Short Story Archive for Emotions:


Changes face

In mouth
Sands fall, scaring
Heart further

Wound musically

Gaps in names

Salty roots
Of darkened
Hair, time to let
Hair down
For heart to heart

Are those precious
Gems that need
To be enjoyed

Hope – 55 word Micro

Collecting money from turning in recyclables, she bought lottery tickets.  Prayers
had been futile.    Determinedly, she scratched.  One ticket was a perfect match.
She’d won million jackpot.  Falling on her knees she thanked the Madonna.

A gentle voice replied, “Child I did hear you and once you did your part, I did mine.  Bless you”.


They’d written him off.  Relegated to nondescript office, he felt like a used newspaper.
After years of loyalty, he’d become redundant.  It was time to collect his debt.
Biting the bullet, he made the call.  Next day he was reinstated with alacrity amidst
great fanfare of backslaps and sheepish apologies.   “Given word” bore much clout.


“Ella, you cannot win.” screamed Bella.  Pretty and spoiled she’d become a bully.  Plain Ella had a fine mind.  Being younger, she’d let Bella win.  Their socialite parents favored Bella over Ella except granny.  Hoping to win parent’s love and attention she decided to outshine Bella by fully applying herself.  Next day, she stood first.


55 Micro – story adaptation

He: “I love you dearly”. She: “Prove it”

Overcome by passion he nodded and left.

Blind rush led to his fall

“Are you hurt son?” cried the bleeding fallen heart.

He shook his head. Miraculously his besotted mind cleared.

Guilt ridden and heartbroken he realized the supreme difference

Between the two loves and wept bitterly.

*****adaptation source: (wiki)


Prince Iraj Mirza (1874–1926) (titled Jal?l-ol-Mam?lek), son of prince Gholam Hossein Mirza, was a famous Iranian poet. He was a modern poet and his works are associated with the criticism of traditions

Iraj Mirza Jalaalol-Mamalek, mostly known as Iraj, who was the first Iranian master of colloquial poetry.

Among many poems that Iraj composed, his well-known poems include Satan (in Persian: Ebleess),

In Satan, Iraj explains how a wife maliciously complains about her mother-in-law, and encourages her husband to kill his own mother and bring the heart for her. The young man, ignores the respect due to his mother, pushes her to the ground, cuts her chest and takes her heart out. As he walks toward the door, all of the sudden, he falls and injures himself. He then clearly hears his mother’s heart cry out: “Oh! My son’s hand got cut. Oh! My son’s foot was hurt!” In this poem Iraj plainly presents the evidence of an Unconditional Love.

** image is from internet only -disclaimer

GYM – Three 55 Word Micro

*Image from wiki


His relentless feet pounded the treadmill punishingly. Readings on monitors flashed bells and whistles.  He sweated profusely.  Then, he slumped over and his life oozed out.
The policy confirmed her worst fears.  His love and latest medical report must’ve driven him to extreme measures to extricate them from debt and her blood turned frigid.


The gym director referred Peter as coach for elimination round in gymnastics.
Kelly looked forward to a good workout arriving early.  Peter was reading a book inside.

Involuntarily his eyes rose and he saw her.  Time stood still.
Their past life flashed by as they skated together in the Olympics’ arena.
She had come home.


The plying hands on her painful joints were soothing and she fell asleep.
Her belongings hung behind the massage table.  She was oblivious.

The lines were long.  Finally, heart pounding, the desperate mother
purchased lifesaving drugs and left the pharmacy hurriedly.
Shaking hands put back the credit card in the designer handbag on the wall.

Sepia Memories -Revisited

If there were some recourse,
I would take it. A cupful of
grains in my open hand,
a smoothing out,
finding the impurities,

and then removing them
piece by piece. And then,
to be satisfied with
what remains
-Simple Recipes, Madeleine Thien


Sepia memories

Swatches of memories
Knock in snatches
Taking by hand
To the places where
It all began

Past’s faded sepia footprints
Heaving on waves of time
Skinny childish legs
Gurgling on wide shoulders
Abiding love, secured

Ebony balustrade
Edging a coiled snake
Staircase aspiring to hit
The roof linking houses back to back
Army of crumbling warriors

Gossiping mynahs with hennaed hair
And hands winnowing grains and
Chatter, flinging in air dramatically
Between cupping warmth basking
In fierce rays of winter’s sun

Stealthy moves behind closed
Doors, juicy tidbits spicing
Steaming aromatic cups
Of “kahwa” saffron tea
With whiff of almonds

Terrace air redolent with rich aroma
Enough to nourish off it rising from
Mouthwatering pickles bound in wide
Mouthed jar bellies simmering in sun

Pitter patter of hide and seek feet
Chasing each other amidst raucous full
Throated laughter, loud screams escaping
Worry free childhood, full of dreams

Jumping off high ledges, scrambling
Up and down tree trunks laden with tart
Raw mango booty, exciting kaleidoscope
Of rich escapades, skinned knees, torn dresses

Somber images of death vigils, funeral pyres
Sheltering in basement with aunts, mom
Amidst sounds of warplanes, siren blasts
in pitch black darkness, hearts
Leaping in mantra chanting mouths

Endless journeys in long anaconda trains
Whistling past in dead of night with firm
Deep olive green berths, perched on upper
Seats dunking homemade biscuits in sweet tea
Steaming in clay cups sold by station tea stalls

Crowds everywhere crowding everything in sight
A sea of colored saris ethnic clothes, shimmering
Gold jewelry and tinkling anklets, bracelets
Trunks, bedrolls, clay goose necked water jars
Monkeys, pealing bells, chants from temples

Swatches of memories
Knock in snatches
Taking by hand
To the places where
It all began

**Kahwa: Kashmir Green tea brewed with spices, saffron and almonds

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