The Baker Brothers

‘I am the ginger bread man. You can call me Ginger Bread’.

Diana had gone to the baker’s shop to get some of his special butter bread. In the end, it turned out that she took ginger bread instead.

Diana walked into the shop and heard somebody sobbing. He wasn’t the baker. He tried to stop when he saw her but didn’t quite succeed. She tried to console him and find out the problem. Once he realised that he could trust her with his secrets, he burst out into louder and more heartbreaking sobs. Finally after five minutes of patience, patting, hugging and consoling, she heard his story.

I was walking from home to the shop after I got a call from my brother, Dick. Dick told me that he had burnt his hand and couldn’t go on baking and if I could take his place. He was worried because he got an order from a girl to bake ten loaves of his special butter bread.’ It suddenly struck him that Diana could be that girl. ‘Are you that girl, miss?’ he asked her. ‘Yes’, said Diana. It looked like he was going to cry again but luckily he didn’t. ‘Well’ he continued. He gave me his recipe. I lost it and decided to make my ginger bread. Then it struck me that some people did not like my ginger bread and you may be one of them. I didn’t know what to do. Also, I had to sell my shop to get money because there was a bigger shop which opened up across the street. It sold ginger bread and other things too. The minute it opened, everyone forgot me.’

‘There there now, just you forget your troubles and make ten loaves of your ginger bread and sell it to me’ said Diana.

He suddenly lifted his head with shining eyes. ‘Oh miss, he said, will you really buy it?’ ‘Of course’, she said. ‘Then, he said with satisfaction, you don’t need to wait. I already made it this morning so here you are’.

Diana was having a party that evening and decided to call Ginger Bread too. He accepted the invitation and came and was pleasantly surprised to see everyone enjoying his baking. Then Diana suggested that he open a shop, a bigger one, with his brother in their town. It would be a success, she knew, because everyone was enjoying the food so much. He agreed and now there is a shop very close to her house with two happy men running it.

- Sakshi Arora

Sakhi is in class VIII and attended Word Quotient’s first ever Creative Writing Workshop in 2009 in Bangalore, India.

The Mask

A thousand faces hidden beneath me.
Little have you comprehended.
Little have you seen.
Beneath this vibrant façade,
A thousand worlds lie unseen.

Cruel and vicious,
Charming and vivacious,
Unadulterated and pure.
Hidden by masks of pretense,
Of hypocritical submission
To the ways of your world.
- Indhu Rebecca Varghese

Indhu is a Communicative English graduate currently working as a freelance technical writer.

My Sin My Victory

In the escapades that I led,
That I designed I found no flaw.
Except for the hearts that I slew
That stained my hands, crimson red.
A greater sin wouldn’t be found.
A sin justified by good and honor.
Pleased must be the Gods of inferno,
For today, I stand on prides clay mount.

Planting my flag of victory black,
While the sinner’s poisoned blood
Trickle down the pole in red.
Feeding color to the night so dark

Am I the victor? Am I the sinner?
Am I the flag of victory so black?
Am I the reddened night so dark?
Or am I the soul lost forever?

-   Indhu Rebecca Varghese

Indhu is a Communicative English graduate currently working as a freelance technical writer.

The Battle

The sun is high. Even the clouds have taken refuge.

I am fighting a battle, a battle that is raging on even as I speak and I have the scars to show for it. I have been wounded, bloodied, mauled beyond repair. Several times I have been forced to think of surrender and retreat. The onslaught is horrific and unrelenting but I called upon my reserves, I rallied my forces, I disciplined the last remaining foot soldiers and urged them to put up a last fighting stand against the enemy.
The enemy, a very capable and dangerous fighting force, one of whose likes have never been seen before in this part of the world, equipped with the most deadly weaponry known to man. Backed by a even more powerful force, one that knows no mercy, no creed, religion, nothing makes any difference to the carnage it unleashes on its path to the ultimate goal.

His powers are unlimited, unrelenting and he can be sadistically cruel as he wants. His tentacles reach out into the hidden corners of our kingdom, sucking out the very essence and every resource that we have, and even the ones we thought we had, and weren’t even aware of.

He plunders our armories, stockpiles, raids our granaries, ravages every defence we have and succeeds in weakening us till we are sorely tempted to lay down our arms at his feet. But weakened though I may be, I am not giving up without a fight.

