Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul



The Hiding Place

The Hiding Place
A Realistic Fiction

Her favorite author once wrote, “Life has many ways of testing a person’s will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen all at once.” This day, she believes, happens to be one of those awful tests. And she is on the edge of failing.

Maya always strives to be a better person— to be a better version of herself at least. She wants to learn kindness and patience, and give humanity a chance. But one glance at the corner, a woman snickers at an old homeless man. Apathetic of his shaking empty hands. On a bus ride home, men talk about war and how this world is better off without Syria. Unthinking that those people, too, are victims. And to add to her outburst, someone just carelessly wrote all over the sketch she’s been working on for days!

With all the patience she could muster and all the kindness she could hold, Maya took a deep breath and hike to her hiding place. “Now this is what peace looks like.”

Word Count: 175

Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Pamela S. Canepa. Thanks PJ for hosting another fun prompt. ❤

It’s been a month of hiatus and glad to be back (hopefully for good this time). So… someone just carelessly wrote all over the sketch that I’ve been working on in the office and I badly need a peaceful place like this. Sigh. How could some people be inconsiderate?

Enjoy more stories here:

Drops of Kindness


Even a drop of water
creates ripples
More so
an act of kindness
however little

In response to The Daily Post prompt: Drop

Sharing this lovely quote from His Holiness during his speech in an interfaith gathering on May 2013. Let’s send some drops of kindness today! 😄❤️❤️❤️

A Sunday Limerick


Never have I looked straight into those eyes
For I have nothing but a fear and a sigh
Fear that I’d see right through her pain
When I have been living my life in vain
Walking all mighty and high

Never have I held her in my arms
Or bothered to ask if she’s cold or warm
For asking meant letting the truth to seep through
Saddling me the weight of things I couldn’t do
In sidewalks, these young souls swarm.

After going to church yesterday, a street kid of about three or four years of age came to me asking for money. She was a skinny little girl and her innocent black eyes beneath those noticeably gorgeous long lashes were looking up to me full of hope. Little did she know that I was a towering coward. It scared me to think that she might be raised by one of those syndicates here in our country that prey on little children to do the dirty work for them. It scared me to think that she might end up buying a plastic of rugby instead of food for herself. It scared me to think that she’ll hand the money to her parents and use it for God-knows-what. A lot of things were running on my mind and I did the most common thing people do— I walked past her, ignoring her little voice and her outstretched little hands.

A few steps later, I looked back and saw her follow an elderly woman who did the same thing. That’s when I made up my mind. It was bad enough for me to think ill of her but it was worse ignoring such innocent soul. I may not be able to change the world but maybe I can at paint a smile on that little girl’s face. Maybe next Sunday, I can look straight into her eyes.

Hmm.. I don’t want to  hand money though, how about a burger and fries? 🙂

Up ↑