That morning chime

The first day they met she had been woken up by the sweetest chime she had heard. And just outside her window, sat a blue-necked sparrow, as if waiting for her to lift her hand so it could chirp its way right on to it.

She was a farm girl and proud of it. She found comfort among her four-legged farm-mates and was extremely content with simply roaming across the fields, either on horseback, in the mini-truck, or on foot. There was always one animal or other running alongside her and she felt that they could completely understand what she was saying or even feeling. She had yet to feel that with a human.

Until that very day.

It is strange how life throws things at you, just when you’re ready to accept them. Even if you don’t realise that at the time. Because that very morning, she thought nothing of the sparrow’s visit. It was only after weeks, that her mind recalled the symbolism.

That morning she rushed to catch the train to the nearby city. She was tasked with obtaining supplies ahead of the long weekend. Her stalling to admire the little bird, however, meant she lost the early train, which she was supposed to have travelled with. So she took the next one.

He was on that one.

He sat opposite her, mesmerized by the innocence radiating from her eyes.

But she paid no attention. She was still thinking of the sparrow, while staring out of the window at the morning dew.

He coughed, dropped his phone by accident and they bumped heads as they both moved to pick it up. That was all it took to get her talking. Her laughter resounded in his ears for days later. And she was enthralled by how alike they were. He was the son of the neighbouring landowner. They had the second largest estate in the town and she found paradise in his property and in his heart.

The sparrow never returned. At least not until today.

It had played its role. Now it was their turn to keep things moving. A little effort is all it really takes.

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A Dog Named Bob

He was a mischievous one. It was reflected in his eyes if you looked closely enough. But they fell in love with him as soon as they saw him as a newborn puppy sitting silently in a box, wagging his tiny tail and gazing at them with those adorable black eyes. How could you say no to that? Have you ever seen what real puppy eyes have the power to do?

They never regretted taking him in. But they would soon find out how mischievous a dog named Bob can be.

The Hamleys were a family like any other. With three children and everyone always going about their daily business, going in and out of the house at their own pace and gathering once a day for dinner. That was usually when Bob too would manage to scrape some real food out of the family, using, of course, the power of his enchanting black eyes. It is not that he was not fed during the day. But a cooked family meal always outdid any processed can food. One day they neglected to give him a piece, as they were quarrelling about something, but Bob managed to discretely steal a large streaky piece of bacon from the youngest member’s plate. Nobody even noticed. That is how busy they were…

Bob’s favourite pastime in the mornings was running up to the mailbox and waiting for the postman to appear. For some inexplicable reason, dogs always love to chase this poor man who is delivering letters. Bob would never harm him, mind you, but he would always wag his tail happily, waiting for some attention, and manage to transmit this happiness to the mailman. Which was always delightful.

Another day, Bob noticed a bluejay sitting in the tree outside the house. He was sitting underneath it staring at it for hours. Until he decided, he would ask the bird to come down to play. So he barked the neighbourhood awake as he jumped and screeched up and down the bark of the tree. The bluejay got so startled that it flew into the house through the open kitchen window and fell into the bowl of syrup the mother of the family was using to bake something – nobody ever found out what it was, as the syrup had to be thrown out following the bird incident. The bluejay is OK by the way. It flew straight back out again, and presumably passed by the river to clean up.

Bob was a strangely adorable but very mischievous dog. What is not known though is that he is very famous too. Because one day, the father of the Hamleys decided that his dog’s adventures were too funny and priceless to be kept sealed inside the house. So he sat down, got out his ink markers and began scribbling away. That is how the most famous book describing a beloved dog’s adventures was born. From a simple dog named Bob.

Also part of Daily Prompt: A Dog Named Bob

Don’t forget to fly

For five years, it had lived in this round copper-like column circular enclosure. It was born in the very nest it still sleeps in, though now it has been slightly renovated according to its own needs. But it knew nothing other than this.

This was its home. Its refuge. Its safety net. What was out there was a mystery and it had already reconciled with the thought that it would never find out.

Until that one day.

That day when the sun was shining and its bright golden rays illuminated its enclosure. There it sat, soaking in as much Vitamin D as it could, when suddenly something whizzed past it. It was a momentary flicker of light but enough to make it open its eyes and realise there was someone out there.

It was another bird.

And it was… flying?!

The bird came close, used its beak to pull off the small nail that kept the enclosure opening shut, dropped a white paper inside and flew away.

This one remained gazing wide-eyed in amazement, confused at what had just happened.