Here, I lie bloodied, wounded, tired beyond the limits of human endurance. But still I fight on, day after day, night after night, sometimes they gain the upper hand, forcing us back and then again.
Me and my ragtag bunch keeping them away, but for how long?

I stand there, on the battlefield, my arms covered with blood, some of it mine. Holding the sword which has been my faithful companion for so long. I look back at my fortress, an empty shell. I think of the glory that it was, the days that I spent there, the happiness that I experienced, the love and the longing.

I may win this battle or maybe I wont, I may even win the war but I have still lost. My treasure has already been taken away from me. As I look at the hordes preparing their final surge towards me, I can see them frothing at their mouths, with murder in their bloodshot eyes; I experience a moment of calm and I think to myself – I was never meant to keep the treasure for long, I was never meant to be its rightful owner. I was just a caretaker –holding it for the rightful owner.

As evening falls, and the vultures pick up the pieces of the battle, I lie there looking at the azure sky weightless and surprisingly at peace with myself. I have lost. The battle, the war, my treasure. She has been taken away by the plunderer. Away to a new land to be spent among the denizens of that land who now own her.

I can feel something picking at my legs, something furry and clawed.

I close my eyes, this time for the final time.

- Rohit Bhasi

Rohit is a writer, artist and IT professional all rolled into one. You can view more of Rohit’s work here.

Sleepy

Neeraj Menon

- Neeraj Menon

Neeraj is an extremely creative artist who has a degree in Communication Design and works freelance for famous comic book publishers. You can check out his profile here.

Silver Afternoons

Silver afternoons
With a red poem on the wings
of my butterfly memories,
I sang. To you my dream-a-too lover,
My Thunderbird silly smiler,
Snickers sharer, Beautiful Mind defender.
Ridiculously yet, you vanish, saying
“Pss… but I only like you…” -
Innocent eyes of silver afternoons.

- Mischelle Rebello

Mischelle is a confused soul on her way to enlightenment through
rather maudlin ways or so she likes to think. In the real world, however,
she’s a bored content manager/channel manager/senior producer at a
multinational which likes to award its employees with fancy names. She loves
reading and sometimes grudgingly employs her imagination to write. But tell
her to travel or trek then she’ll gladly drop all to flitter away.

 

Birth of Distress

Oh, Soulless being, lost in this forlorn world,
Once there was life within you.
You had a face and a reflection too.
Today you lie twisted and curled,
Distorted by the hurt choking you.

A few drops of tears should suffice, you thought;
To move beyond and retrieve your soul.
But alas, with woe you were distraught.
Displayed was your weakness so foul.
Ashamed were you for cowering in despair

Oh, Soulless being, lost in this forlorn world
Peace has found you through agony
Born to you is Distress, the child
Grown enough to vandalize in fury

The womb from which she spewed forth
Distress, you have delivered your mother
Numbness, have you destroyed in her
Salvation, have you brought to her
Pain has she received from her heir
Often, pain is sweeter than the other.

- Indhu Rebecca Varghese

 

Indhu is a Communicative English graduate currently working as a freelance technical writer.

The day I set the zoo lion free!

I have always been an animal lover and my love extended far beyond pets like cats and dogs, but even to elephants, monkeys and lions too. I used to be pretty emotional too, over, some times; seeing a wounded dog limping along the street would make my eyes dewy. I admit that I am very dreamy, so dreamy that I never really bothered about the zoo that I pass by on my way to and from school everyday. I have never been to a zoo before, and when I learnt about its existence, I wanted to visit the one near our school very much. Unfortunately, schoolwork barely left me free time to brush my hair (I managed, somehow!). Anyway, it would have pained me too much to see so many animals locked up in such tiny spaces.

One lucky day, a week before our school closed for summer, I finally managed to find time to drop in at the zoo. Actually, I was forced to make time as I was invited by a few friends. And being too courteous, I was forced to accompany them. I was kind of excited, but not as excited as I expected myself to be. I felt the dull kind of thrill looming up within me. In fact, Emma bought four tickets, one for each of us, before I accepted their invitation. I was soon dragged into the zoo. It was not a large zoo, but it was quite pleasant with all kinds of animals. Even so, I was not amused by the idea of keeping two giraffes in a 5 by 8 meter cage. When I saw the chimps and lions, my heart simply broke. There were five chimps in what was a cage too small for them. The poor lion lived alone in ‘solitary confinement’; some way to treat a king! It was heart shattering. The chimps looked restless, ill and bored as they clambered about the iron mesh. I thought they looked nervous. I knew I would be nervous if I was aware of spectators eyeing my every move. The lion’s cage was opposite and my eyes moved anxiously between the six miserable animals. They looked hungry, angry and wild.

