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***

THE leaves crunched under my boots, until they didn’t. We were now in complete sync and they had turned into a silent companion that would never forsake me. Unlike the rest of the world.

I had been walking for hours. Or was it days? It no longer mattered. All that mattered was that I had been able to get away; away from the torment of living together and being utterly, desperately alone.

Where am I headed to? I will know, eventually. Time will tell, point me to the right direction.

Right now I am happy to just keep on walking. And, for the silent company of the leaves.

***

 What do the leaves have to say? Find out at Saturday Centus

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 RITA lay half asleep in the rocking chair in the verandah. She glanced at her hands absentmindedly; thick blue veins criss-crossing thin parchment-like skin! One fine day, just like that, they had suddenly turned this way. It had bothered her then, these unseemly creases. But Vivek had held these very hands so lovingly and the meaning of her life had changed.  

Now, he was gone, but browns and greys no longer frightened her.

“How beautifully leaves grow old!”

The branches quivered in the fading light.  Rita closed her eyes and sank deeper into the rocking chair.

She was not afraid of winter any more.

===================================

Please visit Jenny Matlock’s Saturday Centus for more shades of autumn

ANU was nodding her head mechanically in response, her lips twisted in half-smile, half-bewilderment; the ‘conversation’ was one-sided, the argument absurd, as always. It was appraisal time once again, and once more it was the same insincere platitudes that her supervisor was throwing at her while cleverly pointing to her imaginary shortcomings. “You are sincere and hardworking and we really appreciate that, but…” There was always a ‘but’. Her promotion and pay hike would come, all in good time…

 “It’s only words. And words are all I have got. Year after year, too!” she thought, coming to a no-longer-difficult decision.

It was time to look for a new job.

 ***

For more on WORDS, go to Week ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE of Saturday Centus

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Kashmira placed the bowl of popcorn in her lap and settled down to watch a suspense film on television. There was no fear of being told she was a ‘stupid b….’ and having the remote snatched away. Vishy was gone; she smiled at the thought of the hammer coming down on his head as he watched his favourite game.

Just then the lights went out. ‘Damn!’ she swore as the house plunged into darkness. But wait, why was the TV still on and now switched to Vicky’s favorite sports channel? The room felt suddenly cold as an all-too-familiar voice whispered, “Are you ready for some football?” 

 ***

Enjoy more football at Jenny Matlock’s Saturday Centus

 

 

Wind,

Softly blowing;

Faint longing,

Simply growing

For songs of long lost harmony.

***

Got to Jenny Matlock’s Saturday Centus for the “Absent-E”

The Meal by Paul Gauguin, 1891
Courtesy Magpie Tales

Fragile abundance,
illusive spread in vain disguise.
Cream together butter and sugar if you must,
fruitless to still
the silent hunger
raging inside.
***

For Magpie Tales  and Saturday Centus

Was that really me?

I peer into life’s mirror and like what I see.

 Ah, Sixteen!

***

For Saturday Centus

Pushed to the brink
Oh no!’ you can feel your heart sink,
What shall I do? Bolt?’ But
Escape is never the answer. Summon
Resourcefulness and courage; charge, don’t shrink

*** 
Try your Power at It’s Thursday

Seema’s hands shook as she dialled the number; she shivered involuntarily as the phone started to ring at the other end.

What a shock it had been to know Ma was not her biological mother. No wonder people always said, “Hey, you are soooo UNLIKE your mother.” Who was her real mother, and why had she abandoned her? Perhaps the answer was at the other end of the line, but did she really want to know? Ma loved her and that was all that mattered.

Seema was about to disconnect when a voice answered; “The number you have reached is no longer in service“. It was music to her ears.

***

More telephone numbers, more stories at Jenny Matlock’s Saturday Centus

In the Spring, I was a child
Sometimes timid, sometimes wild
Summer was fast and brisk
Scornful of danger or risk
In the Autumn, at my best
Seasoned, mellow, ready for Rest
***
Passing thought…

In the Autumn, what would I do?
I don’t know, I have no clue!
Summer sunshine turns winter grey,
There is no Fall where I stay!
:)

***

For Jenny Matlock’s Saturday Centus

August 2014
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