sinjanb93

Pry inside me; for I dare you to peek within......don't stumble upon a crow while you are at it.

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  • sinjanb93 12w

    @writersnetwork @miraquill @miss_silentlyweird #horror
    #pod #mermaid #shortstory

    The Birchwood sailed the Atlantic in the year of 1876, with a crew of 56 men commissioned by the Royal Navy for seeking US ships carrying illegal slaves. Their return voyage resulted in a waylaid sloop, missing all the party members who are still not found.

    Read More

    The Birchwood Part 3 (The end)

    Final Day

    A host of the remaining crew members stood perplexed, awaiting the captain. While some among them could not get over the flurry of bodies turning up for two days.

    When the captain marched to address, the entire ocean was trembling with agony. The skies were beckoning to erupt with rain, and drench the already moist emotions.

    "I have literally no words to make you feel safe, and without understanding the circumstances around which we lost people....I also have no consolation for you.....As of now almost every man is for himself,and I officially declare the Birchwood as unsafe. However, before meeting his untimely death. My first Mate told me that we are a day away from hitting the shores of England. There you have it!",spoke Bainbridge and after a momentary pause to look on left the men to wonder their plight.

    Each had a questioning look for the other. While few others cried after with,"Your supposed to lead us?"......."What are we to do, if our captain loses heart?".

    When the captain reached his cabin, he felt more morose than anything. These everyday compulsions lead him to finish five bottles of Sherry in a week. No wonder the rations were dwindling.

    However, he decided he would not do the same this time. He had other things in mind and he had to get on with it.


    Night

    A storm met the Birchwood, on its second last night before being back in the country.

    Clouds burst forth, and rain came down in a smattering on the hardwood of the deck. While thunder revealed nature's pangs of distress, and the waves clattered against the ship's side.

    Briggs could not understand, why he was summoned in such a weather on the deck. Especially when the crew had already risked enough.

    He knew when he saw the captain standing there, all drenched.

    "I gave you a life, you imposter, you spy.......you weasel. This is how you repay me?",cried the captain in a slurred manner holding a bottle and pointing a gun at Briggs.

    Briggs simply obeyed, and raised his hands saying,"Sir! You are not yourself, kindly desist and go to your....."

    "Silence",shouted the captain with another bolt crashing to earth.

    "I gave you another chance, another reason to justify yourself and you could not give that which I demanded",continued the captain.

    "Do you think it was easy? That the USS Colorado will be in the exact place at the exact time?",questioned Briggs.

    "Perhaps not, however, it was your duty to ensure that they do?",expressed the Captain.

    "You don't understand, I have had no communication with them for some time now..........Eversince...",added Briggs.

    The captain stepped in closer, and said,"Eversince your wife was murdered by those filthy bastards".

    The expression on Brigg's face changed, and a morose contemplation gripped him to reveal,"My wife was not killed by those Yankee bastards, she jumped off a cliff near the English channel".

    The captain frowned and then started laughing out loud, before another radiant lightning glittered the sky to the west.

    "I know what you are getting at.......I know what you did to all those poor men last night",accused the captain.

    "I recovered their suicide notes, expressing their loyalty for the Americans......which I don't believe a lick",shouted the captain throwing the notes.

    Briggs picked up the washed up notes, and stared at the person which was only a shade of his former captain.

    "As per our deal, in your trial you were to reveal the names from the Royal Navy who were working with the Americans in the illegal slave trade........I have however decided to make a sudden change to that arrangement", exclaimed the captain moving over to the rowing boats tied on the starboard side, and chucking the bottle before Briggs.

    "You are to name the culprits now, before I send you on your way to the other side......Same place you sent poor Dick".

    "I am afraid I cannot do that sir",replied Briggs.

    Both man squinted in the rain, with the world going heavy around and rain falling hard. The commotion had awoken the rest of the crew, who surrounded both men with guns on their hands. Even Philips was there standing behind Briggs.

    The captain looked around, and said,"I see......a bloody mutiny!...........Well, you have something to add more there Briggs?".

    Briggs looked disconcerted, and went on,"You still don't get it do you sir?...It was not I who made contact with the Yankees, it was not I who landed up in prison because I engaged with them in the first place.....We all did it for our own government",screamed Briggs in tears.

