The Chronicles of Miss Shola

The blog's epitaph: Miss Shola came and went as she pleased

Archive for the ‘Shorts’ Category

Anticlimax

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The poster bed trembled as he got on his fours. It was older than his dead grandfather, and had been a silent witness to deeds that no living eyes had seen. It let out a sigh that could be heard only by her, the one who lay beneath; waiting in solitude. His wobbly knees dug into the old coir mattress and his hands expertly positioned itself near her head catching unaware those few strands of grey. With trepidation he lowered himself and let the ever curious member make way to a dark yet so-familiar place. She was conditioned to open up the door when she felt the knock, just one at first and then almost a vandalised pushing as if it were resident to the secret place. She didn’t resist the stranger, never had, not once in forty years. She let him in most graciously and let him stay as long as he wanted. When the guest had retreated, she clamped the door shut until another social visit.

He was still a-visiting as the poster bed sighed again. She closed her eyes and let a forced calmness envelope her. Before she could distract her mind from its current state of ennui,  something escaped from inside her, so quietly yet so fastidiously. It ran out of the open door before she could hold it by its wrinkled neck and coax it back to its position of guard. Her body was in its practised rhythm but her eyes rolled up and down frantically in search of the guilty prisoner of longing. And then she saw.

After four decades of the missionary, the dormant woman woke up and stood aside holding one arm of the poster bed as if in comradeship. Her frayed white panties with little red flowers were pulled up high, and she smiled as she saw the woman lying on the bed look back at her in relief.

Written by Miss Shola

August 17, 2012 at 11:16 am

Posted in Shorts

Voices

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“Enough is enough!” said she, the one with the loud voice. Her words echoed in the small dark room that smelled of staleness and unkemptness and a now-there-now-gone tang of distraught. Its windows were shut tight and the door was closed from the inside, a sliver of light wriggled in from the bottom of the door. There were three in the room, no more.

“Please be kind, you know there have been troubles…” said she, the one who was calmer but had a mind of her own. Characteristically she trailed off; not that words didn’t befriend her, she just liked to leave some for the imaginative mind. She was wont to stopping for a while and wandering and meandering and not getting to the point. That was her, for good or bad.

 “Troubles of the mind, not troubles of the world I say” the loud one retorted.

“Maybe so, maybe not. But give her space and time, she needs it. You know she has tried a lot but…”

“Oh, she’s had enough of time, almost five months now. This time it has to work” The decibels kept rising with every word till it reached a crescendo. The loud one was clearly moving ahead in the battlefield with all ammo directed towards the unseen unheard enemy she called procrastination. She was a warrior of a worthy cause and ached to hold the flag of victory. Whether this victory would lead to more victories and greater ones at that, is something she didn’t want to ponder on just yet.

The calm one didn’t react to this outburst but readied herself for the next round. The loud one made use of the opportunity and took the lead: “It is now or never! Seize the moment”

“Please don’t get excited. So what if it didn’t happen this long, it doesn’t mean anything. She has to be in a good place to do this. I have full faith in her.”

“Actions, not words. Well, in this case, just words. All we need is words”

“Don’t scare her so please. The best of them have gone through this…this lull…this blankness…this itch that you can’t scratch…this wall that seems too high to be scaled…”

“And all of them got over it and emerged unscathed, what stops her?!”

The third, a mangled up fusion of the loud and the calm, couldn’t handle the warring anymore. The loud one was becoming hostile and the calm one defensive – it didn’t seem that they would retreat to the far corner of the room and leave her alone as they usually did after this predictable tussle.

“I will do it now” said she finally, the one holding the mighty pen, and forced open the door of the closed room to let the sunlight rush inside.

Written by Miss Shola

June 6, 2012 at 12:31 pm

Posted in Ramblings, Shorts

An autobiography

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She woke up in the middle of the day, just when the year was winding down, and as always found her bed afloat in a pool of water. She shrieked and instantly covered her freckled button nose with her creamy plump palm. The pool reeked of strange thoughts, worse than ever before, and she knew what she had to do. She moved a bit at first, then turned on one side and finally managed to lift her heavy self with the support of the headboard of the bed. It had been months since she did that, you know, and she felt great invisible forces at work against her when she followed this specific part of her wake-up routine. With a lot of trepidation, she put her feet down and let it dangle from the bed and touch the surface of that polluted water that was rising up to alarming levels. Had Alsee, her parrot, not screamed into her ears and nudged her out from deep slumber she would have drowned in this swamp never to rise again. She finally made the great effort of wading through the water and making her way to the faulty tap of Imagination that leaked continuously in her absence. She turned it anticlockwise with all her might till not a drop escaped from that scoundrel. Almost magically the pool disappeared and the floor was pat dry, and so was the hem of her flowing night dress that was swirling in dense water till a moment ago. She smiled victoriously and gave a final kick to Imagination, as Alsee first yelped out in surprise and then hooted in approval.

The next step was to make herself that steaming mug of coffee that would instantly transport her into the land of the conscious. She waddled into the small pantry in the corner of the room and put the pot to boil. While it took its time, she straightened the lavender flowers of Idea in the vase that were blooming so far but immediately withered upon her touch. She lost interest in them almost suddenly, and reached out for a large canister labeled Coffee in the corner of the shelf. Motivated by Alsee’s incessant jabber, she also brought down another large canister that was mysteriously unlabelled and emptied some of its contents into a pitch black saucer. Once done, she poured the black viscous coffee into her sparkling white mug and carried it back to the bed, her eternal resting place. She placed the mug and saucer on the side table and hiked up the grey nightdress to plunge into sweet softness. And now from her upright position on the bed, she pushed the black saucer into Alsee’s cage and picked up her cuppa letting the steam envelope her.

She remained in this position for the longest time gazing out of the window, hearing Alsee noisily chew on the presented grains and sipping from her never-ending stream of coffee. Sometimes it seemed like months and months that she would be this way. And sometimes, those lucky few times, when Alsee had his fill and stopped his noisy chatter she would soon doze off silently and steadily into a deep well of Creativity and lie there motionlessly until provocation.

And that completes, in a nutshell, the life of my Writer’s Block, the fat old lady with a pet that feeds on seeds of Fiction.

Written by Miss Shola

January 19, 2012 at 1:22 pm

Posted in Shorts

FISS ~ v

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Microfiction

“Get out of here and go to that shorty twitter; we need something bigger and deeper here!” said the blog to the scared little story-in-a-sentence.

Written by Miss Shola

January 18, 2012 at 11:08 am

Posted in Shorts

FISS ~ iv

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Burnt out

It rolled on the ground gasping for breath seeing its entire life go by in a flash till the very end when it left a permanent mark on its slayer, the smoker.

Written by Miss Shola

January 17, 2012 at 2:56 pm

Posted in Shorts

FISS ~ iii

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Red-handed

The old fellow trotted down to the bedroom and found his favourite boy straddled atop a different species, his wagging tail dropped.

Written by Miss Shola

January 11, 2012 at 12:07 pm

Posted in Shorts

Ficition-in-a-short-skirt ~ ii

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Passion Fruit

It lay on her work desk, taut and red, waiting to succumb to a sweet death in her luscious mouth only to keep her away from the doctor another day.

Written by Miss Shola

January 10, 2012 at 10:19 am

Posted in Shorts