Words Catcher

Lets Catch The Words From The Hearts!

Social Solitaire- Featured Short Story

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I hate socializing.

Stepping into the party with a sheepish grin, I wished for a vanishing cloak.  Oh, to have been able to evaporate into thin air.  Mama said that, as a growing young lady, I must become more social.  But it’s scary to see every eye in the room fixate on you, gauging you, whispering judgments behind their hands.

All the girls there were beautiful, some with their long hair loose, some with soft curls.  A few had upswept buns, their stylish bangs framing their eyes.  I eyed them, smiling when one of the ladies approached and said,

“Hi.  Who are you, pretty girl?”

Pretty.  I felt a lump in my throat.  I thought I was good looking, but not pretty enough to be noticed immediately.  I loved this and pointed to my mother with a smile.

“Oh, Sara, you have such a pretty daughter.”  She commented.  Touching my cheeks, she added,

“You would have looked nicer if you would have let your hair loose.”

To be more comfortable that night, I had tied my hair in a simple braid.  Until the end of the party, I imagined myself with my veil of hair loose and hanging down to my waist.

At the next social event, I entered with my long hair falling free.  Many eyes admired me and I love the feeling.  I got many compliments, yet one of them said that some soft low curls would have made my look more gorgeous.

After this, two thoughts disturbed my mind.  Was my hair truly fixed properly and how would soft curls look on me?  I took to changing things.

When the next party night came, I entered with soft curls feeling extremely conscious.  I had fought with my siblings when their hands had accidentally touched my hair, as I’d wanted to be perfect.  Again, many admired me that night, yet one said,

“You are so beautiful yet a little style would make you more gorgeous.”

“Style?  What style?”  I asked her.

“A haircut in layers with bangs would make you look so adorable.”

My worries increased threefold.  I remained preoccupied about my hair being loose, with curls and now styling it with bangs and layers.

The next day, my mother was horrified with my desire to change.  She said fashionable cuts ruined the natural beauty and health of the hair.  But the thought of looking more gorgeous drove me to ignore her advice and I got my layers and bangs.

When my friend’s bridal shower came, after much time fussing and preparing myself, I entered with my new style.  I anticipated a lot of impressed looks and was noticed almost immediately.  A friend commented,

“Oh, you look astounding with your new cut, but…”  I cut her off.

“But what?”

“Your dress is a bit old fashioned and doesn’t really match your new hairstyle.”  I went home that night with even more worries.

Needing an immediate fix of my wardrobe, I spent a ton on laces and frills, spending many late nights researching the latest styles online.  I spent a lot of energy making a seamstress understand the details of the gracious style I needed.

When all was ready for the next party, I entered stressed and concerned to the point of distraction.  I wanted to look the best and be the lady of the evening.  I came in worrying that my frilled and netted gown stay perfect that I couldn’t even enjoy the stares of the party goers.  I concentrated moving gracefully to please everyone that I couldn’t participate in any conversation.

In my mind, I took in the glamor and attention feeling confident that no-one could have any suggestion as to how my style and hair could be any more perfect.  Then, while faking in front of a lady, a soft touch landed on my shoulder.

Turning, I saw my beloved school friend, Zunaira.  She stood simple, yet her beauty seemed glorious and shining to me.  My gaze settled on her innocent face.

“I couldn’t recognize you at first!  You have changed so much in the last year.”  She said to me.

“You looked beautiful, but…”

THIS BUT

I sighed.  I let dear Zunaira continue.

“But you looked prettier before, at least to me.  I loved your simple style.  It made you so different from my other friends.  You don’t seem as comfortable this way.”

We were interrupted then and she left, yet I caught my reflection in the wall mirror as she walked away.  Tears burned behind my smiling eyes, as Zunaira had cut to my core with her simple words.  I didn’t like what I’d been doing.  I constantly worried about my looks to the point of always feeling shaky, never truly confident.  I disliked being so desperate to please others.From that night on, I left behind the changes I’d made.  I became a social solitaire.  You’ve seen them; they are part of all the social activities, yet their solitaire personality stands out.  They are totally comfortable being themselves.  Being happy with myself became my priority.  And the weight of pleasing others left my shoulders, where my simple braid now happily rests.

 

 

 

Shadow Valley-Flash Fiction

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I thought I am gifted in all ways and am empathetic, smart, genius, loving. I believed I have superfluous traits and striking beauty. The mirror showed me black hairs with soft curls falling below my waist, glowing hazel brown skin and large eyes with curled lashes. My dimpled smile makes me appear more beautiful.

