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It’s coming from my right toe. I did not understand what happened at first. I took few more steps. It’s when I reached the door of the balcony, that I noticed that the tea cup, which ought to be in my left hand missing. I turned back.

Blood was there on the marble floor. In equal intervals of space, where I must have my toes pressed while walking. Looking at the blood, I felt ***** in my throat. It’s suddenly like I lost my senses.
“In the land of Mordor, in the fires of mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a Master Ring to control others…”

Do you think it’s the Voice of Galadriel? No. I know. But at that fateful time, I felt certainly like hearing Galadriel’s voice, from The Lord of the Rings: The Felowship of the Ring.

I shriek might have escaped my mouth. My hubby, who was sitting in the balcony, reading the newspaper, turned towards me. Placing the newspaper on the table before him, he came to catch me from falling on the floor.

Why all this had happened suddenly on this pleasant Sunday morning? Yes. There must be a reason. I had seen it. What was that it?

“Wife killed husband with a Saline bottle.” That was the headline I read by chance in the District special which was on the floor on my way from kitchen. The girl in question is known to me. Not known, she worked as a maid for us, and we loved her. In the shock of the news, I dropped the tea cup from my hand. The rest you know.

My hubby made me sit on the bed, and dressed the wound. When I explained what happened, he pinch stroked my chin, and laughed like hell.

“Well, what she did might be right. I won’t pass a judgment.”

Just then my mother-in-Law entered the house. She went to the nearby temple.

After a couple of days, I met Subbi. She smiled innocently. I took her hands in mine.

“What happened?”

“I could have done it long ago akka,” she said.

She explained me everything then.

Subbi worked as maid for us when we were in Guntur. My hubby and I were lecturers. As we both of us had to go to the college, and my mother-in-law had to be home alone (hi, you might have counted many mistakes in my English. I forgot to mention, I am a science student, and my English is poor ;-) and I love to watch movies. Home Alone is my favorite movie :P) we hired Subbi to her assistance.

Attamma (I call my mother-in law like that) is very sharp. He makes friends with virtually anyone. Subbi got attached to her quickly. She used to tell her story to to Attamma. Subbi calls her Amma (you might have understood it means mother).

Subbi was married and had 3 girls. Her husband was furious because of this. He wanted boy child. He used to beat her. He always drinks… (right? I mean grammatically) and abuse her, and the children. Attamma told us all these things at the dinner time. Once I asked my hubby to warn him.

It was a hot evening. I was in the kitchen. My hubby was teaching to the students. We maintain tuitions for additional income. He was explaining the concept of reproduction, I think.

“If X chromosome combines with another X chromosome, it will result in female child (In between us :P he too is weak in English :P). If X chromosome combines with Y chromosome, it will result in male child.”

“Sir, don’t they result in Woman and Man? Is it only children?” some guy cracked a joke. My husband playfully hit him on the back of the head.

All the while, Subbi, who was assisting me in the kitchen, observed them. She asked me, what was that big joke, and why they were laughing. I explained it to her. I noticed a change in her. She was silent rest of the evening.

When it was the time for her to go home, she talked to my hubby. I observed them from the kitchen while serving Attamma dinner.

After a couple of months, around June 15th, we shifted to Vijayawada, as we both got jobs in a bigger corporate college with higher salaries. At that time Subbi was pregnant. If I remember right, 3 months. Attamma felt sorry for her. She instructed Subbi to inform us if…

Subbi had an abortion that time. Another year later she became pregnant again. Her husband warned her if it’s again a girl child, he would **** her. Subbi felt shivers.

It was then time for the delivery. She was again warned by him. As fate might have been written for her, it was again a girl child.

Her husband entered the room where she was… furiously. Subbi had sweat all over her. He was about to jump on her…

Subbi took a broken saline bottle, and

“You mother ******* *******, why didn’t you send a Y chromosome?” her words echoed there…!

I returned home and explained all this to Attamma, and my hubby. After I finished, my hubby laughed.

“She did the right thing,” Attamma said.
I said to my husband, who loves to have girl child, “If you don’t send an X chromosome, I’ll **** you. Alright?”

