There was a system to all the envelopes hanging in her house; a system only she knew. The black ones for the characters never published, the white ones for the ones who have not decided which story to appear in, and then there were the red ones.
The red ones were few and rare and sealed tight forever. Those were the stories that she had sold to others. She sometimes stood below a red one and tried to guess which little marvelous idea of hers was in that particular envelope. There was no way to recognize it though even if someone opened it – each envelope only had the money and a date.
Written for Image prompt @ What do you see / word prompt @ Six Sentence Story
“Why do you keep going back to that forest? “ “It just feels right to go home to rest” “There used to be your home years back. Also, do you feel tired? “ “No. I just feel that nights are to go home and rest.” “Uh Uh, There is something wrong in the code. You can not be showing ancient human symptoms. It has been ages they slept in the night. The Internet ruined that. “Am I not human, then?”
This is the final part of the story. Part 1 & Part 2 [linked]
“I did not expect you to look older though”, he said genuinely surprised to find her standing in front of him.
“We age too, and part of this is to blend in when I visit Earth.” She replied as she settled on the mountain ledge.
“How did you even find this place ?”, she continued.
“Followed the signs from the old stories my ancestors collected. I realized quite late that stories are where all the knowledge is hidden. It’s a pity, people have stopped listening to them”. He said softly
“The stories are your bloodline, same as your son’s, all this while. I feared he would fare best as a storyteller. And he figured the same when he seeked you out to learn this dying art.”
“My son ?” he asked puzzled, till he remembered the young man at his home, the one who after a year, had left that very morning to spread the ancient wisdom in the world, as a payment for his training.
As she took the train to her town again, she hoped today, she had the courage to get off the train. She was once a darling of her charming little town, an amateur singer who had run ran away to seek more fame. If only her voice had stayed the same.
He finally found the secret cave. She appeared in the early morning with her guards. As she waved in and out of the waterfall, she relished being home. This was one of the few spots she could enter Earth. This was where she met her son each year.
“They congregated up in the hills, far away from judging eyes”, he answered.
We were newly inducted to this secret society which my great-grandfather had started to track unexplained people and keep detailed records.We gathered intel on these aliens among humans who needed to be handled immediately.
“But that would be extreme,to do now”
“We can meet in this plaza”, he offered.
“The one with the white statue with eyes covered ?”
“Yeah, she sees nothing. We see nothing. The fucking world sees nothing nowadays.”
The cameras see it all, we knew but those could be erased.
“Take all the time you want,” he said encouragingly, pushing the paper and pen along with it, towards me.
If only I had time, I thought.
I knew I had to do this soon, if not right away.
So, after years of hiding behind silence, I wrote the story all wanted to hear,but not the truth.
Written for Twittering tales ( story in 280 characters or less, based on image )
It did not surprise me anymore, this struggle between holding on and letting go. It has started recently, but I had felt myself giving it more thought with every stroke. It was his doing; I wanted to scream but did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could provoke me.
I stepped back to look at the painting.
Earlier, I was bolder in colors and the grandness of the scenes, while he taught me to add the details. The muse had become the teacher I was not ready to please. He still demanded it all.
Prompted @ Carrot Ranch [ Flash fiction Challenge in exactly 99 words – Paint ]
It was the second night he got stuck in traffic at the intersection. Actually it was a little ahead of the intersection but the buildings around were same as yesterday. There was a dark soot covered , two story house on his right side which would have remained un-noticed if the lady was not standing in the balcony. Wearing a sparkling silver night dress , she was engrossed in knowing the reason of the traffic jam. Perhaps all the honking was disturbing her in whatever she was doing at the moment. This made him smile, the various assumptions about the lady’s activities.
And just then , the traffic surged ahead and he too was forced to move. He was blocking the traffic and was the sole reason for all the honking on the road.
<musings of a healing soul and a warrior of words>