****

I had a lot of complaints with everyone. These complaints never left me. I sat with Tooba and Maham and discussed how the world is going nuts. I felt depressed on seeing people doing wrong and communicated my thoughts about others openly. I discussed the weird dressing, diminishing morals and hypocrisy.

I couldn’t tolerate wrong, whenever I saw someone in need, I extended my help graciously. On 23rd November, I confronted Saba and Sara who had a fight. I brought them together in front of a bunch of kids and told them what a shame it was to behave like this. I frequently complained about my teachers to the principal when they were a bit laid back. I wouldn’t tolerate the misdoings of my siblings.

This made people avoid me, but I was happy as I did well and was just a perfect kid. There were only two people I liked, Tooba and Maham. They were my only friends. They agreed with whatever I said and seconded me in my social improvement cause.

Every day I told many people about their misdoings and how to seed goodness in themselves. I gave them my examples.

******

That evening it was raining, I called my two groupies and got ready. My mom said it’s not okay to go in the rain in the evening.”

I replied, “Mom I can take better care of myself, and you know how cautious I am, you need not worry.”

I went out to enjoy the rain. On my way, I commented on people on moving bizarrely; I said, “Look how arrogant people are, they do not cherish the creators blessing.”

I taunted on their clothes and even commented on the ways people enjoyed themselves in the rain. We reached the opening of a vast forest, and we decided to hang over in there so that we may distance ourselves from the foolishness of people around us.

*****

The beauty seemed perfect. The greenish colors looked bright and vibrant. The chirps sounded beautiful. The flowers appeared dressed up for the party. I laughed and said, “Today the forest looks glorious like me.”

Both my groupies eyed me, and I saw the admiration in their eyes. I giggled, and we played.

 

We rested, and then my eyes caught a weird thing, which I never encountered in the forest before. It read ‘shadow valley.’ Mystified, I asked my groupies to explain to me what this thing was. They saw the tunnel like opening with awe. I sensed the fright in them and felt the same, yet I acted like a brave soul.

I walked towards the opening. On the door following words were engraved:

Fulfill the wish of seeing your true beauty and real worth. Since ancient times man desire to know their real worth and beauty but very few have the chance of entering the shadow valley. It has a fantastic invisible mirror that reflects your true self. Enter in it and bewilder yourself.

 

I smiled and thought, I am perfect, and I may be among the most beautiful and worthy creatures on mother earth. I stepped in confidently and saw my groupies shaking unwilling to move. They were indecisive, but I voiced, “Don’t be stubborn, let’s see the real beauty.”

Inside it was dark and damp. I walked and heard the thudding sound of my shoes. A sharp blue light replaced the darkness making us unable to see.

When we were able to see, I saw an opening with the dancing alphabet ‘Shadows of reflection.’

I entered and saw nothing. I laughed saying, “No mirrors. Who will show us our true self?”

Just then I heard an ugly sound saying, “me.”

I turned to face the sound and stood motionless. I saw three dark shadowed creatures. They looked horrible, reshaped and ugly with a striking resemblance to my friends and me. They had our height, our features yet their dark color and tightly shut lips and coldness in eyes made them look so evil.

I shouted gathering my courage, “who are you?”

The shadows replied in harsh sound “We are your inner self, don’t you think we are perfect and beautiful, ready to help everyone.”

“No, I am not as ugly as you,” I backed tangling in my friends who always stood behind me. I stood up and ran and heard a lot of footsteps behind me. I turned back and saw my friends and the shadows running and saying, “We will become your face, we will become your face.”

I woke up shouting. I jumped from my bed and saw my features in the mirror. They stood the same, beautiful and mesmerizing. Behind them, I could sense the arrogance and superiority complex. I went back to my bed as I knew my true beauty.

I cried for many days, with the shadows not leaving my mind.

******

That day, I saw my cousin coming in. She stood beside me saying, “Amina you look glorious in any form.” I went to her and touching her puffed cheeks said, “You look adorable as well.”

She eyed me surprised as I always told her how her slightly increased weight is spoiling her beauty. She voiced, “Are you sure, do I look beautiful?”

I smiled and answered, “You look adorable.”

She smiled sweetly at me, and I knew how I could get rid of the vision of shadow that wasn’t leaving me.

Just Two Eggs- Flash Fiction

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I saw them in the valley of Koh-Marrie. They caught my attention due to innocent eyes and running nose. They had worn a lot of sweaters that looked old and cheap. Their cheeks had the red specks and freckles common on the faces of the inhabitants of that area. I felt drawn towards them. They had rod baskets in their hands and were asking people for something. They wandered in the streets eyeing everyone with hope.

