“Explain it to me one more time,” said Gauri as she walked behind dadi who was busily dumping things into an open suitcase.
Sarla almost snapped at Gauri for being a nuisance. Didn’t she realize they…more importantly she…was in danger? Before the angry words could leave her mouth, it occurred to her how confusing all this must be. She had every right to demand answers. Mastering her anger, a no easy feat considering how terrified she was, she stopped her packing and sat down. She could give Lemon five minutes and explain what was going on.
Shades looked at her ragtag bunch of people who had gathered in this dark, remote bunker to discuss war strategy. Abhor’s menace had reached breaking point and all the sides knew it was now or never. Dawn would either bring peace or infinite darkness and the fate of the human race was now in the hands of seven people.
Spending her summer vacations at her dadi’s was Gauri’s favourite pastime. Growing up with an acerbic sense of humour meant she often felt or was made to feel like an outcast. No one understood her jokes and she hated dismissing her sarcasm as ‘it’s just a joke.’ Her dadi though not only understood her sense of humour but also participated which made spending time with her something she looked forward to.
Sarla Devi, an octogenarian, sprang up from bed with an agility that belied her age. It was 6 in the morning and she hadn’t been sleeping well for the past one week. Her granddaughter had, very helpfully, told her it was a simple case of old age but it wasn’t that. She could feel it in her bones that something big was coming – the same granddaughter had made another joke, this time related to osteoporosis – but Sarla hadn’t made her usual comeback, much to the granddaughter’s chagrin.
This is what you get when you are a Marvel and Tolkien fan, especially after watching Infinity War and reading The Silmarillion.
If you want to blame/thank someone for this crossover, you have to find Smithsonian that has a course on edX that teaches you how to make your own superhero comic. This isn’t a comic, obviously, but rather a nod to those two greats above. Enjoy…or not…though mostly enjoy.
Will be following a Sunday and Thursday posting cycle this September. So check back for more!
Vol. 1 Issue #1: Shades…grey and black
Vol. 1 Issue #2: An old friend says hello
Vol. 1 Issue #3: On the plains of Garudwar
Vol. 1 Issue #4: Remember me
Vol. 1 Issue #5: Helcynth
Vol. 1 Issue #6: The darkness
Vol. 1 Issue #7: Mirroring
Vol. 1 Issue #8: Night and day
I am taking my blog to the next level with Blogchatter’s #MyFriendAlexa.
There’s a song inside of me
waiting to burst free
if I could make myself
sit down and breathe
maybe it would come to me.
Be still my bleeding heart
Be still my weeping soul
For not all tears are evil
though evil they may seem
For they only measure the journey
that was, that is and that will be.
I didn’t know that a word like ‘introvert’ existed for a long time. I was first introduced to this word when I reached college and people started to say I was very ‘reserved,’ not as an accusation to their credit, more as an observation and a surprise because they couldn’t fathom a human existed who didn’t like the sound of her own voice. Well maybe they were a little deprecating in their observation but the good thing was, I never took it as a ‘problem’ that needed to be solved. In that sense I’d like to believe I was self-aware enough to know that being an introvert was a-okay.
Once a year you come like clockwork
Leaving me stranded, confused, anchor-less
Feeling all feelings of loathing, hatred and anger
Which further blocks the channel of creation.
Once a year you come to remind me
That writing is harder than I had made it out to be
That it is better to give up now then later
And save yourself the heartbreak of failure.
The silence was in three parts. First was the absence of humans and the noises they inevitably make while shuffling in the house, going about their daily business, knocking into things, knocking over things, announcing their presence at various intervals to ensure the household did not forget.
The second was the ambient silence. Where usually the cars and the buses, horns, children singing, could be heard wafting through the open windows, it was now all silent – like someone had turned down the volume.