Fit as a fiddle_A lucky Encounter_It was Doomed From the Start_Painting the Rocks Red
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Fit as a fiddle
Fit as a FiddleIt was well past midnight when I was driving home, it was during the prohibition, during the late 70s, I had downed nearly half a litre of Chevas Regal and was still cold sober! It was one of the most educative, interesting and testing evenings in my life. At 69 I can vividly remember that day.I was 27 years old working for a multinational company, posted in a state, which centuries back used to be a centre for higher learnings. The company I worked for, were manufacturing and marketing a whole range of products including aircraft, earthmover, automobile, tractor motorcycle and ...
A lucky Encounter
The alarm buzzed and I immediately rolled over and mashed the snooze button. Eyes half open, I lie there and tried to mentally motivate myself for another day of school. From the living room, I could hear a weather man announcing the current 65 degrees, and that today had promised to be sunny and gorgeous. When I finally woke up, I vowed to put an ewww.onedoor.ccnd to his gorgeous and sunny career for being so traitors. One look out my window showed a tor-rential downpour, and a vail of fog prevented me from seeing the house across the street. It turned out that my idiot younger brother Mark was listening ...
It was Doomed From the Start
If you knew how you were going to die, would you try and stop it from happening or just accept the inevitable? I wouldn’t have run away. I wouldn’t have gotten in the car and drove. I would have picked up Ezekiel. After all, he's still here. I started on the doomed journey two days ago. I had had enough. I just needed to get away. The pain had become too much. So I did what I always did. I ran. I quickly packed my backpack full of clothes, and also grabbed my phone and car keys. Within a matter of minutes, I am out of my hometown and I just keep driving. Who knows where I will end up? Driving ...
Painting the Rocks Red
“Mumma! Mumma!” Oh, here we go. It hasn’t even been half an hour, and the Tiny Gremlin is back at it with her screeching for Mother. “Charlotte, honey, Mumma’s talking with her friends right now,” Mother tries to calm the Gremlin down, her hands on each tiny shoulder, yet failing miserably in controlling the incessant bouncing. “But Mumma!” I know how to fix it! I do!” Mother sighs heavily and looks to her friends for aid, but they only offer smiles and giggles poorly hidden behind manicured and polished nails. Lot of good that does, their claws pale in comparison to mine. “Of course you do. ...