    "That made me lose my wife, because she thought I was a bloody traitor".

    The captain stood terrified on what he heard, and slowly left the ropes of the rowing boat.

    Another lightning rolled in a vertical manner on the sky, and stabbed the clouds hard as if literally stabbing the heart of Bainbridge.

    The captain smiled, and went on,"Who then is the actual perpetrator?......Her majesty?".

    It was then that Philips stepped in, and took hold of the confrontation. He bagan in a normal tone,"It was all of us Jake, we had to implicate someone for..... last month's trade lapse due to negligence".

    "The American government were furious, they were not happy to take accident as an excuse in the North Atlantic. That is why we had to choose someone from among us.....and for that matter why not the lowest commissioned ship there is".

    Jake Bainbridge was stunned beyond his core.

    "There will be a trial when we hit land Jake, and all of these men are willing to sacrifice themselves for the Queen".

    The captain looked horrified,as the faces loomed around him.

    A laughter broke out from Jake. He further explained,"Do you know why I was willing to set out at this terrible night?.....It was few years ago when I led an expedition to Malta with Lieutenant Matthews."

    All the expressions had gone abnormally serious around the captain.

    "I met this women and we fell in love........surprisingly she was a slave women....and handed me this doll.....she said it could summon spirits from any realm on earth......If I were to hold it tightly gripped with sorrow", explained the captain bringing out his doll.

    An untold menace gripped the Birchwood for the last time. As suddenly the water around it erupted with giant fish or it just resembled a fish and a women altogether. It tore out at the crew standing on the deck, flipped itself above at a height and picked up someone head first with a bite, and while the men tried to shoot another bit their arms off.

    Gore painted the sloop, and all the while the captain only laughed and sung a song not of the native tongue.

    That literally meant,"If ye dare hear her sing an unnatural tenor
    Long for a close embrace
    With an eyes to lure you further
    She leaves ships without a trace".

    Bainbridge giggled, as the rain carried the blood back to the ocean. Almost as if nature wished to assist a leader in the act.
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 12w

    @miraquill @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @darkmoon696 #pod #horror #shortstory #Mermaid

    The Birchwood sailed the Atlantic in the year of 1876, with a crew of 56 men commissioned by the Royal Navy for seeking US ships carrying illegal slaves. Their return voyage resulted in a waylaid sloop, missing all the party members who are still not found.

    Read More

    The Birchwood Part 2

    Next Morning

    The bell tolled marking the arrival of a forever peace, around the men and also more the lost soul.

    "We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life- Romans 6:4",marked Captain Bainbridge reading a verse from the Bible as the sailors inclined the stretcher, and Stephen's body embraced a vast surging water.

    A pall silence soon scattered the accumulation of people. While Bainbridge called on Briggs for a word. They were also followed by Hamish and Dick.

    "A word in private",referred the captain to his bosun and first mate respectively. While they went on their own way, and Briggs mowed on his disheveled figure behind the captain.

    "I heard that you discovered the body, and I am deeply shattered by the proceedings. You have my sympathies man",said the captain.

    Briggs stood pale, cold, and still shocked from what transpired the previous night. He seldom even squeaked, except giving the stern eye to the captain.

    "Inspite of your position, I hope our little arrangement is still in your thoughts",alluded the captain with hands folded behind his back.

    Briggs simply ogled at his broken figure. It was not known to the crew, but still the captain knew that he was not feeling like himself lately. He was hardly sleeping, eating, and even exchanging views. Instead he had been on a drinking spree. That only helped the nerves so long.

    "I remember",replied Briggs coldly but less with confidence.

    "Good, now let's be on our way."

    The captain left for his cabin, and the rest of the rattled men going about their usual business. Their only solace being they were almost home.

    Night time

    The ship creaked under the random lurches, almost as if the vessel with life aboard was suffering from a unspeakable lesion pain.

    Briggs was on his shift, and decided to do an overtime. Despite the happenings of the previous night. This time he was not alone, and found his company in the most unexpected officer.

    Lieutenant Philips preferred his coffee hot on a long night. Ageing just under 50, he had kept his pressure in order. Still was an early riser, and preferred an early tuck in.

