Author Paradise has published my article on their blog site!!! So happy 😊😊🎉🎆🎊
Do check it out please!
Author Paradise has published my article on their blog site!!! So happy 😊😊🎉🎆🎊
Do check it out please!
“Easy,” he said, “Keep breathing, honey, stay with me, don’t give up.” He sounded panicked. “Don’t give up on us, love”, he was almost crying. I could feel him injecting something into my vein and pumping my chest. Gradually all feeling started to go numb, his voice gradually becoming distant. The vision getting clouded and I started drifting.
I opened my eyes to find myself in the middle of a dark, deserted road, my bloody hand holding on a human heart and a corpse lying right in front of me. “Honey!” I turned back, guilty and scared, expecting to see the only person who calls me so, but I received the shock of my life- it wasn’t him! “What have you done? I had asked you to stay indoors till Freddie brings your fuguing phase under control”, he said, equally shocked and nervous.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Vincent?” I asked.
“My husband” “Husband? Honey, I’m your husband. What’s wrong with you? Never mind, lets get out of here first before anyone spots us.”
I was brought back home, my home, but there was no sign of Vincent. I used my tracking senses, but there was no track of him in the vicinity. I rushed to Il Cantuccio cafe, and I found him at last, but with someone else – with Veronica. Wasn’t she supposed to be dead?
They were not alone. There were a bunch of people with them, as if there was some celebration going on. I walked closer when Vincent called for the crowd’s attention and said, “Thank you for joining me and my beautiful wife to celebrate our second marriage anniversary”, turning to Veronica, he said, “I love you honey, happy anniversary.”
“I love you too, Vince”, came the reply, and they kissed!! I couldn’t stop myself and yelled, “STOP!”
Vincent turned to look at me and asked, “Who are you?”
“Don’t you know me? What’s going on?”
I was about to approach towards him when Veronica retorted angrily, “Look Miss, this is a private party and you aren’t allowed to intrude, please leave or we’ll have to get you pushed out.” I was dumbstruck. The man had been following me. After apologising everyone, he dragged me out of the cafe. I was irritated, angry and restless.
At night, I couldn’t stop myself and stormed off to Vincent’s apartment. I didn’t enter. I watched him, from outside, with his new wife. “Who was that woman?” Veronica yelled at him. “I know her no more than you do. Trust me, dear” and he kissed her. But she wasn’t convinced. “I’ve been trying so hard to make our marriage work,” she said mellowingly. “I know you’ve been too, but I cannot see it in your eyes the same love I have for you.” She said touched his face “We’ve been childhood sweethearts but something changed after that accident.” I stood there and watched, my heart burning with jealousy and sorrow. I shouldn’t have told him that he’s better off without me. We’re incomplete without one another.
Suddenly there was commotion in the room. Three masked men rushed in, struck Veronica unconscious, blindfolded and gagged Vincent and dragged him into the car and raced off.
I followed the car, stealthily, but I couldn’t use my speed and stop them in fear of my beasting out and getting exposed. I followed them till the outskirts of Orlando.
It had to be the Stansguard, the one responsible for making me who I am, they never leave loose ends. And Vincent is one. But how can they come back when Vince and I had already destroyed them?
I avoided killing any of them. I somehow managed to get Vincent out of the car and took him to the woods. The goons followed us. All I was focused on was to protect him. I kept clutching his hand but I lost focus on the goons for a moment and that’s when I got shot. An excruciating pain hit me and I collapsed, still holding his hand. He sat beside me and asked, ” You were the one saved me that night, right? You were the one who dragged me out of the burning car, weren’t you?” “Yes”, I heaved. “And I’m the one you created.” I was passing out. “Don’t leave me, I’ve spent more than a decade looking for answers none could give me,” he said, clasping my hand, “Now that I’ve got them, please don’t give up, please don’t give up on us…” His voice faded, my vision got clouded again….
And I woke up with a start. “Stella… Stella, my love, you’re back!” Vincent said, heaving a sigh of relief. “I’m so sorry, I’ll never say you’re better off without me”, was the first I could say, crying. “Stel, I’m never gonna leave you, even if you ask me to”, “You recognise me?” I simply asked. “Of course I do, silly” and he hugged me tight, kissing me delicately. “You didn’t give up…”, he said. “I will never give up”, I answered, panting for breath.