This time it’s Attamma’s turn to laugh.

PS: Phew, I’m through with the story. Gitacharya asked me about the incident. Whether he edits my narration, is in his hands. My hubby’s calling me. Bye :D
An early short story by me. Language is a bit weird, but not without reason
Montana May 2012
There is no place for me here

Where they dream of comfortable lives

Talk about football and weekend plans

Holding hands as they walk down aisle four

Split the grocery bill then drive home to his place

That will someday become their home

And oh how we wanted to travel and see things

Skydive, mountain climb

Travel to Africa, build houses, learn languages

And just be

But then that job offer was too good to pass up

And it’s so much easier to raise a kid with family close by

So we put it off for now

Just for now, for a little while

Until the timing is right

Until we have more money, vacation days

Then there was the new car, the college tuitions, and that trip with her parents down to Grand Cayman for their 60th wedding anniversary  

Now it’s graduations and grandkids

What happened to Africa?

They still go shopping

Together, sometimes

He pays with their credit card, she pushes the cart

They had a comfortable life
Michael W Noland Jul 2012
I still deny the rules and social ties of citizen spies

that i televise by shouting chanted anthems into the sky

yet to comply with the codes of conduct i defy

as you synthesize the number and size

i am careful not to compromise the lost light within my eyes

my cold gaze reflective of your demise

and i

scrutinize them until they realize they're being penalized for the lies

until maggots monopolize your corpse through your cries

until pulled away by the hissing of shadowed flies that fly into the lost light in my eyes

until my pupils cauterize

locking you inside


and i

am imprisoned in a prism of realism

as anti social collisions have me pulling my soul through verbal incisions

seeping radioactive emissions

from the legions of religions

from the season of rhyme without reason

failure to pay darkened tuitions is now treason

as catastrophic cataclysms lock me away in my primal visions

my verbal inflictions as though holy missions to infuse friction

smashing through my divided contradictions and feeding my addictions

good riddance
JP Goss Jan 2015
—To me, a dream, in which she came: Mistwalker
—And I, a vessel, rose in her womb, bear this, to me, a dream.

Say, on this, untoward, the spiced breezes with salt
Came, if all, the light enkindled like whetted steel
Morning star through the mournful faces above
Rejected, yes, by their mothers, of past and now,
A cold came ashore, ancient besieged accounts
Wilted the pregnant vines of yesterday, sure to
The next, as gods turn to myths, stories to the dying young.

She stared, of memorials in print
Off into the terrible morning, gossamer filament
Swaddled at the breast, a tight form slack
In the great divorce of sea and sky,
Standing, contemplative, shouts and echoes crack
Unheard, discarded: sweets to the profane
Sedately, to that dark curve: a canvas was lain
Adrift on aether, drowned bones of Atlas,
Emerge on drift of the everlasting, there at world’s end
In curved states between:
Hell broods in the burgs of ice, Providence
Forsaken of she who becks on the entombing sands.
Thus, prayers come whetted
With none to brush the stray hairs from those astray
Men conceiving valleys, their mountains,
Structures, are we, to eternally pass the course of solitude
Under cross-borne tuitions, marbled elders’ auspice
Embossed of the very tongue spoken
Once in high infant chambers, Omnis Ipse?

I, too, was born beneath the hero’s breath,
Taken by the glimmering sheath and steeds
To the awful wiles of merciful truth,
She to the enemy of standing beyond, within.

If ever a summer had kissed the city where cold descends
Or snow reminisced stars in the eve,
I, I—she hurts in the mists—have only tasted, bitter,
Sketches, between them, the finitude of their light,
That of warmth, of compassion
Man fall distracted from, therefrom grace,
A beast shed of its other back, hubris of its wing—
Am I the maiden of its song? But it’s maiden?—
One season, ever-aged, harbinger of this isolation
What is the ****** ewe years of searching for I,
Is sacrifice, thus becomes the phantom, the slave
Of that distant black, the sullied mark, consumptive
Unremitting arms of purpose, of man’s calling.

