Skip to main content

Word Building

“What does ‘detour’ mean?” queried eight-year old Garry, trotting into the kitchen, his fingers clasping over the book perched on his elbow pit, without taking his eyes off it.

Tara, startled by Garry’s abrupt intrusion, almost dropped the whisk into the batter she was whipping for her cake order.

 Being used to such sudden literary interrogation by her bookworm son, Tara composed herself as she exhaled slowing, wiping the remaining batter off the whisk and answered Garry.

“It is exactly what you do when you cycle across the lawn towards the town library on the way to your guitar classes.”

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Randy Mazie
____________
Word count:100
____________
100 word story written in response to the photo prompt at Friday Fictioneers at Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can post one of your own or read the other entries here.  

Comments

  1. Ha.. though I think maybe the books might be better in the long run than the guitar... :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Haha..it could all be a matter of perspective, I'd say :-)

      Delete
  2. That sounds like a shortcut to me. :-)

    Lily

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. haha..yes, short-cut to the library, perhaps but surely a detour en route the guitar classes, no?

      Delete

Post a Comment

Would love to hear from you :-)
Also, please click the subscribe by Email link below the comment form to get follow-up comments to your inbox..

Popular posts from this blog

An irrational dream

Pazhaniraja Elangovan trudged his way up the small slope on his rusty bicycle, a hand-me-down from one of his rare kind-hearted clients. A package, a heavy brown carton lay tied to the backseat with several ropes. The chains creaked as he pedaled harder on the slope.

Sweat trickled down his shiny brown face. Tiny buds of fresh acne dotted his forehead and chin area that was also beginning to sprout hair.

"Pazhani, don't keep loitering out in the hot sun," his Amma often chided him gently.

Pazhaniraja would dismiss his Amma's plea with silence.

She had suffered enough bringing him up single-handedly but was still worldly naive. What did she know about managing a part-time job as a local delivery boy, a night school, and a full-time dream? thought Pazhani irritatedly but also controlled his tongue.

His dream. Yes, he dreamed of owning his own business someday and making lots of money. He had many ideas but needed time to work on them.

Today, he thought excitedly. Wedn…

Bhutan: The last leg of our journey at Paro and a round up

Did you read the last post about how we made it to the top of the Takstang Monastery? If not, please do go back and read it.
Before I continue, here's a check-list that will come in handy for travelers.
Things to keep in mind while visiting the Taktsang or the Tiger's Nest Monastery 
1. You are supposed to be fully clothed while visiting this one or any other monastery/temple or Dzong in Bhutan. Which means you cannot wear short skirts, shorts, capris or the likes. Even your hands must be covered, so choose a full or three-fourth sleeved suit, top or shirt. Alternatively, you can wear a jacket or shrug.
2. Use of photography/video is prohibited in the inner sanctum of all temples and monasteries. At the Tiger's Nest, you have to surrender your backpacks with mobiles outside with the security. There are no lockers but like I said earlier, it's absolutely safe even without the lockers.
3. Wear a good quality and comfortable pair of sports shoes if you're trekking to …

The fault in our stares #100-wordfiction

He offered to walk her to the station. She sensed his well-toned arm within the suede jacket brushing against her slender, bare one as they tried to match their uneven strides. He leaned in suddenly towards her ear to whisper something. Her tensed muscles relaxed even as her full-throated laughter echoed through the dimly-lit streets. As the wind teased, his hands enveloped her from behind draping the jacket over her.

Despite enjoying the pleasant company, she felt at unease. She instinctively knew they weren't alone that night.

The judgemental stares turned into full-blown gossip by the time she came home.

______
100-word fiction story written for a prompt "The fault in our stares" at the BarAThon second edition.