

they bring in aliens

to bound me and gag me

teach me to obey

grab my hand and feed me

to make me earthbound

cut my wings and slash my gills

take my palm and erase it

But I am external, an outsider

their chemicals fail them

but only a while passed

when I spread my arms and soar

into the light that they tried to dim

back to the kingdom that will have me

glide over their bricks

and the offspring they are proud of

as I navigate the wayward winds

when I dare to look down

I lie in my blood

and when I dare to lookup

the foreigner smiles

my body slashed

my eyes discoloured

my will reformed

I did not grow up in this womb

but my shell is birthed of this land

I am hollowed

an empty vessel on a shelf

imprisoned in an image

I am not of this world

I am not of any world anymore

#original poem #poem #life #poetry #poets on tumblr #original poetry #poetic #poetscommunity #photography

4 notes · View notes

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

There is a storm outside my window tonight

And buried in that thunder sound

Your memories do not get so loud

I try to disappear in his arms

Find comfort in that Phantom hold

But I can't help but reflect the gloom

In my heart, I have found a companion in the sad sky

#original poem #poem #life #poetry #poets on tumblr #original poetry #poetic #poetscommunity #photography #loneliness #alonequotes

4 notes · View notes

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

Ranidaphobia

She was unable to move, terror-struck, as she stared at its eyes and at the same time, tried so terribly to avoid it. She could feel the raindrops sliding down its smooth skin as if they were crawling down her neck. She stood still as its throat expanded and in response, her lungs contracted as it produced that awful loud sound. Horrified in anticipation, she closed her eyes shut. When she opened them after a while, she was back in her purple walled bedroom, away from the dense forest she was standing in a few seconds ago, safe from any devil that might have been about to jump her. Ever since she started working on the new project, she had been having this nightmare every night, but right now was not the time to get to the bottom of this development. A glance at the clock and she jumped out of the bed and rushed to the bathroom. She always kept at least half an hour aside for her pre-shower rituals and another hour for after. It wasn't a lot of steps, rather more about spending enough time for each step. She had twenty types of cleansers and scrubbers and at least thirty different lip scrubbers, a part of her face she was the most conscious about. From a young age, she had been very careful about her skin, she did not just want good skin, she wanted a clean skin, even if it meant being late for work. As soon as she sat on her desk, Simon jumped on her, "You're late. Missed the morning meeting. And Alex wants to see you. ASAP. "He said smugly.

"Thank you, Simon." He never liked her, probably because he wanted the membership she was awarded. Alex was not a great mentor or even the best person to work under, but he knew how to woo the clients and sell the bare minimum for the maximum cost. The recent project bagged by him, incidentally by chatting up with the marketing head at a bar, was a children's toy brand trying to venture into children's snacks.

"Hi Alex. Sorry about this morning. I was just not feeling well."

"Oh, don't bother about it. The package design is finalized, this is the mascot they want."

He said passing her a sheet of paper without looking, it always looked like he had rehearsed it, placed the paper at precise steps, a file in his hands that is just a prop and then as soon as she took the sheet to examine, he walked up to stand behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“I am counting on you. You do a good job on this and your position might not be so temporary. ”She looked up to him and smiled.

This was his M.O. Being in his team, your only job is to refine the lines around his vague ideas and designs so he can later present it as his own and collect all the praise from the clients. It is demeaning, you do not grow intellectually, but it is a great way to make contacts in the high places and if the apprentice is quick enough, might catch some skills of the trade. She only looked at Alex’s sample after coming back to her table and the blood stopped flowing in her veins. She was petrified. She could suddenly feel her breakfast wanting to escape her body and she rushed to the bathroom.

She had been staring at the blank white paper for the past two hours. The sheet with the prototype was turned around, but the eyes on that hideous creature still haunted her. She has had a particular hatred towards frogs since her childhood, so much that she could not even bear to look at the rough caricature of one that Alex drew.

It sort of started when she was ten, this hatred and disgust. It had rained heavily the day before and while walking home she was cornered by a few of the older girls that were just hanging around in a nearby park. It started as basic entertainment for them, pointing out faults in her face, ridiculing her hair and clothes, she was used to that. But then one of the girls noticed a big croaking frog and decided it would be fun to play a fairy tale. She remembers running home that day, all the way trying to rub out the slime from her lips and face, struggling to hold her bag because her hands were too dirty to hold anything. She did not even dare to wipe the tears off her face. And the girls were running behind her shouting that she was so ugly, the prince would rather stay as a frog.

She pushed the memory deep down, took a long breath and then the sheet of paper in her hand. It was a simple cartoon of a frog in a top hat and dinner jacket, a very generic idea of an animal caricature and now it was her job to make it remarkable. That night she scrubbed her lips for an extra fifteen minutes to remove the smell of the puke, still, it kept waking her up every two hours.

The next day was just an extension to her ongoing nightmare, she threw up thrice that day and spent most of her day washing up. On the way home, at her wit's end, she decided to buy an extra-strong chemical peel mask for her lips.