I felt the pain on seeing poor kids, and my heart wished, please it must not be a child. I illusioned them going school in clean and pressed uniforms. I saw them eating in restaurants and fantasized them having carefree early years. I felt them roaming and visiting the amazing places. I desired them to be free from the tension of earning bread.

*****

Their voices nudged me. I attended them and felt their eyes pleading. Both of them said together, “Just one egg please.”

I smiled and said, “Who are you and what do you want.”

They replied, “We live down in the tent houses; please buy two eggs so we may take food for our mother and siblings and us.”

I said, “what do you father do?

They said, “We don’t have a father.”

I tried to hand them the note, but they insisted, buy one egg, please.

I said, “Why don’t you eat these eggs as you are hungry?”

They said, “Mother had restricted us from eating them. She takes pledge every morning.”

I said to one of them, “Ok give me two.”

The other one voiced, “Take from me as well.”

I said, “Aren’t you two connected with each other?”

He said, “Yes, we are brothers but then if he earns more then he will be today’s hero in the house, and I also want to be mother’s hero.”

I felt shaken and bought two eggs, one from each. I handed them the money and then gave up the same eggs to them to eat.

They eyed me delightfully. They kept their baskets on the road and set to peel the eggs. Their smile and pleasure seemed indiscernible. Their eyes flickered, and it seemed they had almost everything. I asked them, “Do you go to school?”

With a mouthful of eggs; they replied, “Yes we do.”

I saw them eating and though just two eggs and this much joy.

I thought for being happy it’s not necessary to have a lot of luxuries. The World is created this way, some are rich, and some are poor, yet happiness is not contingent on being poor or wealthy. It can come from just two eggs.

 

 

Stories of Dead Heroes- short story

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He started writing on social media and became famous. The reason behind his success was his one paragraph stories on real heroes.

The likes on his page kept multiplying, the subscribers and followers loved his words. However, his fans and followers demanded only one thing from him; ‘please don’t make the hero die.’ Two of the stories of unsung heroes he wrote are as followed:

The story of a hero that lived in a box house:

His father and mother got separated. He lived in a box house. He did not have enough food to eat, yet he continued education. He sold toys by the side of the road. People saw him trying to sell cheap toys and tried to give him money as a charity yet he denied. However, He eyed people with gratitude when they purchased his toys. Each purchase made him believe he will study. He endeavored and became a chartered accountant. He knew pains of those who can’t afford education. He set up a great network for the education of poor people and devoted a significant portion of personal and monetary resources to it. No one valued him and his work yet he endeavored. Once he thought that the box-like the house isn’t enough for his extended family including his mother, his sister, his brother, his wife and kids so he shifted. He got a job with higher pay. One night after enjoying great success in his charity network; he came back home feeling fulfilled. He eyed his spacious house, his lovely kids, and his pretty wife and thought, I reached my destinations, my dreams are a reality. The other day he came but with a motionless body. He died in road accident. He died before he could enjoy the fruits of his success. His network lost its parent, and so does the children. His wife lost her husband at 22. He left lots of people crying. Individuals who stood against him in life stood aggrieved at his graveyard unable to bury him. Deep inside they loved him and valued his passion. They regretted if only they have communicated it to him in his life that he was a real hero.

A story of peace seeker

He had a great voice-truly mesmerizing. He became a famous. He touched the heights of success with his bank balance getting heavier each day. He had all that people desire yet he felt no peace. In the pursuit of peace, he met his creator, the creator of the universe. He knew where the peace was so he forgo everything to attain it. The fame and money came back to him along with peace as a gift from Creator. He soared and taught people how to have peace. He made people meet the creator.In his nation a lot of people criticized him, a lot many called him hypocrite yet he remained steadfast. One day he came back to his nation in pieces. He died. In his nation; a lot of people cried, a lot moaned, a lot regretted their views about him. He is and will remain the hero of the nation.

In all his stories the hero died. People shouted why the hero is always dead. Why can’t some remain alive? He received calls from people pleading and begging to write stories about living heroes, yet no hero lived till the end of the story. His readers become frustrated and furious? They held a campaign over the virtual world by the name of:

Keep the heroes alive, or we will not read you!

He told he would do a live event for his fans. He appeared on 23rd of September,2016. A significant number of people remained affixed in front of screens. He started:

People want my heroes to stay alive. They urge me to write stories of living heroes. I don’t write tales of living heroes as:

  • When stars are alive, we never treat them as heroes. We never treasure their heroic deeds. We demean them and ridicule them. When they die, we know them as heroes.
  • Death is no bad end rather it’s a starting of new life. Those who die are never gone. They remain spiritually with us.
  • When heroes die, their heroic deeds are remembered more and celebrated, and this made my heart bleed. Why can’t we cherish and celebrate living heroes instead of ridiculing them?

