Blast from the Past

“Isn’t that rudimentary?” she asked.

“That’s what makes it most important.”  he said, profoundly sweating since he got out. “I’ve learned that in many cases, only the small aspects really matter.”

“But how did it matter? You weren’t confident, and yet to set out regardless. In the end, you failed.”

“That I did.”

“So what difference did it make?”, as she tried to put her thoughts together on what preceded.

“A whole lot. But by then, he was long gone.”

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Short attempt at really short fiction, since I don’t usually write this. I’m more of a screenplay writer/director than the story writer, ie basically a constructor than a creator. While felt nice to try something different for a change, this did take me quite a while with at least a dozen different thoughts and interpretations behind this.

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Third time’s the charm, really?

Write a piece of fiction describing the incident that gave rise to the phrase, “third time’s the charm.”

“History is written, as chosen so by the victors” said the old man. “For what we know, only a fraction of the truth is revealed.”

The young man listened keenly what the relatively old man had to say. With scars and withered skin seemingly gracing his face and body, he seemed to have seen and endured much in his time.

“It was stormy night” he continued. “The heavens cried with rain. Roared with thunder. I and my brave comrades continued our trek across the hilly forests, which seemed our impending death. One of us had already nearly escaped his death, when one of many trees struck down and managed to screw a shoulder.”

“Oh my, that was close.” said the keen listener.

“Yes indeed, a broken shoulder better than a being crushed to mud” he continued, breathing slight heavily. “But what was worse, after a few hours, enduring what the storm and the wilderness had to offer, a tree got struck again, resulting in a lot of landscape to disorient and injuring everyone.”

“Hard luck. But looking at the condition, that could have been expected.”

“Yes indeed, but what seemed striking, the first one to get hurt was the same one who got his shoulder dislocated, this time he managed to damage his leg, on the same side” continued the adventurer.

“Dam, that’s what you might call bad luck.”

“Perhaps. But it wasn’t pretty till after a long quest of reaching the shelter and soon rescue, after the storm subsided. Things grew only worse until it got better. Due to the harsh situation, most did not make it. Due to the storm, a huge banyan tree got struck down, and smashed most of the company to death. Those images continue to haunt me even today. After we came back home, everyone called us few heroes. I just felt lucky to make it out alive.”

“Indeed, that was quite horrible what happened. But what became of that one, who got hit twice?”

“Well, it would seem the third time’s the charm.”

Smiling, the old man got up from where they sat across the camp fire, revealing his right hand shoulder to be bit out of place, but still functioning normally, as he held out his support, limping away to get his soup.

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

538287_10151310369867883_770463414_nCourtesy of IndiBlogger

As per your wish, here is not one but many happy smiles hearty laughter. And a bonus, I’m there too 😀

This was taken at a bloggers meet by IndiBlogger, India’s largest community of bloggers. Connected Music IndiMeet (we technically add ‘Indi’ before anything here, sort of) sponsored by HP. And as another bonus, here is what happened there in glorious detail (kind of) in a previous post of mine – The sound of blogging. Well okay, I already mentioned this in another previous challenge, but still that post is so awesome. (so kindly don’t jump on me please)

Coming to the title, this poem was what immediately came into my mind.

A Dream Within a Dream.

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allan Poe