Taking hold of the paper, it slowly unrolled it and read:

“Don’t forget to fly”.

Could this be the opportunity it was always longing for? To find out what is out there? Beyond the safety of a familiar enclosure? Beyond what is already known? But what if what was out there was better left unknown? What if it got hurt? What if…

It got dizzy from all the thoughts swerving inside its mind. It was trying to understand, to balance the positive “what ifs” with the negative ones. This was its chance to go out and explore the world. But it had to act fast before someone realized the gateway was open and it became shut again.

In a very short time, it became obsessed with something it had never tasted. What would it feel like being free? Flying in the clean air? Outside? Being just a small part of a vast universe?

It finally decided that it would never know unless it tried. And it was always better to have tried and failed, rather to have never even made the attempt and simply left wondering.

So, the little bird used its small beak and opened the cage door wide. It took a leap and began to frantically flap its wings. Once it gained height and realized that it didn’t take as much effort to maintain momentum, the adrenaline rush that filled its veins made it feel like the happiest it had been for five years. Just look at all the wonders that are out here. But we are all too shut inside our own safe enclosures to be able to fully comprehend and marvel at them…

“If you’re not scared then you’re not taking a chance. If you’re not taking a chance then what the hell are you doing anyway?” – How I met your mother

The singing nightingale

It was as beautiful as the dawn of a new day,
But as fragile as the thinnest twig of a newborn tree.
It sounded as exquisite as the chords of a divine symphony,
But it alone felt the pain hidden behind each note.

The nightingale had a simple appearance
There were no extravagant colours adorning its feathers
Yet inside it enfolded a heart brighter than gold.
It could love as selflessly and unconditionally as no other,
But that, no-one would ever know.

For unrequited love is the most terrible of all.
It never thanks you for the rose you painfully and bloodily gathered,
It never recognizes how you long for their companionship,
It can never acknowledge the actions they never saw you take.

So the nightingale sings.
It sings to soothe its broken heart.
It sings in the night to express its sorrow.
It sings when it can hide in the dark.
It sings in the hope that things will change tomorrow.

Calling on Morpheus

Lately I can’t sleep. At all. And it’s not just because of the mouse running around in the roof, fighting a pigeon, and all the rumbling going on over my head because of it. No. I can’t sleep because I can’t seem to get all these thoughts out of my head. Another consequence of this maledetta crisis… And the more I try not to think, the more something else pops into my head and my insomnia simply nourishes itself and perpetuates this state of non-sleep. Even if I am extremely tired, when I go to bed I suddenly become wide awake. So much that sometimes I actually empathise with owls – if I hooted, I would very well know what it feels to be one – awake all night and falling asleep during the day. It’s not pleasant, I’ll tell you that. You end up eventually falling asleep when you actually don’t want to – when you’re watching your favourite TV series for instance, or during a sunny afternoon.

So how do you treat insomnia? Despite the inadvertently ironic response that “the best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep” (W. C. Fields), I was told that the only way to treat insomnia is to relax. Easier said than done, you may say and I agree. Maybe even meditate – but that sometimes leads to more thinking so…not that helpful. Counting sheep doesn’t help either because I get confused along the way. Then imagining you’re climbing down a flight of stairs also has adverse results leading to the feeling that you’re falling off the bed and resulting in you jolting every few minutes. But I find that actually getting yourself tired during the day may also help you fall asleep at night. So exercise, yoga and a whole lotta running around, ought to do the trick!

So I tried that and it sort of helped. I slept for two hours. Then the super mouse went into a crazy chase and cannibalous scrambling and screeching with a bird in my roof and I was up. Again. My brother joked that some people would actually pay to see a fight like that going on. But I wasn’t seeing anything – and definitely wouldn’t want to either. There was just so much noise going on at hours during which even the night itself is asleep, or rather should be. It’s annoying. And everyone knows that the more irritated you get, the more your blood pressure rises due to an increasing heartbeat and the more awake you feel. Get my point?

Anyway, so here I am trying to fight insomnia away. During the process I have listened to about five playlists twice over, written a 4,000 word story, and a dozen of other short stories of varying themes and plots. Hey, at least I’m being productive.

I’ll try to go to sleep now. We’ll see how it goes. I’ve realized that getting yourself tired actually works. A bit. So I’m hoping Morpheus will visit soon (no, not the one from The Matrix, although that would be cool…). Anyway, if you have any work you would like to get done, give me a shout, I may still be up…

N.B. Written at 2am.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Mr. Sandman