They were brought from the wild. They have all the right to be wild,’ I thought slowly looking at the one zoo rule written boldly as a sign on each cage-‘Do not feed the animals’, but that rule was hard to follow and I found myself searching my backpack for the bar of chocolate that I bought for lunch. I undid the wrapping and tossed it between the cage bars to a gentle looking chimp, which caught it deftly. The chimps generously shared that bar of chocolate and then looked at me as if to say ‘I want more.’

The lion must have somehow noticed that I fed the monkeys, because at that very instant, he roared majestically. The people crowding around the cage screamed and fled as if the lion would skin them just by roaring. Anyway, it was stupid behavior because I, a twelve year old girl stood still, unaffected by his mighty roar. I was affected though, by the ill treatment that the lion suffered. Earlier I managed to help the chimps. I was looking for a way to help the wild jungle king, when I noticed that the cage door was bolted and not locked. To my utter shock, regret and shame, my hand impulsively stretched out and pulled back the three bolts that fastened the cage door. In less than a minute, the door was wide open; and the lion? He ran out in utter, utter madness. He did not attack me but ran out the main gate into the busy streets before the zoo keepers could stop him.

It was only after the worst happened that I realized what I had done. My knees trembled in fear as I recalled shakily that lions are carnivores. There were millions of people around the city and I do not think the people would be too impressed by the fact that a wild lion was roaming the streets. I walked home wishing I was dead. Lots of people could die just of fear, let alone those actually attacked by the lion. I shuddered and felt goose bumps rise up on my cold skin as I opened the rusty gate to our house. I sort of hoped that nobody knew what happened, but it was headlines and talked about vividly over dinner though nobody knew that I was behind it all. I felt unable to eat. I was consumed by shame and fear. I did the most stupid thing; it would be too embarrassing for anyone to know. That night I slept with my conscience at war with myself.

The headlines the next day were just as I expected-‘Lion roams streets- kills two, mauls a baby.’ That was too much. My idiotic action took away three innocent lives. I skipped school and locked myself in my room. I refused to eat and cried until my eyes nearly fell out of my head. I wondered how they were going to catch the lion. I was tired and hungry and my mind was exhausted, so I fainted on the floor.

I woke up suddenly as a stream of cold water tricked down my forehead. To my amazement, I was not lying on the carpet in my room, but on the pavement in the zoo. I looked up and saw Emma, Amy and Megan peering down at me calling out, ‘Judy! Judy!’ It turned out that the lion’s escape was merely a nightmare or a day mare, rather. But I panicked and hysterically cried ‘The lion! The lion!’ I was still weak, so I passed out again.

Judy! What is the square root of 625?’ asked Mrs. Burnett.

Mrs. Burnett? How did she get to the zoo? She is our mathematics teacher. Suddenly, it dawned upon me that I was never at the zoo. It was a hot summer day so I fell asleep in class and dreamt it all. It was so embarrassing to stand amidst giggles and to be sent to detention, which I never got until that day. It was the first time I fell asleep in class and the first time I visited a zoo (even though it was only a dream). With a little care, I ensured that it never happened again. We visited that zoo in reality that afternoon and happily, I discovered that it was a large zoo with habitats similar to the animals’ own. So, nothing tempted me to set the lions and chimps and elephants free. Because breaking the rules, sleeping in class and getting detention, they are not worth it, I tell you, they are not!

- Amorette Grace Lyngwa

 

Amorette Grace Lyngwa turned 15 in May 2011 and started writing when she was only 9.

 

The Violinist

Soft and soothing, ever so still,
A wordless song she sings;
Every note soulfully made-
Tears, her music did bring!

Slow, as in a blissful dream,
She played as time passed by.
A tune that lifted dreary souls;
A peaceful lullaby.

In moonlit splendor, she stood so brave,
Her violin at hand.
The serenades she dearly waved,
As she dragged her bow, her magic wand.

O hear the tune, her tender call,
Humanity she mourns.
Fair maiden with the violin stay strong,
Play on- fear not; play on!

- Amorette Grace Lyngwa

Amorette Grace Lyngwa turned 15 in May  2011 and started writing when she was only 9.