    "Nasty business this, won't you say Briggs?",recalled Phillips slurping.

    "Sure is sir! Why are you up at this time?",asked Briggs.

    "Mostly to take the fresh air, cooped up inside that cul de sac makes you feel more sea sick".

    "Say man, did you really saw what happened to Stephen?",asked Philips

    "Not really sir! When I came I found......", and that is when Briggs felt a deep longing but continued,"That....that he was dead and not few minutes ago he shared a word with me".

    "Such a fine young lad he was",remarked Philips.

    "Anyways there is life, and then there is death", said Philips pouring the rest of the coffee into the ocean, with Briggs staring.

    He ambled back, while Brigg's thought loomed towards Wayland prison, his dead wife, and their home back in the mainland.

    When suddenly, he caught glimpse of a girl floating briskly and cheerfully in the cold water. That was bound to be rigged with painful ice shards.

    He stood speechless in the dark, and felt like jumping in the water. However having the acute awareness of the repercussions from conducting the same.

    This girl was very beautiful, and despite little clarity on her features. Briggs could make out the facial structure of the wench.

    She smiled at him with the radiant moon shining on her. Then she disappeared, but reappeared on the other side of the ship.

    Briggs heard her sing an alien song, not of the common tongue.

    The girl kept on giving him the eye, and Brigg's mouth was open at her sight.

    She went below again. Slowly counting the minutes before coming up, almost as if stooping Brigg's heart for a wee few minutes out of playfulness.

    She came up like a stunted tree from a storm, that sheds its last bit of drops from a lasting rain. She splashed her long hair back that almost touched her hips, and her slender hands kept on stroking in the water.

    It was the next thing that broke Brigg's trance. That was what appeared behind her, a tail as long as a Dolphin's. Before he realised it, her face revealed itself to be Jennifer.

    When Philips called out,"Briggs come over here a minute, man".

    Briggs realised that he did not know how the minutes dragged on. However there was no girl in the vast nothingness of the ocean.

    Philips asked him to hurry up over, and he cantered ahead to know the pressing matter.

    When he reached the spot where Philips stood, the old lieutenant got hold of his arm out of fear.

    He whispered to his ear gently,"whatever you do, don't look up! Avert your eyes and settle your heart".

    Briggs could not understand, what this old haggard looking old man was so scared about.

    He plucked up all the courage to look up, and that is when his bravery shrunk like a man turning abnormally midget.

    Five men including first mate Dick Wood and Bosun Hamish Clifford, hung like a rag doll from the mast ropes dangling in the low breeze.
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 12w

    @mirakeeworld @miraquill @writersnetwork @darkness_within #pod #shortstory #horror #TheBirchwood #Mermaid

    The Birchwood sailed the Atlantic in the year of 1876, with a crew of 56 men commissioned by the Royal Navy for seeking US ships carrying illegal slaves. Their return voyage resulted in a waylaid sloop, missing all the party members who are still sought.

    Read More

    The Birchwood Part 1

    A cold wind snapped shut it's bite at the fur coats of three men as they stood on deck, while the others kept on mopping the wood to reflect the boundless sky with a smattering of white clouds roaming hither and tither. There were some who dangled from the top mast, and tried to peer ahead with their looking glass. Whereas a few were just inside the engine room, charting the next course. The overgrown hubbub of life mingled with nature's respite provided an assuaging comfort to the surroundings.

    The North Atlantic had its share of Bergs, but that was not what bothered Captain Jake Bainbridge of the HMS Birchwood. In fact, it was two days since the ship set sail and they were yet to land into trouble.

    "Maybe veering right isn't our issue captain, as it will take us around Africa. Even if we are likely to experience a skirmish down there, we have the fire power to sink any.....",expressed first mate Dick Wood.

    "And what if they have allies? You want me to unnecessarily risk the lives of my men?..........When our job is simply to petrol these waters and no more!",pointed the Captain grumpily and marched to his cabinet, for pulling out the bottle of Sherry.

    "I believe sir has made a fair point......With a meagre crew, it will be pointless to risk such a journey simply to bag a scalp.",supported bosun Hamish Clifford.

