The Honest Woodcutter- Fiction (Aesop's Retold)

“You are not honest.” The angel sighed. “Not even close to it.”

The wood cutter’s hand tightened around the three axes as he stopped walking, turned and looked up at the angel. His hardened face skewed into welt lines lashed with the abrupt accusation.

“But I did the right thing… Didn't I?”

“Oh …. Really? So, tell me, my dear man” She taunted “What happened? And what did you do, that you think is so right?”

“My axe. It fell into the river. My mistake. Was not handling it properly. And just as I thought that it was done for, you came forward to help but retrieved a golden and silver version of my axe before coming up with my own. And yes, as honest as I am, I owned up to only my own axe.”

“And then…” she prodded.

“You gave me all the three as a gift to my honesty. Right??”

 “Well, that’s true.” She paused, her warm red lips dipping into a delicious smirk.  “But wouldn't a really honest man simply refuse the other two axes given as gifts. And what’s the point of being honest, if you start accepting bribes for the very act, the one you deem to be in accordance to your own moral principles.”

She calmly shook her head, her soft flowing hair reveling in the mellow breeze.

“Oh… please…… Didn't you see this coming? What are you… a thumb sucking kid? You are honest because you choose to be; not because someone greases your palm now and then for your good deeds.”

The wood cutter blurted out. “But it was a gift.”

It was then that she started to laugh. Her luscious voice raining through the entire valley, her guffaws drizzling with the dew of her mirth, her dark eyes exploding with a million teasing tinges, she turned around towards the bottom of the river. And just before leaping in into its arcane depths, she gave the bewildered woodcutter one last look and sighed.

Another wannabe. A honest one at that.



Author's note-

Another attempt in twisting the Aesop's with regard to a more skewed version of morality. The argument that is made by the fairy is ambiguous and questionable but I think it is still valid in its own right. If we are not enjoying something and doing it just for the end result- then that I think marks the first step in the decay of human purpose. (Well, that went too philosophical than I intended to. Pardon me.) And I would love to hear what you guys think of my version of honesty.

Also, If you guys are interested to check out the other Aesop's that were retold by me, kindly check out this link. Also, the original tale of the honest woodcutter can be read in the following link.

Always late - 55 fiction

The Snap-

The Tale-

“Always late”

They stared at her in silence.

“Irresponsible jerk!” 

She looked around defensively.

“Oh, Trust me……………… I should know.” Her tart voice pitched up.

“He was late even for our marriage”

She nodded to the others.

“Wait till he gets here. He is going to wish; he crashed the car once more……But now Alone.”

Author's note-

The theme of the 55 fiction is Ghost. I wanted the fiction to be vague and cryptic in the first read. But subtly humorous during the second. I hope that you guys like it.

When I read in my comments page- that a 55 fiction contest is being conduced by Sasi, I felt that it was just tailor-made for me, as I was not getting time to write a good post for almost a month now. I wish him cheers and all the best for his venture.

And I loved that picture I found on Google  Damn. She is hot, cute and at the same time angry. Now, that's some girl. :P

This post is written for the Best 55 Fictionist Contest, hosted by Sasikumar Raja Blogs at Beginner

"Her nightmare": My entry for the Get Published contest

The Idea-

Yes. The fiction is about love. Not just that ephemeral string of amber tones between the lovers themselves. It is about the tight bonds that are strained between the parents and their kids involved. A youngster in the final year of her engineering graduation gets caught red handed by her mother while chatting with her lover in skype.

Of course, she is placed in a well reputed MNC. Her career is secure.

Of course, she has always been given ample freedom to make her own decisions.

Of course, her parents have always been more friends and guides than the conservative meaning of the word.

Of course, the boy she loved is a senior executive working in management sector, is a responsible guy earning handsomely, not just loved her but cared about every aspect of her and her family.

Their love was heartfelt.

But, all that’s for naught, when her mother confronts her with the raw fact that she had to find out about her daughter’s love like a third person. Just by accident.

What Makes This Story ‘Real’

The first serious problem lovers face, confrontation with their parents. It’s inspired by my own friend and her parents – as they try making sense of the spiraling realities of love.

Extract-

“What were you doing?” her mother’s crisp voice prodded

“Nothing” She said staring at her mother standing at the doorway.

“Do you want me to believe that” her mother asked as she came into the room and sat down on her bed.

The clock stuck two; its chimes ringing across the silent room, jumping from one blank wall to another slowly dissolving into the darkness of the night. The fan continued in its merry go round, a dull creak with every other round, probably just not merry enough. And despite all those swirls of air, that it threw forth, she started to sweat.

“Who were you chatting to” her mother’s voice was eerily calm.

“No one” She blurted out, the words tumbling out of her and slipping into open.

“No one??”

“Yes, no one”

Her mother sighed. “You forgot to switch off the modem and the web camera. The computer itself is still running.” She paused and looked at her daughter’s widening eyes.

“Was it in Skype?? Who was he? You were chatting with”

“Who??” she mouthed back. The actual words never crossed her throat; they just suffocated themselves rather than lying to her mother again. She looked up at her mother, tearing herself up into pieces, not knowing what to say. She felt her fingers through her loose hair, caressing with all the love and then a stifled tear shot across her cheeks.

“It’s okay. Please don’t lie” her mother shifted herself to hold her head to her bosom.

“It’s just that ” her mother paused “after all the freedom I gave you, after all the open environment I provided, after everything” her voice wavered for the first time “I ….. I had to learn it like this.”

Endnote: This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.