It was the third day since this horrendous task had entered her life, she was tired from not sleeping, circles around her eyes and extremely chapped lips. It was also the day of submission of the first draft. She sat on her desk, took a look at her drawings and rushed to the toilet. The new peel did help this time, for she finally sat down with satisfaction. She had tried to back down from this project, although it would have been career suicide, she just couldn't go through with this one.

"No." That's all Alex said before returning to his lunch.

She asked again.

"No." And that was it.

After lunch, she stepped into Alex's office and handed him the designs. He took it from her and then strangely started staring at her. "You have got a bit of your lunch on your face, better clean it up next time you face someone. It's very off-putting. "She immediately turned around mortified and rushed out of the cabin. She took it and smelt it, and suddenly that wretched smell was back. She made a mental note to buy some more masks. And then she made another note to buy some anti-nausea tablets when she saw the review mail from Alex.

Two weeks in and she was still struggling. The scrubbing and peeling which started from her lips had now extended to her hands and face. The constant rubbing of sanitizer didn't help either. Her skin was dry and peeling off, she hadn't slept at all because every time she closed her eyes, there would be a frog in top hat smiling at her. And then there was all the puking, the color of which had now turned from yellow to red. There would be instances where frogs would start jumping up on her table or would sometimes emerge from the papers scattered and start dancing in front of her, but blinking strongly and rapidly would make them disappear one by one.

She was playing a game every day, get spooked and you lose, and she wasn't going to lose, not after she fought so hard to be in Alex's good books.

She stared at her falling face in the mirror and reached for the moisturizer, she took a little bit and placed little droplets randomly on her face and was immediately disgusted by it. It had become a ritual of sorts, wake up form a superficial sleep, struggling to face her reflection and barely able to touch her skin, she would still be driven to peel off every hanging skin scrape. Well hopefully it would all end soon, it was the day they present the final draft to the client and if all goes well, she will never be forced to look at a frog again.

“You look awful. Jesus, at least put some lipstick on.” She could see the repulsion in Alex’s eyes as soon as she walked in. Which was not too different from what she saw in the mirror herself. But, two hours of sitting in a room filled with pictures of different cartoon frogs, shutting her teeth so that the vomit doesn’t feel invited to burst out and tying her hands with an invisible metal wire so she doesn’t start to scratch the itch she had been feeling on her lips, she made it through the ordeal. They shook hands, smiled and headed off to a celebratory dinner. It was a group of five from the client’s side and then three people from their team excluding Alex. She may have had the worst months of her life but she had a feeling it was going to be worth it.

They all sat around a round table and were just waiting for dinner when one of the brand representatives stood up to make a toast.

“We would like to thank all of you. We had tried a lot of different agencies, even rolled in a few bad ones into production, but we think that our friend here has got what we need. So, we would like to offer you your next endeavor, our new drink.” And he pulled out a plastic bottle in the shape of the ugliest frog. “Now, I know the packaging is rubbish, which is why we need you. But, I ensure you the drink itself is delicious.” She thought she couldn’t move when he pulled out the bottle but she only realized how much easier it would have been to move before than when he started pouring the drinks. Everyone was expected to take one glass in their hands and drink to the toast. And Alex’s expressions weren’t subtle when she refused to pick one up.

“Just one last time,” She thought to herself. “One last time.”

They had five different toasts, all from the same alarmingly grinning frog-shaped plastic waste, and she drank each one of them repeating to herself those three words. She was only able to excuse herself once everyone started digging in their respective dinners. She rushed to one of the sinks while clutching to her bag. Ever since she started on the drawing, she had always kept all her supplies in her handbag. She pulled out her toothbrush and immediately started cleaning her tongue, simultaneously trying to make herself throw up. It didn't help, although she did manage to throw up, when she opened her eyes to look down, all she could see was little slimy snail-like creatures but without the shell, floating in the yellow and red fluid. She quickly opened up the sink tap and started cleaning it with the liquid soap they had on the side. She took a little bit in her palms and drank it to rinse her mouth, when she spat, two of those creatures fell from her mouth. She did it again with just water and this time more fell out. She repeated this for a while, each time hoping for a different result, so the next time she took a pump of the soap and rinsed her mouth with it, this time one came out. She rinsed her mouth with water the next time and a few spat out, so she used soap again. Now she started feeling something in her stomach, something which was moving around, shifting her organs, collecting them in a basket, so she decided to lie down on the floor and close her eyes.

She was looking up at one of those big tanks that they have in factories, then she was climbing the staircase beside it, trying to peek what was inside and once she reached on the top, she could see a thousand frogs shrieking and drowning in an orange liquid. She bent down and took a deep sip from it. As soon as she opened her eyes, she had to throw up again. This time they were alive, moving around, trying to reach back to her. As if her insides were their well, their home and her blood was the only thing that nurtured them. She stared at the bottle of the liquid soap, in the sink and back at the bottle. She finally reached for it.

Her body was found by a waitress who was sent in for check-in by one of her colleagues. There was white foam around her mouth and yellow puke in every basin. The waitress quit her job the next day.

#ranidae #ranidaphobia #frogs #fear of frogs #phobia #fearfrogs #germophobia #clean freak #shortstory #originalshort #fictionshortstory #storyofphobia #story of phobia

3 notes · View notes