Posts Tagged ‘short story’

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She was as old as he was new. She watched him jump on the bed, Maria asleep next to him, her form rising up and sinking down at the waist and rising up again before stretching into a long slant. A slant that twitched now and then to the rhythm of a dream. The few drops of milk that were left in his fallen sipper disappeared, seeping into the blanket. A spot, moist and heavy with the smell of sour, its only evidence. He didn’t notice. If he did, it did not matter to him.

She trudged toward the bed just as Maria let out a low snore. Her arthritic knees were creaky. The little boy jumped again, his knees like oiled spring. He bounced. She creaked. She made to grab him.

In the deep recesses of her sleep, Maria heard a loud and surprised squawk of protest, a rising wail that settled into whimpers between a hip and the curve of an arm, whimpers that quieted under a palm, its skin liver-spotted and wrinkled. It was a hand that knew time, a hand that patted its seconds. Time slowed to a stop.

Maria awoke to his tiny body huddled next to her, an expression of mild surprise still etched on his face. In the periphery of slowly returning consciousness, she saw a silver form glide into the twilight that stained the world outside just as a flash of chill exploded in her heart. She blamed it on her sleep-ridden eyes, her wine-addled blood. The clock in the drawing room chimed six times. In the echo of its last chime curved an old smile.

© Anuradha Prasad 2019

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Delighted to have my short story, ‘Tarla’s Homecoming,’ published in The Bangalore Review’s May issue.

Grateful to The Bangalore Review’s editorial team for publishing it.

Follow the link to read the story –

http://bangalorereview.com/2019/05/tarlas-homecoming/

 

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My short fiction piece “A Scene of Grief” is up on “Literally Stories.” A thank you to the editors – Hugh et al for featuring it. Give it a read here – https://literallystories2014.com/2019/04/22/a-scene-of-grief-by-anuradha-prasad/#more-16938

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Roaring lullabies and foaming kisses, the sea her compass. Ruh walks along the edges of the flattening waves. The sand is dark, wet and salty. If she were to walk into the sea now.

She would be a little blob, her skirt spread around like a petal, a spreading stain. Then nothing.

But how long before the sea tears away the torment from her like dead skin?

She clambers into a boat without oars, red and alone, pulled up far away from the sea, which is getting closer now. The sand has dried; a crab on the boat’s rim. The smell of fish sticks to its wooden skin. Ruh settles into its abandonment.

A long time ago, there was a little girl who stood alone in the middle of a playground. An orb of dusty orange flew at her, almost knocked her down. A boy watched with concern and half a smile.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

The little girl laughed. The boy smiled and with him the world. Like starlings taking flight the laughter flew here to this desolate stretch of beach where a woman lay in a red boat. This moment changed forever.

Ruh awakens to a yellow moon, cradled in a boat, rocking gently, watched by a little girl. And just like that – the girl slips over and…poof, she is gone.

© Anuradha Prasad 2018

bengaluru fantastic

My short story ‘Sheela Makes Her Bed‘ is up on Muse India’s Jan-Feb 2018 issue. Grateful to the editor Smita for publishing it. I wrote it while doing a course on social issues and identities. Do give it a read 🙂

 

dragonfly

“It is in the movement and in the pauses and it is in spontaneity. I am many things and have many ways and I call on Tatiana when I am lost and don’t wish to be consumed by the herd. Perhaps I will join her soon. When the dead feel more real and alive, you know where you are heading next. For tonight, I wish only to pull down the sky and wrap it around myself. I rest in this void, the canvas of inevitable awakening.”

© Anuradha Prasad, 2015

(Excerpt from a story written during the Tales of Arrival and Becoming course with Judyth Hill)

pondicherry

pondicherry

“She comes from nowhere, with no invocation. She rages. She is fury. I surrender. I commiserate with her pain. Sometimes we are both savages. Most times, I sit back and watch her dance on the bones of demons long dead. But her thirst for vengeance is unabated. At times like these, I pray. Oh yes, I pray, a lot.”

© Anuradha Prasad, 2015

(Excerpt from a story written during the Tales of Arrival and Becoming course with Judyth Hill)

auroville

auroville

“I am of many places, myths and religions,” Aaliyah tells a dwarf who didn’t ask.  

© Anuradha Prasad, 2015

(Excerpt from a story written during the Tales of Arrival and Becoming course with Judyth Hill)

faerie

“I’d rather be all the loving I need,” she says knowing the allure of not needing to be loved.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2015

(Excerpt from a story written during the Tales of Arrival and Becoming course with Judyth Hill)

lalbagh

lalbagh

“The joy, my dear, is being in the now. Giving yourself fully to it,” Ohm says watching her restless and scattered. “Listen to the truth in nature and silence, and gently bring it to the world outside. When you laugh, know that you are on safe ground. And when you learn to love a cat, know that you have learnt to love lightly as I love Isadora.”

© Anuradha Prasad, 2015

(Excerpt from a story written during the Tales of Arrival and Becoming course with Judyth Hill)