Plot Twist

The people were stupid. Very stupid. They witnessed the entire story with their gaze filtered by stupidity. Their sight polarised by stubbornness.

They knew what would have been good for them. They knew what had to be done. Yet they ignored it. They saw the story unfold with childish wonder, detaching themselves in the process.

Blindfolded by their selves.

They were ignorant. Ignorant, obstinate oafs.

So much so that, they didn’t even realise how twisted the plot was until Death came.

And shouted,

“Plot twist!”

And died.

Advertisements

Brotherhood of the World

So this beautiful person nominated me for this award. I cannot thank her enough for all the support she endlessly gives me, such a gem💛 Go follow her!

https://accidentallyinked.wordpress.com


Anyways,

The Rules:

1. Thank the person who nominated you and link back to their blog.<
. Answer the questions sent to you.<
. Nominate around ten bloggers.<
. Create your set of questions for your nominees.<
. List the rules and display the Brotherhood Of The World logo in your post and/or blog.


Questions from inky:

1. Which emoji describes your life situation right now?

The emoji is yet to be created.

2. When was the last time you read a book? What was it?

It was so long ago that I don’t even remember 😭 I THINK it may have been “The Forty Rules of Love”. However, this book has brought to my mind a very tragic incident that occurred today.

So basically a girl in my class borrowed it from me. Now, I am VERY particular about my books. For some reason, I decided to trust her. And then, after a long wait, it was returned today. With a very sheepish smile. She handed me the book and I thanked her (why tho?) and then she said she took REAL good care and I smiled nervously and then she said something like oh “except for this tiny stain”. And in my head the word “tiny” was the size of a full stop. And then I looked down, fearing the worst. But could there be worse than worst?! Yes. An ink spot. The size of a seal. In the centre of the beautiful cover. I could’ve screamed. However, you will be proud to know, I kept my cool. And, right then I said “Oh don’t worry about it.”

I was burning inside.

3. What advice would you give to someone who wishes to start a blog?

Make sure whatever you write, or, you know, whatever pictures you post, are original. If you write, it must come from deeeep inside you. I can see through shallow words (and believe me, aLOT of other people can, too)

Don’t write something because it’s trending. Like these days depression is a trend. It angers me to a point that I can’t explain! It’s like mocking actual people who suffer. Have some respect.

What you write must be YOURS. And, your words should sound like YOU. You must resonate with the frequency of the universe in a uniquely YOU way. That is how the universe will recognise you. If you disguise yourself with another, comparatively better known frequency, your talent will be masked. Your own frequency won’t be picked up by anyone and that other frequency never accepted you in the first place.

4. Would you rather live  without your phone for a month or live without WiFi for a week?

Idk…. without WiFi for a week?😂

5. If there is a new book and a movie of it, which one will you chose? The book or movie and why?

The book EVERY TIME. Because I am eventually going to try to read the book, and if I know the storyline already, you won’t catch me investing so much time into the book! Plus, don’t movies usually ruin books? I’d rather read the original words of the writer. It was the writer’s piece.


I am a rebel! Not nominating anyone specifically, but everyone generally! Let the love spread!!*

*Me being me, hiding laziness behind the name of the rebellious.

Pleeeease, if you’re reading this (which you are, yes! Yes!) attempt this. I know you are an amazing blogger. Because not a lot of people read here, and I know the ones that do, and if you do not, well, there’s really not much I can do. Except send you a prayer? But anyways. Appreciate yourself. There’s no shame in that! Just answer accidentallyinked’s questions. There’s two people who know that you (yes you!) are an amazing soul inside.

One of them is you.

The other one is me.

Life update.

It’s a battle keeping up with these word prompts. A battle with time. And my mind.

I have so much to study. And I want to read more, too. And I have to think about what I’m going to do with my life. Also, I’ve set unrealistic goals for the weekend (again) which shall go unfulfilled (again) and that shall leave me annoyed. It’s not my fault I only get one day off.

The mind has been whispering. Doubts, fears.

The mind is uneasy. Everyday is another battle. To keep that balance between thinking and not think.

I want to exercise. Mind, soul and body. I want to get up earlier and be productive. But that is not possible.

I want a change of routine. I want this endless road to bend. I want something that would excite me, something that would inspire. My words have been kind to me. Never do they leave the mind. I have been neglecting them, I know. They have been starting to get quite difficult of late. They, too, want a change of expression. Rebellious, ungrateful. They never even realise how much I do for them. However, I in turn must not be ungrateful. They are a blessing, they could be taken away any time. I must cherish them.

I can’t wait for the fog. Glorious, vague vapours encompassing everything and anything, without discrimination.

It is another battle to see the same people every day, to disagree on the same things, to put up with the same ignorance and backwardness and still be nice. Apart from family, and that too only the most direct relations, how much sooner one tires of human company than of anything else. Cats, independent, detached creatures, infinitely cleverer than us (Though only metaphorically).

