colors

DAY 30 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS “why does the color of my…”

“Why does the color of my skin matter less than yours?” asked Roe to her friend Edger.

There was not any emotion on her face. She did not look sad, angry or frustrated.

Her eyes looked like the surface of a calm lake which fails us in sensing its depth.

She uttered this line as if she was talking about a pizza slice.

“It is sad but true. And it is not just color, the texture of your voice, your entire existence matters less than a white person’s. The word of a white man values more than a person of color. And it would remain so for coming decades.” Replied Edgar.

“I know,” responded Roe.

“But we can’t let it remain the fact,” added Edgar.

PS – This is the 30th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

sorry, truth is often not sexy

DAY 29 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS “Sometimes I feel…”

“Sometimes, I feel why do we keep our conversations truthful, when it has largely gone extinct from our public lives. I mean what do we get day in, day out from our government, public officials, or for that matter any person holding a microphone, if not a pack of lies…,” Shea asked frustratingly from her friend, reading a news article about the upcoming presidential election.

“For god’s sake, there are professionals who makes millions of dollars each year for crafting better lies for public at large. They are called public relations champions. Leave alone public officials, this virus of untruthfulness in conversations is increasingly seeping in personal conversations from friends, colleagues and sometimes even from our partners then what moral obligation do we have to keep ourselves truthful and honest in our conversations?” she added.

Her friend listened to her patiently and let her finish her thought.

“Well, I feel that you speak truth not for others but for yourself as with each lie you deliver; you distance yourself away from your true self, your own soul. For some, their soul isn’t something to cherish, nurture our strengthen. For some, nothing is precious than their true self.”

PS – This is the 29th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

abandoned children

DAY 28 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘THERE IS A SAYING…’

Jeanne Moreau in paris of 1940.

“There is a saying that it takes a village to grow a child but what happens when the village decides to abandon the child…what happens then? who takes care of the child?” she asked the young waitress, sipping her coffee, looking across the street through the glass window of the café.

“Sorry, I didn’t understand, Ma’am!” waitress replied, feeling confused.

“No, it’s nothing, thanks!” she replied.

“Alright, ma’am, give me a call if you need anything.” replied the waitress and left her with coffee.

The waitress had heard the question but still decided not to answer.

She had learned with her experience that often such questions are not asked to seek answers but for the sake of asking them. As sometimes our ability to ask questions gives us the feeling of self-control even when we know that we aren’t.

The woman was still looking across the street. Her eyes were still blank.

When she saw the waitress again, she looked at her as if she had the answer to her question but decided not to share.

“It’s the street…, ma’am!” said the waitress.

“Sorry? what?” asked the woman.

“The street takes care of the children who are abandoned by the village,” replied the waitress.

PS – This is the 28th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.