    The room was well furnished, with respect to the oakwood table, an imported Chinese lamp, and a few drab paintings of former Admirals and Captains.It had still failed to make a warm impression on the three men, as they kept a pensive look on each other. The dribble from the Sherry, broke the silence that had suddenly creeped in.

    "We must go back, as we departed with limited rations and more mouths to feed for 7 days. The Admiral was quite strict in that regard. That we will look for Slavers, but if we do not encounter any, return like our arse was set alight",said the Captain.

    "Chart a course back to England, and I don't want to hear about it anymore".

    Both provided their stern approval, and left the captain's quarters. While he slouched on his chair and put the glass on the table, ready to be inebriated.

    He took a swig, and opened the second drawer on his right to bring out a package covered in a brown paper bag. Parted it away to reveal a rope doll. That looked quite archaic in detail, with respect to the firm rings it formed and slits for eyes. He rubbed his fingers around it, almost feeling a pang of longing.

    On Deck

    Briggs stared at the black foaming ooze below, as the hull carved a space to swiftly maneuver its way ahead.

    It reminded him of his current position, and how life had played a terrible joke.

    "Enjoying the evening?",called out Stephens.

    He was a pleasant company to keep, especially when the rest minded their own company.

    "Was taking a stroll, and thought I can wedge myself between life and death",replied Briggs

    It brought a frown on Stephens, as he stared at Briggs with questioning look.

    "I mean all this watch, has made me loose almost three days of sleep for nothing. Another day, and I might topple standing",giggled Briggs.

    "Oh, guess we all might!....I also think you should get a shut eye as my watch has begun", explained Stephens.

    Inspite of the relief, Briggs was a little annoyed he had to leave the spot. He acknowledged the claim, and was off to his cabin in brisk walk.

    As darkness swallowed the sea, and among it the Birchwood trundled on like a slow heaving chest.

    Briggs couldn't sleep, and this resulted in him getting off the hammock and passing the other sailors back into deck.

    The cold had grown much wilder, with the nippy breeze and washed up foam that sprinkled around the edges of the guardrail.

    Briggs stood frozen, and unmoved when he saw the slumping figure of Stephens on the same.

    He edged close with every step getting stuck in the dropping temperature. It still did not blind him of the blood that covered around his legs. With Stephen's diagonally severed head in an irregular bite.

    Briggs could see his tongue, that was visible and dried up in the wind.

    He fell back, almost throwing up and then barely able to keep his composure.

    He scampered back from where he came.
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 18w

    The Amazing Andrew

    It was awfully crowded, if wayfarers are excluded from the scenario. Your everyday Londoners had their share of idealistic buying, that got them to view the nitty gritty.

    I was ambling my way ahead, trying desparately to gain a lead before my passer-bys. After all it was the weekend again, and that meant Andrew Callahan was performing on the night.

    Even if you were a commoner going around the streets, you couldn't have missed this talented individual being touted by the posters.

    The ever polished boots, neatly ironed pants, effervescent fur coat with a white rose embedded in the pockets, and not a single shred of spots on the skin with his hair slicked back.

    He smiled a radiant offering to his customers, and that was humble enough to partly tip the hat for any desired token....

    I eventually reached the park, where they had laid the tents for the night. I eventually found myself a seat and heard the announcer go on,"Ladies and Gents, do you believe in the after life?.... Do you think a person can be lost to the other side? ...Do you believe in the Phantom?"

    There was a random hubbub about, while some from the stands shouted,"We would like to!"

    "Then hold onto your faint hearted, and let you heart go asunder; for he was a normal person once but now he is a wonder".

    Suddenly, it went dark inside the large tent and the glow came back with Andrew Callahan on the stage.

    He bowed in a gentlemanly fashion, not before two Southern English girls brought out a mansized box.

    Andrew wasted little time and asked the girls to seal the box with him inside. While another guy bought a platter of knives.

    The girls pierced each and every knife, inside the enclosed case. Then they waited five minutes, and opened it to reveal no one inside.

    A clap resounded throughout the tent, and every one was talking about Andrew Callahan as usual.

    2 hours later

    After the show had run its course, I decided to pay a visit to the organiser back stage. My credentials were enough to let me through....

    Though I only heard about this elusive organiser from other fellow reporters, and soon was lead to her tent.