That night, at our home, after listening to my weird dream, he said, holding his guffaw, “I was married to Veronica? Seriously?”, he hugged me delicately but passionately, as we relaxed on our bed. “Yeah, and you kissed her”, I replied, slapping him lightly. “Hey, it was just a dream. You know I will never leave you.” Looking into my eyes, he continued, “I’ve made a mistake of choosing her over you once, and I’ve learnt my lesson. I love you and only you, honey. I’m incomplete without you”. We kissed. A deep, passionate, heavenly kiss. He played with my hair and I caressed his well-toned back and arms. I’ve no idea how long it was, but by the time we moved apart, we were breathless. “By the way, who was the man with you?” He said on catching some air. “It was your dream world so you must know him.” “Yeah, I did” “Who was he?” “Uh… Don’t get irritated…” “Just spit it out”.
“Stefan Salvatore 😅”
At the end of every six months, after my semester exams are done, I fly homewards for a 20-day (end of odd semester) or 45-day (end of even semester) break. I fly from Bangalore to Siliguri which takes 4 hours. Around 1900 kilometers journey.
Just yesterday I returned from my 21 day vacation.
Tomorrow 4th semester begins.
New semester, New phase of life.
Got to spend six months before I see home.
After today, if any body who passes by my room, would get to see this
I’m a lazy drone, a spoilt kid actually. Always too lazy to keep my belongings in order. My room isn’t dirty mind you, you won’t find dead rats (not even alive ones) or rotting food or stinking clothes. I’m hygienic you see. It’s just haphazard. Clothes are clean, but not properly folded, worn clothes may be on my chair rather than on a hanger. Books and papers never stay in a clean stack or only on the table but they are strewn on my bed as well. So the statutory warning.
Even after the warning if someone does enter, will get to see my vampire-themed sign hanging from my study table drawer. (I’m a vampire-fan so there should be some vampirism reflecting from my room as well, right?)
You get to enter does not mean you get to touch my drawer, drawers meant for stuffs that cannot be shown to others or those that need protection. So no touching. Only exception is my mommy dearest, she gets access to everything that belongs to me.
And this on my books closet, the closet that has all my precious novels
Those who love books like me can get access BUT only with my permission
That’s all for today
P.S. sorry for the monochrome pictures, I could manage only this much. Pardon my deficiency of creativity
Today i had a conversation with my mind, didn’t get any profound solution to my problem but still it was good have a talk
Mental critic (MC): hey what’s up?
Me: Don’t YOU know what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be in my head all the time?
MC: umm yes, but isn’t that what you say everytime you meet a friend? If you meet same person twice in a day you ask the same question twice
Me: Whatever 😒
MC: Didn’t you just sign up for NajoWrimo? How’s it going?
Me: Umm… Good enough. Though I have exams knocking at the door, I take out some time to write
MC: You and journal writing? Different
Me: Yes, this year I am doing things which I haven’t done before. You tell me how am I doing it? You are my personal critic right?
MC: Hmmm….. Not bad… But you should keep trying to improve, somehow there’s something missing that stops your piece from being unique and entertaining.
Me: But what am I supposed to do?
MC: That’s for you to find out. I’m your mind not any expert, my expertise evolves with you, I’m not standalone, remember?
Me: 😞😞 I dunno who can help me out.
MC: You keep persevering and follow your heart when you write, ask your friends or professors for feedback
Me: Hmmm.. I guess you’re right
I thought over the entry I wrote yesterday. Though I consoled myself saying that yes I’m creative by the smattering of writing skills I have, by collecting coins and stamps and by taking up some dance classes, but still I’m not convinced that I’m being fruitfully creative.
why do I feel so deficit ? Is it my inferiority complex talking or is it the blunt truth that I’m not creative ?
But whatever I’m doing, do you know who inspires me? A lot of people. My granddad inspires me in numismatics and philately. From him I knew collecting unique coins and stamps is an art (okay……) otherwise I never dreamt that collecting these has any value.
Writing…….. Ummmm….. I first wrote anything on my own as a class assignment in 6th standard. The teacher liked my writing. But I left it there as an assignment. Later again in 8th grade we were a surprise class assignment where I wrote some clichéd romantic piece, which wasn’t good. Then one of my friends encouraged me to write that too a mystery. It took me a year and a half. It was good enough but now when I read, is kind of kiddish and still lacks some factors. While writing this mystery I tried my level best to air the style of writing Mr. Satyajit Ray used in his works. I admire his writings a lot.
Dance….. It’s music that makes me dance… I didn’t know the technicalities of dancing but I enjoy dancing.
Ok, now I feel better. For now.
That’s all for today. See you tomorrow
I’m not half as creative as my mother, she keeps creating sometimes beautiful out of almost anything and everything.