However if the readers promise me that they will value the heroes before their death, I will start to write about living heroes.

He left saying these words. A hundred eyes cried while reflecting their true selves. A lot many vowed to value the heroes in life.

This time his wall had a story of a hero that is alive. It read:

When the boy who lived in a box house died, his sister took the responsibility of running the network for poor kids. She kept the mission of his brother alive. Soon a lot many joined her in her mission, and the work of the boy in the box house flourished. You can meet the sister on the fourth street of AR Avenue so meet her and support her in her mission.

 

Donation Box – Short story

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They set the beautiful donation box at the entrance of the school. I loved the beauty of the box. The purple ribbons over it were cool. I saw students and parents putting in money. Every time someone neared it to put anything in its mouth; shaped as purple smiling lips, I felt happy and sad at the same time- happy because I loved the thought of money reaching the victims and sad because I couldn’t contribute anything.

I didn’t have a single penny to put in the donation box. I am a poor penniless boy. The reason I am in school is my brilliant mind and the benevolence of one man who saw me selling the balloons. He asked me if I want to study and I said yes. I never disappointed the man. I excelled, and so he maintained his scholarship.

I knew the importance of the donation box for the victims. Every time in morning and evening, I stayed near the donation box with my gaze fixed at the donators. My intense interest in the donation box made the volunteers suspicious. They know of my poverty, so they guessed it did be because I wanted money and loved it.

The next day, they moved the donation box outside the principal’s office. My obsession to see the donors compelled me to remain affixed near the donation box. My desire to put something in the purple opening of the box increased. Days followed other days and my urge of donating got stronger. One day our English teacher taught us creative writing and talked about the impact of words. I felt the lights and sparks in my brain. I got an idea to make a donation.

I wrote many special notes at night that day and woke up early. I slipped the papers in the cars passing by, and I even slipped some inside the doors of the big houses. I felt fulfilled. I went to school. I waited for the school to get over. I held the exclusive paper tightly and smiled to myself. I waited for the volunteers to leave and when no one was in sight, I moved to the box and put my exclusive paper inside. I felt a firm grip on my shoulders, and then all the volunteers shouted, “You little beggar child, you thief, we suspected you of your dirty business.”

I stood gaping at them. They took me to the principal’s office and convicted me of taking money from the box. I promised that I hadn’t taken a penny. No one listened. They checked me inside out. They got nothing except the paper I wrote last night. It read:

Dear people,

Every night I hear the cries and weeps of the victims. I see the eyes of little kids’ looking hopefully at their mothers for food. Empty stomach hurts, so does homelessness and so does the loss of loved ones. The pain makes me wither on my bed and then I play the imagination game.

I imagine myself in the heaps of gold coins, and then I imagine myself handing all those to the kids and victims around me. Alas! It’s my illusion. I can’t donate, but I know you can. If you want to donate then the purple box with the purple smile awaits you at a national high school outside the principal’s office.

Regards,
A poor donor

 The principal eyed me with teary eyes. I felt his hands shaking just then the Peon announced that there is a gathering outside the school. People outside want to know about the purple box with purple smiling lips. The principal smiled and took me and the box outside. Few people put cheques inside the box. Then there were few more, and the people kept on multiplying each day as I slipped the notes each day in different localities.

When the box was filled, the principal opened it in the assembly. He told the donated figure. He said, “I will announce the biggest donor who will accompany me to the victimized area to help the victims.”

I thought what a luck of the biggest donor and my illusion of handing over the gold coins to the victims dazed me.

Someone called me; I heard my name. It was the principal who called. He wanted me to come forward. I went with shaky legs not knowing the purpose of the call. He clutched the special paper I put in the box.

He said, “This boy is the biggest donor. He is poor, yet he wrote the notes to the richest, and we got hefty donations. He had also made a special donation, and it’s this paper. I am reading it aloud to you all,”

Dear Donation Box,

This is the paper of wishes and prayers. I can’t put in you money,  yet I have invited those who can. I love you purple smiling lips and want you to spread the same dazzling smile on the faces of the victims.

Regards,
Poor donor

 

*******

I am standing in the heaps of food items and money. I saw victimized kids, mothers and old people coming to me. I hand them what they need. Their smile on receiving their needs is dazzling. I love it. It’s just like the smiling lips of the purple box.

Only this time it is not an illusion. It’s a reality.

My message to you: Dream big, aim high