Post your nanofiction response as comments!
For some samples and typical nanofiction rules, see http://www.wunderland.com/WTS/Andy/Nanofiction.html
साठ बरस से हैं आज़ाद
He was crouched in front of dirty shoes, hands toiling away. “Arre baba, see this spot!” the man said. Swish, swish, he went for the umpteeth time that hot afternoon.
All done, with shining eyes, he put words together on the discarded newspaper – “60th Year of Independence”.
Swish, swish, he wondered what that headline meant.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Nano-WAH
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17 comments:
Love this form of fiction. A version of it can be found on SepiaMutiny.com. It's called 55 Word Friday.
Therein the inspiration for this thread. Mutineers, we're waiting!
Like Balboa
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The hill loomed before him. His spirits sank. Could his tired legs take more of this? He had many more miles to cover and many more hills to conquer. The HE awoke. The HERO within. His legs picked up pace. He crested the summit. He gazed ahead. Like Balboa when he first saw the Pacific.
One from me...
Ode for the Lies
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Village was listening to the repetition. "You will get clean water and better roads. I will not cease until you get free schools and hospitals." The man was screaming over the mike. He called himself "Sathya".
The Jail
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"When will my husband be released from jail?" Asked the anxious wife to the parrot astrologer. "Sure Ma'am, murugan will tell you right away", as he opened the cage to let the parrot out for the moment.
Like Balboa
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The hill loomed before him. His spirits sank. Could his tired legs take more of this? He had miles to go and many more hills to climb. Then HE awoke. The Hero within. Then his legs picked up pace. He crested the summit. He gazed ahead. Like Balboa when he first gazed at the Pacific.
The crisp morning air?
Another day in Bangalore. 6am. Anand stretched slowly out of bed, gazing at the street outside. Scurrying maids, cycling newspaper boys, chirping birds, the smell of dawn .... 9am. Stepped out to work. Traffic jams. Pollution everywhere. Crowds. People too busy to notice him. Where was the morning? Was that today? Or 10 years ago? Sigh ...
The engineer spent the day troubleshooting his code, sitting through meetings, then faced an hour commute home. Frustratedly opening his mailbox expecting the latest bills, he found a note from Sudha, the teenager he supports through Asha’s Support a child program.”Thank you Uncle, for helping me go to school!”
Suddenly, his day was made.
What is an hour worth?
Average engineer salary : Rs.2000
A pile of books : Rs.400
A pair of uniforms : Rs.400
3 meals a day : Rs.700
School fees : Rs.500
The will to learn : free
A future of possibilities : free
The license to dream : free
Freedom from poverty : free
So, what IS an hour of your time worth?
The light was as red as the flowers she carried. In the sweltering heat little beads of moisture glistened, some on the petals, some on her cheeks.
The light turned green. She shielded the blooms while the cars belched fumes on her wilting face. Shuttling from one ‘traffick’ to another, is this all to her?
The Red Light
Posing at a mirror,
Her face painted bright.
Skimpy little clothes
That fit her too tight.
Gaudy her surroundings,
Ceilings and walls.
In a corner lay
Her priceless rag dolls.
At seven she knew to
Turn on the red light.
While thirteen she knew not
Her little girls’ right.
Will time stand still on her?
He hawked in thirteen languages. Sporting a smile, the one universal expression, he displayed the peacock plumes. His eyes scanning the crowd, he rattled away in German, Italian, French, Arabic, Portuguese, English…
In no language did the self-made ‘little man’ know to say, “I am a child. I have rights. I should be at school.”
She leaned over the well, pausing for breath. In the clear blue were reflected the clouds hurrying by. Birds passing by. The nearby coconut trees whispering to the breeze. Monkeys swinging from tree to tree. Free of worry. "Puttamma, hurry up. I don't have all day" a jarring voice yelled. She hurried back to work.
Choices
_______
He had promised schooling was the right thing for Krishna. And they didn't have to pay the fees. But they needed money now. Someone to help with the crop. Krishna had learnt all about farming from his father. He could double what was coming in. Did they really have a choice? "Krishna, wear your uniform ..."
The businessman waited impatienly for his train. He hated delays. Platforms littered with cigarette butts, the stench of the urinals, peddlers hawking their wares, the air filled with dust, beggars pulling at his suit for alms... he wanted to go home. His gaze rested on the kids playing in the corner - in this, their home.
Posting on Swati's behalf ...
My 1st backpacking
We camped in a valley. It was a nice spot with streams. But there were no trees or big bushes. Big enough rocks were all too close to the water.
In the morning, I experienced what women & girls face on a daily basis near quarries or mines – where there's no cover, no privacy.
I talk ..
I write ..
I fret ..
I fume ..
I fight ..
I live .. but not their life.
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