These hands are spelled, veined by charcoal dust
Adversarial oaths kept close, of myself, in idle play
Where what I will, wills but a will
Where none are to come, but the mast of a hero
Whom she is tied, of those winds
Seminal of her words—I shall be the breath
The cusp of every storm which blights the high waves,
The knife of sheer walls of stone,
Moments of oblivion which rend the heroes, ill-stayed.

Eyes burned holes for the starlight of awe
Pouring o’er the wastes of her paper skin
But, that she overturns the rueful words
Again, again, again, cycled in the oceans,
Where gardens of kelp revile the current
Strands, becoming of the arms she wishes to hold—
To write myself out of comprehension
Is to risk the very marrow has I obeisant,
These lusts of the greater body, those of the Mother
Clad in jewels and customs, as wave desires sky;
A journal I’ve become.

Mist came, froth, the spiral of wars inside the heart
They inveigled her, to my dismay, to the blind air
No longer, the sweet tine of imperfection of voice,
Inspired of spoken word, recent memory took leave,
Ambivalent joys came raining on a pen,
Reluctant to write homage to freedom,
Caught in the morphless air, calcified transformations
Odes to let go. But.
Once upon a time
There was a boy
His life was full of
fun and joy

Waking up at six
in the morning
With a feeling everyday
is more adorning

Getting ready for the school
And waiting at the bus stop
Every day he felt
He was on the world's top

Entering into the class room
Saying hi to all
Gossiping with friends untill
Assembly call

Standing in the playground
Listening to principal's speech
All that was nonsense
Which she used to preach

Coming back to classroom
Attending all the classes
Just for staring a girl
wearing red-blue glasses

Four continuous lectures then
comes a break
So as to avoid
stress and headache

Sharing lunch boxes
Was like a business deal
what actually matters
Was getting all tasty meal

Last period used to
Pass very slowly
With the history teacher
Teaching them very lowly

When it reaches two
in the school clock
It was the time to fly
Like the bird hawk

Running Faster and faster
Down through the stairs
Coz no one likes
bus seat to share

Giggling and laughing
Screaming and shouting
All the way back to his home
Doing all nonsense with his friends
When he had time to roam

Pressing the doorbell
mom opens the door
Setting the fan speed
at three or more

Resting under the fan
And watching the television
Discovery science was
His first provision

After the lunch
Comes time for the tuitions
Coz studies do not hav
Any substitutions

From there he goes
to the football ground
To play cricket
Just for one or two rounds

Back to home asking for
a cup of horlicks
With few of almonds
In the milk to mix

Then studying in the bedroom
Doing all his homework
Finishes the everything on time
With all his hardwork

goes to the kitchen
For having some snacks
Jar of biscuits
kept on the rack

Sharing secrets
with his dad
long discussion
They used to had

Have his dinner
Then goes to bed
Thinking what to do
with the future ahead

Thinking and thinking
eyes stops blinking

Fall asleep
hoping for a better tomorrow
#schoollife # childhood #funlife
Lyla Dreams Sep 2017
I am so sad today
Most days
And you ask me why, every time
I wish you would stop doing that
I don't have a reason for this impeding dread
I don't have a reason I am afraid of my own skin
And the power it might not possess
I wish I could tell you a tragic back story instead
About childhood cancer or my dad walking out on me
About how the whole experience was traumatic and how this is just a flashback rearing its ugly head and that I'll be ok
In a day or two
But the fact of the matter is
That I am a small girl from a small Pennsylvania town
Who has more big privilege
Than she likes to admit
Who should have a smile bigger than the sun
According to her parents paycheck
And the number of times she's gotten cheesecake for her birthday  
But still she cries pathetically over doorbell rings and reflections in mirrors
And reflections in the minds
Of everyone else

And you say how sorry you are
I wish you would stop doing that too
I have enough self pity to pay for tuitions of all my friends who say
It's just how college works
It's hard
You're smart
You got this!!

Most nights I do not study
But writhe in pain on a bed that becomes a black hole, roping me down towards the hell I swore I'd gotten rid of.
The biting bleeding lips type of hell
I should have stopped biting my lip by now.

And you say you want to help
And more than anything
I wish you could
Free the inmate from the cage in her head

— The End —