    My first impression upon arrival was quite contrary to expectations- a skull, few scented candles, old dilapidated tomes, a pet crow strangely, and a acrobat's usual stuff was laid around.

    "There is nothing here to ogle",said a hunched old figure in a hoarse manner.

    I hesitated a few seconds before approaching her with my hand,"Douglas Smith, London Times".

    She stared and sauntered towards a sofa nearby, made with a wicker stand. After uncomfortably dropping down her back, she asked,"Another reporter snooping about my business, how peculiar!"

    She snorted and said,"How can I waste both of our times?"

    I didn't find any convenient place to sit, hence I preferred standing.

    "They call me Madame Angela, and I run the show".

    "That's pretty good, but you know why I am here",I retorted.

    "The same reason, that lead those other two in here?",said Madame Angela

    We looked at each other for few uncountable minutes, and then she broke the silence by saying,"Why do you want to know the secret of my trade?"

    "That's pretty obvious Madam Angela wouldn't you say?.....I mean some of the workers here are yet to prove their nationality.....There has been a rumour going about that the reason why Andrew Callahan performs, is to draw a large mass enough to share principles of communism.....So, I ask you is there any body with a Soviet connection?"

    "Are you asking if anybody is a Bolshevik?",asked Madam Angela.

    I smiled.

    "Do you want to know how Andrew died on the stage?",asked Madam Angela

    "He was killed not five minutes ago, in that bloody stage", I answered laughingly and admitted that it was a good sales pitch.

    "Our tribe is quite a small one Mr. Smith you see, and we are based out of Essex. We have our own sets of beliefs and traditions that can sound and seen as bizarre for you town folk. We moved to London, because this city is growing and we did not have an easy go coming here. Those foreigners helped us to the city".

    "Are you admitting a communication with those communists?",I asked again smiling.

    She got up from the Sofa, and came hobbling towards me and stared at my eyes to say,"If I answer your question, will you leave?"

    My smile diminished, and I promised her I will leave as soon as I had my story.

    She reached towards a box on her table, and brought it towards me and asked me to open it. It took a few seconds, but as soon as I popped it open....My legs gave away and I dropped down holding my stomach. I started puking all over the place, and stumbled backwards.

    The box was on the ground, with its contents scattered.

    It was a rotted human eye, with grime, dirt, and lots of maggots.

    She started laughing, and then began sobbing before saying,"My Andrew was invited to the Soviet land by the chancellor because of his amazing acts, I told him to never go there...but he was ambitious, determined, and full of vigour. Unfortunately he went, and he got turned by those awful people over there...and before he could return here safely...to me...he got blown up in a car. They said he was a traitor, and they buried all the news materials. Luckily we had someone who extracted a part of his remains. Otherwise, the government was determined not to engage with our embassy and return us his last shred of flesh".

    My head was feeling heavy, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I asked shivering,"Who was that on the stage?"

    She opened her mouth, to reveal a crooked set of teeth.

    "That was Andrew from the afterlife", she uttered as thundered rolled the skies.
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 18w

    The Divine Daughter

    When I took those rugged stairs on the valley, little did I have in mind about the terrain getting easier. However, it was with that impression that I began my less onerous climb to eventually stumble across a monkey carcass.

    Strangely, its head was decapitated and flies were busy in their merry making....A portion of its skin was rubbed off and that exposed it's wounded flesh.

    By the looks of it, this seemed a violent act of the local kids. Then I remembered that only few resided around the surrounding areas itself. This was due to the rumour going about, that the place was "cursed".

    "Madam?? Can you get a move on...There is still a few steps to the mandir",called out Gujjar

    Coming from the city, into this rural part of the country I was getting considerably exhausted. Still could not help myself into meeting with this solitary yogi who decided to stay within the village.

    Many people just across the Tahlik River, simply said that this pujari was powerful. It was a period of 14 days that he gave the villagers, before cleansing the area with his spells from the recent Cholera epidemic.

    I almost collided with a 100 year old banyan tree creeper that protruded from a large halo on the wall thinking about this Yogi. Meanwhile, the moss strewn steps exuded a familiar aroma to calm me down at the same time.

    "Careful Madam! You need to be aware of your surroundings",again said Gujjar

    We reached the zenith of that small cliff, and the mandir came into focus.