I’m just awful, I can’t stitch, only the chain style stitch I can somehow do, but it’s turns out a crude work. Even though I took art classes for around seven years, all I can somehow do is anatomy diagrams, that too out of much difficulty. I can paint an already drawn picture but that’s nothing great, right?
My creativity quotient is ZERO. It seems neither side of my brain works efficiently. The only thing “creative” is play around little bit with words and write something but even that’s amateurish. I try writing fiction, but somehow it lacks the X-factor that can grasp any reader’s attention.
I’m so not creative 😢😢😢
My life seems so monotonous, dull, lifeless……
Ok wait…. Is philately and numismatics something creative?? Then voila!!!! I’m a philatelist and a numismatist!!!!!
And again, I have signed up last month for contemporary dance, so now I’m on my way to become a dancer!!!!!
But I still wish I could be like my mother. This makes me miss mom more 😞
Like most of us, I too have some phobias. Most prevalent was my fear of darkness. This fear was unknowingly instilled in me. As a kid, whenever there would be a power cut, I would wander around house in the dark. Controlling me would be difficult, so our landlord’s sister used to scare me with stories of monsters that linger in the dark. From then on I was scared of darkness. As I grew up I realised there’s nothing called monsters but still there was this fear lingering around my psyche. I needed night lamps while sleeping. Even I’m in deep sleep and the lights go off, I somehow could sense it and would wake up out of fright. This went on for around 14 years. Yes, 14 long years….
When I was in tenth grade of school, we at last shifted to an apartment of own. I at last got a room how I wanted it to be. My first night in my new home. As usual I switched on the night lamp and went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. The room seemed too bright for me to sleep. I switched off the light. My father came running from his room and asked, “why did you switch off the light?” I answered, “the light’s too bright”, ” will you be able to sleep or shall I call your mother? ” “I think I can, there’s the street light outside”. He went back, still feeling doubtful. I lied down and the next I thing I remember my mother calling me to wake up. From that day on, I don’t feel scared of the dark, wherever I may be.
When was the last time I wrote something by hand? Asks the daily post.
Ummmmmmmmmmm…………. Yes……. It was just yesterday!! And what did I write????
My CHEMISTRY Notes !!!!!
Had I been quarantined for a contiguous disease, I would spend my quarantine period doing only one thing.
READING !!!!! 😊😇
That’s the only entity that can save me from dying of boredom.
I am always one of a kind. Many a times I react or act in a way that is unique. Many girls and boys in their early teens had crushes on somebody or the other. Many of my friends had crushes on a cute guy in the class, or a handsome senior or their siblings’/cousins’ friends. But I didn’t. I never found any boy around me worth having a crush on. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t have a crush AT ALL. The first time I had a crush when I was in my sixth grade of school. On whom? On the male protagonist of my then favorite TV show 😅😳
I may sound weird but yes. Most of the time I land up having a crush on some celebrity. So I never can nor will I ever be able to confess 😢
But whenever I see him on TV, I just cannot stop myself from staring my eyes out at him 😳😍
If I had to live forever as either a child/adolescent/adult, I would have chosen to live as a child. Childhood happens to be the best phase of one’s life. A child’s life is the simplest of all humans. No complications, no tension, no worries. A child does not know what future is, too busy to sulk about the past. It lives the present and enjoys it to the fullest. All a child needs is food, sleep and lots of love and pampering….
I got a lot of pampering from my parents and my relatives as a kid. And I love it.
I just turned 20 yesterday (30th August, 2015). Next year I will turn 21, then 22, on and on and on. As the years pass by, my youth will gradually slip away and someday my skin will be wrinkled 2-3 folds, no teeth, eyesight will be poor, my back will bend. I will be weak, lean, always needing someone’s help.
Noooooooooooo. I don’t want this. NO. NEVER.
Had the fountain of youth existed, I would have drank the water when the clock struck midnight the day I turned 16. I wish I could remain 16 forever…..
Had my neighbor on the plane/bus/train been a chatty person, I would have been on alert for some time, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Some stranger trying to be too friendly. But once I’m convinced he/she is harmless, I may join in the ramble, cause I’m a talkative person as well! So maybe he/she could turn out to be my new bff, after all our existing friends we also strangers once upon a time 😉
I was in my tenth grade of school the year I turned 16. It was my last year in my heaven (I changed my school in eleventh grade).
The sixteen-year old me was carefree, impulsive with short temper. Talkative!! My teachers were tired of complaining to my parents. I was a rebellious kid. I was enjoying life. Enjoying school which was is in a festive mood that year as we were celebrating its 50th anniversary.
The thing about me that I wish I could have changed was my short temper. The thing I wish hadn’t changed is my carefree nature.
I wish I could be sixteen again.