Cry of a Beheaded Girl

"Mommy, please stop crying.”

"Who's crying dear? I'm not."

Mommy, you can't hide those unshed tears from me.”

"Why cry mommy, i am really happy out here."

"What with angels and archangels singing and dancing with me all the time.”

"Really, mommy, it's so beautiful out here."

"When they snatched me away from you, I was terrified."

"My shrieks were stifled, muffled cries overlooked."

"My hunger become a source of their smiles".

"Finally when they had knife at my neck, I become paralyzed";

"Paralyzed with fear."

"I knew it would pain bad and hard."

"But once they started, I thought of you."

"And I cried out for you and you alone."

"Then it was over."

"Blood swept the floors, but my blood in their hands became a

source of their smiles."

"Yes, my stay with them was painful to the core."

"But, thankfully no more."

"Jesus and Mary along with archangels are showering happiness on me now."

"I've physical pains no more."

"But what still tugs my heart are those thousand innocents still captive and don't know what fate has in-store for them."


P.S. A free write. My soul bled after reading the stories of beheaded kids in Catholic.org.

Smiling Tulip Farms For Sale

December 7, 1941

There was lot of commotion in the neighbourhood. Known faces were peering from their window panes. People were scuttling across the road. The news was that U.S. forces had barricaded the area; and Takashi Mori's house was their target.

And in no time, they barged into Mori's house.

From the door left ajar I could witness the army handcuffing Mori. Probably, they were taking him away to some undisclosed camp location. A camp recently set up by the U.S. government in San Francisco.

Felber, his friend, hadn't failed to figure out all the foofaraw. It was expected; the arrest, the side-effect of being a Japanese.

***

“Felber,” Mori said, and then choked up.

An eerie silence had engulfed the farm space. Only Mori’s hiccupping cry could be heard now.

No, he wasn’t expecting any help from his Swiss friend. Only a nut case could think of confronting the self-aggrandizing U.S. army.

Felber could only gather so much courage to mutter,” Friend this would also pass.”

Teary-eyed Mori looked at him. Felber could see that the arrest had sucked the marrow out of him.

Felber kept murmuring, mostly to himself “Oh! God help him, Oh! God help him, Oh! God help him, over and over again until the chant unhinged from its meaning. He was still saying it when suddenly Mori spoke: “Felber, my friend, goodbye forever. If possible, sell off my flower farms.”

“I’ll do, whatever I can. And don't you worry, you'll make it back, safe and sound,” Felber assured Mori amidst flashing guns and thumping black boots. (thank heaven the army however, did not bullshit him, spared him from any kind of serious torture.)

***

The following day Felber logged on to a site called, “Your Estate, Your Price” to post an ad there.

“Orphaned Flower Farms Looking For Owners,” offered Felber’s wife, Vienne.

“Beautiful Tulip Farms In San Fransisco for sale,” said Felber.

Finally both got together and crafted this:

SMILING SCARLET FLOWER FARMS IN SAN FRANSISCO FOR SALE 

 

Ten acres of beautifully landscaped SMILING FlOWER FARMS, exclusively growing scarlet tulips, for sale. Our farms specialize in both regular and rare tulips. You’ll find lovely purple, yellow, red, pink, orange and green tulips. The flowers have been planted and nurtured with loads of luv and care. They’ve brightened our lives and have taught us to SMILE always irrespective of the setbacks in our life. Welcome this Smiling Flower Farms into your life and welcome joy into your life, forever.

When Felber checked his email an hour later, he found out that there was a maze of suitors to choose from.

He got excited and started responding to their mails.

But the price quoted by the potential buyers was way too low, given that the farmland was owned by a Japanese.

Disheartened, Felber made up his mind; he’d take care of his friend’s farm land too.

***

Their friendship had got many heads turning. Takahashi Mori from Japan and Christopher Felber from Switzerland were next door neighbours who lived with their families in San Fransisco, U.S. Both Mori and Felber were into the same business: flower farming. Anyone seeing them interact would feel that they their friendship was eons old. Their flower farming business was going great guns. Tulip were their favorites. Their farms, in fact, was a dizzy kaleidoscope of color as tulips burst into life: Vivid purple, yellow, red, pink, orange and green tulips flooded their farm space. They planted, tended, harvested, priced, and even sold beautifully cut tulips together,to flower shops. Both friends were the Alpha and Omega of each other’s lives. Their dissimilarities in language and culture and physical appearance never came into the middle of their friendship.

But then suddenly the arrest happened.

***

The news was that the Imperial Japanese Navy had bombed United States naval base at Pearl Harbor. The attack had sacred the living daylights of the U.S government. The stats read something like this: 188 U.S. aircraft destroyed; 2,403 Americans killed and 1,178 others wounded. The attack put America in disarray. Within no time, it got its act together. It entered into World War II. All the Japanese citizens in America came under direct threat. All of them were herded into camps. Mori was one among them.

Year 1944

Mori spent around 3 years in the camps. When the World War II came to an end, he and his family were released. While journeying back home, he kept thinking about his farms and his former friend. Whether he was alive? Whether he was taking care of his farms? Or whether he had forgotten him and kept the farms for himself, thinking that he would never make it alive? Only one-fourth of his mind agreed with him that Felber won't cheat on him, while three-fourth of his mind kept fighting against the one-fourth.