    The large horizon through the Tahlik river came into view, and a dull tap of the Dhol coming from the neighbouring regions where the villagers were currently residing.

    The beating was a method used by family head of chief villagers, to ward off evil.

    Meanwhile,the mandir was a decrepit place.With shades of darkness sitting in each nook and cranny. Other old trees had its creepers dangling down the roofs. It almost represented a giant caveman that was deep in slumber.

    Upon passing the entrance that was dimly lit, I was asked by Gujjar to wait by the lawn.

    I saw how amazingly replete the place,
    was, with its own shade of Bougainvillia flowers in contrast to the outside state around the mandir.

    "Beautiful isn't it?",asked a sadhu standing at the Mandir's lip.

    I immediately turned to face him and paid less heed for nature.

    "I almost feel how sober it makes one's weary soul, especially when she is far from home and wandering in the darkness", exclaimed the Sadhu smiling.

    He walked slowly to me, and looked me in the eye for few brief seconds before attending to the flowers.

    "No wonder the villagers worship me, as Ganaram Pandit the vessel to absorb all evil.....The beacon to attract angels", he pointed to me.

    "You heard about me? So you do know my purpose?", I asked

    "Do you think that superstition has grown it's branches across the more refined parts of society?", he asked non chalantly

    "Especially, from where the likes of you hail from!",explained Ganaram looking at me.

    I relaxed my muscles and went on confidently on my reveal,"Then it is needless to say, that yours was a cunning plan......I had my suspicions especially when I noticed the dead monkey by the stairs and a grassy residue on its nails. The mandir is swarmed by monkeys because this place also has a special shrine for the monkey god Hanuman. These monkeys discovered your food storage, where items to make prasad are stored. It is there that monkeys create pestilence.....You thought that by killing them you can create another unknown fear....However, I still failed to understand why you needed a whole place for yourself?....Then it came to me, that two weeks ago an opium racket was cracked on by the police not two kilometres from here......That got me thinking, and finally I was able to place the nub of my finger when some police was internally removed from Charipur for accepting bribes.

    He smiled and suddenly that turned into a grimace and he said,"Now I know why they regard you as the divine daughter, and your service undercover for foreign police organisations have made rounds around my people".

    I smiled the victorious smirk and said"The city police will surround the area very soon....It will be better if you show them the food storage area where you keep the opium".

    Gujjar came running out with a gun, but before he could aim it at me. I brought out my own firearm and aimed it at the Pujari.

    He gestured his accomplice to drop the weapon, and nimbly raised his hands.

    The police surrounded the mandir after an hour, and it was the commissioner who came upto me and said,"A job well done Mrs. Bakshi, just like your father all those years ago".
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 19w

    A Barter Too Better

    She followed her instructors fingers, and nimbly found the notes on the piano.

    Except he clicked his tongue at every turn, on missing the proper connection.

    Despite being a blind man, he had an acute sense of hearing. That is how he taught his favourite girls, the ones he thought were intelligent, ambitious, and willing to make a mistake and admit it.

    "You should use your senses, Nina",remarked the instructor after enclosing the piano case.

    Nina gently acknowledged, and impressed on the fact that she was not in her best of rhythms. She also looked ashamed at not meeting upto her teacher's expectations like every other day.

    "I'll tell you what....You can come to my house and we can practice on my Steinway", requested the instructor.

    Despite Nina's early hesitation due to family issues, she persued his request...

    Next Day

    Nina was scrambling on the floor dragging away from a pool of blood, that lay sprawled around her legs.

    The entire house was eerily silent, except her scraping sound.

    That was when something ran behind her at break neck speed. She could not turn to witness, what was looming down her back. The pain was excruciating.

    That was when she saw, a pair of human feet standing before her. Its skin colour was unusually red and it had a forked tail that parted sideways around the soles.

    She slowly lifted her face that was wet from tears....

    Professor Desmond blissfully played her piano in the other room, while her screams filled the house in a dark orchestric theme.

    He smiled...finally his research was materialising, his dreams were realising, his sacrifices proving fruitful.

    Beside his piano lied the book, and it's inscriptions were in Latin.

    He got inspired and created his own way to summon something inhumane into the earth through musical notes. He translated the phrases, and then demanded something in return.