It is also a battle to be good. Evil tempts you. No matter how much one tries to purify one’s heart, it will always remain contaminated. No matter how much you try, you have been too infected. It is a battle to be kind. Especially those who don’t deserve it. But God knows you’re a monster inside, and if you start classifying and judging people, He could call you out on it.

It’s a battle to be.

How sweet would it be to not be?


Writing prompt: https://zoyakubra.wordpress.com/2017/09/23/october-writing-challenge/

P.S. Do you think my blog has become a little too dull and dark lately? Do you even enjoy? I’d love to know!

A Wish.

In a land of absolute normalcy, and nothing out of the ordinary, there was a girl. A girl who was completely normal, ordinary. There she was, in class that day, the 20th of October. The professor droned on and on, but her fragile mind was on other unnecessary and unimportant things. The girl was nostalgic. With her heart split across three continents, this wasn’t an infrequent condition. There were smells she longed to inhale and voices she wanted to hear. There was a certain temperature of the air she wished was there.

She thought of waffles and shortbread. She thought of flavoured yogurt and freshly made finger fish. With beans. And sweet corn. And flavoured water.

She thought of a house that would be warm and comforting against biting cold winds. She thought of the maternal presence in that house. She thought of the last time she had hugged her. The way her short plump figure had completely encompassed her entire being in a split second. Perhaps she had not realised what she was to the girl. If she had, she would’ve held on longer. She thought of all those times she had woken up from unpleasant dreams to find a familiar, comforting snore gently rock her back to sleep. She thought of all the times she had been fussed on upon, the many summer holidays spent in ignorant bliss. The way her grandmother had tried to make the most of the every meeting, to somehow cover the distance of an entire continent.

She thought of a tiny bundle of joy, blessed with the most beautiful smile, barely a year old. She thought of her niece, the way she giggled when she was thrown in the air. The way her smile melted the hardest heart, the way she spread love and joy indiscriminately with just her presence.

There came to her mind an old, fragile-looking man too, with endless grace and dignity. A man who was a living miracle (literally). A man who was the most splendid example of resilience, hardwork, determination, and above all, will power. A man loved and respected by so many, but she considered herself so lucky to be loved by him. A man she looked up to, her grandfather. Countless times that old wrinkled face had smiled upon her, as if her insignificant being was actually the source of his pride. A brown face, sometimes appearing in her memory sitting in an intense Punjabi sun, other times laying on a pillow, sleeping in front of the fire, cozy against the frost outside that so many Punjabis yearned for but never experienced. Most of the times, though, he was either dressed in a three-piece suit, or a crisp shalwar kameez, actively pacing about, never a dull moment. The best storyteller.

There were other memories on this continent, some personal, others not as much. Her wandering mind, however, moved to another continent, one she had never been to, but which contained a piece of her heart. A family, more beloved to her than belgian chocolate, if chocolate was a scale. A family she hoped to see again, soon. But the prospects looked dim.

Finally, the third continent. The continent she currently found her physical being on. A land containing almost all her memories, some sweet, some sour. A land where she was thankful to still have some of the people she loved and cherished. Her paternal grandfather, a man with unwavering faith in Allah. The most patient man she had seen in her life. Born to be great. And that was what he had achieved. Though not as expressive as herself, he had loved them in his own way and shown it. She knew him by the words: bravery, wisdom, chivalry, gentlemanliness, discipline, tolerance and trust. A man of endless dignity and grace, a man she looked up to. A man was respected greatly and deeply by everyone. A man who taught how to respect, simply by showing it. A man who led by example.

She was still nostalgic. She wanted to have everyone and everything within her grasp. She wished it was so. But at the same time she knew she could not be ungrateful for all that God had already blessed her with. So, she said a quiet, heartfelt prayer and thanked Him for all the blessings she already had.

The bell rung. She was forced back to Earth.


This prompt came along at the right time.

Hints of Pleasure

I saw a woman once

With droopy eyes

And a face of

Permanent gloom.

And though she was young,

Her wrinkles conveyed

Age and depression.

So much so that,

Even when she reached

The epitome of ecstasy

Her face portrayed only

Hints of pleasure.

 

 

 

Writing prompt:

Here

Vacant Stares

The river, it flows

Reflecting images in its course

It gushes forth, every second

A new image

Images never seen by humanity

Images the river hides

Images. The rocks’ secrets.

Of everything that took place

But wasn’t ever seen by eyes

The eyes that

When witnessed miracles

Nature’s greatest

Blinked.

And turned away

Often looked down

At artificial screens

In the presence of Grandeur.

So nature, in revenge,

Feeling insulted

At something the Creator

of the moon created

Being rejected,

Took away their sights

So that they never saw

And all that remained

Were vacant stares


I know I’m not doing these prompts everyday, and BELIEVE ME I had some pretty cool ideas too, but I just didn’t have the time! Also, I love how they make me think! It’s so fun. If you haven’t tried this already, why don’t you check it out here? Also, I’m doing two different prompts at the same time. So you can check out the other one in the previous post.

Check this one out here:

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2017/10/01/october-writing-prompts/