As he stepped down from the train, to his utter delight and dismay, he found Felber and his family standing to greet him with a bouquet of tulips. Mori was overwhelmed with emotions. He knew those flowers. They were his.

“Welcome home Mori,” said Felber,“ “but your farms are in RUINS.”

“I bet,” Mori said and gave a flowery laugh.

But when Felber presented him the cheque earned out of selling flowers from his farmland, Mori simply couldn’t resist his tears. He let his tears fall through.

“Why are you crying, dear friend,”

“Simply,” he said

He then hugged Felber and said, “Your friendship is priceless. Like an insubstantial wisp of smoke you could have easily chosen to forget our friendship and could have kept my farms for yourself but then you didn’t do that.”

”Stop this haranguing,” said Felber, “I just did what my conscience prompted, nothing more.”

The Story Of A Classic Swiss Pocket Watch

Principal Father Percy Pereira was shouting at a kid non-stop.

“Why are doing homework in the class.” Don’t you have time at home? Call your parents tomorrow. I need to talk to them. If they are too busy to come, you too stay at home. Don’t come to school tomorrow. You are an unnecessary problem in the class.”

Father Pereira droned on and on. No he didn’t use a cane. His verbal assault was equivalent to a cane.

Another father friend, who was in close proximity, heard Father Pereira going mad at the boy.

Father Sam Walters, his friend, confronted him during the recess hours.“How could you yell so much, at such a lil’ thing, gosh dang it.” 

“I know I had overdone it. Sorry, if I had disturbed your class. But, don’t you think kids these days are too much to handle. By the way, I inherited this explosive behavior from my granddad from my father’s side,” saying this Father Pereira held the photo out.

My grandpa, Mr. Collins was known for two things a] explosive nature. B] love for his goddam golden dial Swiss pocket watch. 

google images

One fine day, the decrepit man had roared in his loudest voice.  “Who the hell, touched my watch?”

Though his shouting was not utterly out of character, the maid of our house, crouched and cowered behind the bedroom wall.

“Oh! Stop it Dad! Stop it! hollered my father condescendingly from the other end of the living room. She had simply stroked the golden dialed antique pocket watch, clean.”

My parents, had often witnessed my granddad’s eccentric behavior, but had simply failed to see how dusting an old watch could make him go so freaking wild.

Mr.Collin had taken a huge offense to it, although. And to punish us, though for no fault of ours, he would stage psychotic attacks and would bring the entire house down. (Couldn’t be otherwise, what with this vain gloriousness.)  

The antique watch was off-limits for the household members, much less the maid. The unwritten contract between Mr. Collins and the family members read: No one, in fact, no one should touch his super sacred watch, much less clean it. Awfully, the maid being new, was unaware of this dictum.

“The fault lies at dad’s end, “my father reiterated.  

But my granddad gave two hoots to what my dad said and yelled at the maximum decimal point possible by him. “Keep that hideous, grim reaper of a maid out-of-my-sight and out-of-my-room. I don’t want to see her anymore.”

Since the death of his wife, Mr.Collins had allowed the maid to take care of all his personal chores. From washing his clothes and ironing them, to cleaning his room, and preparing breakfast, and lunch and dinner for him…anything and everything that made his earthly existence a little easier. In return for her services, the maid was paid a handsome sum. However, he had failed to inform her about the most treasured aspect of his life: the love for his holy watch and the sacrosanctity associated with it. 

The beautiful antique chain watch was his father’s gift to him on his 15^th birthday. So, you see, it was pretty old, and he had precious memories attached to it.

Now with 60^st birthday looming round the corner, he knew it was that time of the year when every mean and the most mannered people in the family would flood the house to wish him. But most of all, he was dying to see his 1-year-old grandson Percy. Both Percy and Mr.Collin shared the same birthday date, August 28th, so they would, in all probability, share the stage together as well.

Now, what would he gift his lovely grandson on his birthday, was the big question, hovering on his mind.

Toys…a mind-blogging number he possessed.

What Next?

Dresses…uncountable numbers.

What Next?

Shoes…infinite

What Next?

Games…his cupboard was almost overflowing with those.

What Next?

Watch…but what kinds? The cartoon ones?

In re, I had been staring at his pocket watch quite often. And, fortunately or unfortunately, my grandpa had caught sight of that.

So, he made up his mind: to gift his precious watch to his loving grandson. “He deserves it more than anyone else in my family and he’d take it care it, like he takes care of his superhero toys,” he bellowed.

So, my grandpa made a big announcement on the day of his birthday about parting away with his watch. The new owner would be his grandson.  There were oohs- ahhs all over the place. Many had set their eyes on the watch. But the watch, from that day belonged to me alone, the little Percy Pereira. (His children who always saw Hitler in their father, failed to understand his unadulterated love for me, his grandson)

I, in my cute ba-ba-ba-ba-ba style took hold of the watch. And within next few seconds, I banged it on the floor. The dial sliced into several pieces. The old man didn’t know how to react. He simply stood there stunned. My father stood aghast, waiting for all hell to break lose.

Then out of the blue grandpa pronounced:

“Huzzah! Percy Huzzah!!! You’ve done the inevitable.

Then he came towards me and took me in his arms lovingly and said.

“Oh My God! Oh My God! What a strong boy you are growing up to be. You broke my watch.”

“Can you imagine? He broke my watch. He actually broke my watch. Can’t believe it though.” He spoke cloyingly to the people present.

Saying this, he took me in full embrace.