    However, only too aware that deals with the devil comes at a big price.

    He was content, he was delirious, and he knew his dreams were coming true despite all the girls he had given away, and inspite of losing his eyes forever.
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 19w

    A Gift To Remember

    He struck the knocker on the door, and in a few brief seconds heard a slanting noise with some momentary shifts.

    The door parted slightly, giving view to a quarter of an inch of wrinkled mass.

    "Yessss",stretched the old woman.

    "Mrs. Crowford? I was sent by George and son antiquities......You were looking to pass on an old inheritance of lesser value",inquired Mr. George Beckett.

    The old woman had a suspicious frown for about five brief seconds, before taking in what was being asked.

    "Oh yes! Yesss! Please come in", she said with a glean that Beckett did not take well.

    Soon he was resting on a Turkish style sofa, with oakwood backrest holding a lug of soft sheep fur. While the room gave way to a collector's dream, especially when it came to paintings, newspaper articles, sculptures, and others.

    She passed on the dilapidated glasses saying,"This was what I wanted to hand over".

    The antiquity inspector held on to the spectacles, and ascertained the inscription bore on its sides.

    "Pure steel, cubicles of glass elegantly fashioned, and an unique thread made from silk",remarked the inspector

    "Pardon me, in saying this, but I came by to know your history considering its company policy and all..."

    All the while, the old woman only smiled in an unflinching manner.

    "I would however like to know, how you came by the same?",asked the inspector

    "OH! you would know", she said grinning and hysterically laughing at the inspector.

    All of a sudden, every picture frame burst from its mantles, sculptures got knocked off, and articles peeled away.

    The inspector was out of his wits, until he saw there was no one in the room.

    He rushed outside in a mad scramble to collide with a man.

    "Careful there lad! Where were you coming from?", asked the person.

    "I came from.....", and his words only came half way, and stuck with a dull croak.
    He saw that he was standing in a corner street staring into an empty archway between two buildings. There was no door from which he entered.

    Paper clippings wafted around him, it was dated and it revealed the headlines....

    "Oldest half of the couple knighted by the Queen"

    "Police cracks down on illegal gambling den in Eton, connects it to the Crowford's"

    "Crowford couple commits suicide, bank seizes assets"

    Now, Mr. Beckett remembered it all too well. He was the leading officer during his days with the bank, and the couple had taken a debt. There was a scuffle and he fought with an old man knocking his spectacles over. Later he sent a similar gift passed on from generations of his relatives, King George's predecessors themselves and gradually extended as a token of peace, a collector's delight, and most importantly a gift to remember.
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 20w

    @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @writerstolli @novelrazy #pod #novel #mystery #murder



    The History of violence finds protagonist Adam Cole from leading a simple bartender's life to killing for a cause. However, little does he know that the world where he stepped onto is reminiscent of a violent past. That makes family a weakness...

    Read More

    History of Violence (Continued)

    My truck juggled along the smooth highway of 69th street, as I kept racking my head around what transpired in the bar.

    Questions were pounding my head that evening, and I a dull throb behind the eyes was not proving to beneficial in declaring the day productive by the end.

    "Cynthia?.....How did they know about her?........What could possibly interest them in her?"

    Before I decided to ask my daughter the same, the garage came in view. I pulled over in a slow trundle, rather than the usual swiftness. That probably said a lot about my mood.

    Now let's talk about my daughter- not the aspect of her painting her hair different shades of colors, wearing tight slacks so that more and more teenage boys got attracted to her, and a top that barely reached her belly button.
    Offcourse! I am not a sexist. I know she has freedom to do whatever she pleases. Except you had to obey the 80's United States society.

    Things were changing fast, and it was difficult to cope.

    Drug peddling, rape, robbery, vandalism, and a host of others. I know that her college had a different brand of all these, and they didn't share my personality.

    Not two days ago, she met her friend Sandra in the backyard. I saw they exchanged some party drugs. The one you people call 'Molly'.

    Meanwhile, I closed my car door and walked towards the house. No sooner had I reached the porch, than I saw the door slightly unlocked.

    I reached the window sill and found the slit where I kept my self-defense-a kitchen knife.

    With that I gently pushed the door open. Surprisingly, everything inside was in order. I went around from the main room to the lobby, and even the bedroom to the bathroom. Not a glass vase was upturned.

    I let go myself on the sofa. It was quite an exhausting day, and things were turning out stranger with time.

    It was at that exact moment, when I heard the backyard door tapped shut.

    The keys laid out on the kitchen counter, and in came Cynthia.

    "How was your day?", she asked looking equally exhausted, with a sweaty mop of hair that went to her back and a bag load that looked like a refugee remembered all her provisions before leaving Sudan.

    "A bit quiet than usual",I replied.

    She pulled few strands of her hair back behind her ears in a nervous expression. The conjured up a fake smile to march upstairs.

    That cast a wierd suspicion on my end. However, I was failing to see how.

    I stood up and went to the living room mantelpiece.

    A black and white image glowed with my reflection. It was the boys and me, our glory days behind us. The Nam war was still afresh in our mind.

    My medals though losing its lustre, marked the violent past left behind.
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 20w

    @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @novemberqueen @stonedmonkey #novel #pod

    The History of violence finds protagonist Adam Cole from leading a simple bartender's life to killing for a cause. However, little does he know that the world where he stepped onto is reminiscent of a violent past. That makes family a weakness...

    Read More

    History of Violence

    Chapter 1: The Contact

    A familiar thing about juke box rhythms, is that despite their monotonous songs. There always seems to be a feeling imparted upon the listener to continue it nevertheless.

    The Bruce Springsteen track 'I'm on fire' plays on.........Until a thump on the bar counter, snaps my attention back to the present.

    "You wouldn't be Adam would you?",asked this hipster with a biker jacket and khaki pants.
    His hair was tied in a pony tail, and his thick mushy beard gave me an impression of Santa's disbelievement of Christmas. A strange pheonix tattoo covered his left forearm, and each time he made sudden movements with those it felt as if the bird with the dark beaks was speaking along.

    "You're looking right at him", I replied.

    He slipped forth a photograph that was about a forefinger's length. It was in a deplorable state, with each corners creased from continues upkeep in shirt pockets.

    While a typical exposure to the sun, almost destroyed it.

    I was wrapping my head around it, when he snatched the picture from my hand.

    "I will have a Bourbon on the rocks".

    He had a smirk on his face, when he was putting the photograph back in his left jacket pocket.

    I felt like a professional myself, and went on to pour some Bourbon from the shelf.

    It was a quiet day on the bar. There were rather less customers at the time, than the in-laws visiting for a Thanksgiving holiday. Except an old fart in the corner table with his neat whiskey, and big sissy from Buffalo county enjoying her long Island ice tea.

    I tapped the glass in front of him. He had this unamused look, and sort of grim countenance too. There was some few brief seconds, before he nimbly picked it up and swigged down.

    He made a grunt and savored it's taste for a while by closing his eyes.

    The he opened it, and by putting down the glass took his tattoed forearm to wipe the bead drops from his beard.

    "Is that supposed to mean anything to me?",I asked indifferently alluding to the photograph and feigning ignorance with some conviction.

    He stared down with a squint, and used his deep baritone to just say," Lively College for Girls....your daughter is very pretty".

    Just when he turned around to leave- I asked with a frowned expression on my face,"What does that mean?"

    He stalled halfway, and looked behind to smile once again.

    I felt bedraggled just like you, and couldn't understand what this was about. Except that stranger's exit casted a deep shadow on my mind ever since. Him and his wrinkled jacket skin that revealed the same pheonix figure from the tattoo.

    Except it had a small discernable swastika mark, on the very center.

    Meanwhile, I heard the pistons come to life outside. Most probably signalling the departure of the guy, or drilling a new kind of realisation in me- That I was in a world of s***.

    Anyways the song on the juke kept on rolling with Bruce,"My nerves all jumpin' acting like a fool".
    ©sinjanb93

  • sinjanb93 21w

    Broken but beautiful

    If I am not taken by your colour, mind me no heed.

    For you drip upon this soul a different shade of pink.

    I long to sketch the ridges and crevices that make you whole.

    And as you carry a menacing cloud of silken waterfall on your head.

    Let me take your delicate debris and adjoin with the rest of yourself.
    ©sinjanb93