Story No. 1:
"The Life of a Russet Leaf"
It was a wonderful afternoon of autumn. I had just awoken from a frosty siesta. I glanced at my surroundings. The zephyr caressed the leaves and the branches were rustling and swaying with joy. All of us seemed like leaves of gold, gilded as we bathed in the sun. The rejuvenating beams emitting from the golden ball filled life in me. I yawned, strectched my arms, and inhaled the refreshing air. Each and every pore of my body felt refreshed and rejoiced to be alive. The singing of birds made the milieu more healthy and fresh. The day passed with great excitement, but none of us could forsee the catastrophe which the rising sun of the new day was about to bring.
The next morning, every leaf was horrified at the chaotic situation. Tree cutters amputated us from the rest of our tree world. This was the biggest shock I could have ever suffered from. The once gentle breeze that caressed our being turned into a thrashing wind, displacing us from our homes and throwing us hither and thither. The wind, that had always nestled us in its arms, today, proved to be treacherous. We all became its victims.
The wind played with us ruthlessly and we all went past in an addy of dust. Every leaf suffered in deep anguish but no one could do anything; we all were helpless, treated as thralls of the wind. The park was giving a true picture of a charnel-house of the charred leaves.
Nobody was aware of my feelings at that time. All my ecstasy-filled existence changed into deep melancholy. My self-esteem was completely tarnished. The tiara of my pride shattered into tiny, uncollectable pieces. I, who had always boasted about myself as the one soaring in the sky, was now lying under people's feet, crumpled up. I tried to hide my guilty face from other leaves' blunt comments, but the strong wind would carry me to a new place and throw me among old faces. It was yet another great insult to lie helplessly on the ground. The leaves still attached to the branches swayed in the pleasured, mocked inglee. I knew, every leaf was saying it all without saying a word. Everytime their brows crinckled in a frown, I would, at once, decipher what exactly they meant. My guilt was killing me more strongly than the powerful wind was. I gathered all my strength and tried to apologize to them all for my unbearable attitude, but the wind came again strongly, plucked me up, and threw me against the wall of a dump yard. This time I was extremely annoyed. I felt like vociferating all around, but I knew, it was futile.
I'm alive, but worse than dead! The once independent leaf is now totally dependent on the wind which callously crumples me up on the sharp blades of cinnamon-shaded grass.
Story No. 2:
"Don't Mess With Me."
The thirst for her blood drove me near her house. The clock ticked eleven loudly behind me, informing me that she was about to leave her house for a party. I had made a perfect plan to murder the person who had devastated my hopes; my dreams. Memories of what she had done swept me over like a strong ocean wave. With clenched teeth, I paced back and forth, desperately waiting for her. A quarter moon hung lazily on the swaying treetops. A single street light casted a harsh yellow glow between the black shadows. I glanced at the clock tower behind me and realized that ten minutes had already been passed. I looked at the shining blade of my dagger, which I hoped to be smeared in red, gleaming blood after some time. An evil grin spread over my face. I scanned the place closely to spot her, and finally I did. There she came walking slowly towards the thick, old tree, behind which, I was hiding. Strands of shimmering dark hair covered one side of her face. As she moved past the tree, I leapt out and held her tightly with a rope. I stared in her frightening eyes, took the sharpened knife, and with a feeling of immence hatred, I stabbed her with my full strength. She tried to yell, but I had covered her face. She let a groan from deep within her soul and gritted her teeth against the pain. I stabbed her again with more ferocity, as her face reminded me of of my bitter, unforgettable past. I saw the colour drain from her cheeks. She closed her eyes and squeezed back the tears that threatened to fall. The blood streamed down her body onto the newly-painted pavement. Her breaths came in convulsive gasps. A gust of wind made the trees whisper the story of my success. The last silver streak of the moon disappeared behind the black cloud. The fog blanketed the town, turning the streets lamp into misty blurs of yellow light. It was all over. Happiness spread into my being as a smile came across my face. A deadly silence spread its cloak over the darkened night.
Story No. 3:
"A Sombre Day"
In the sultry, debilitating heat of high summer, my face shone with damp pallor of a slight indisposition. I lazily walked on a dreary tract towards an unknown destination. On my way I thought that I've spent all my life in unravelling the knots of my glued memories, but have I ever succeeded? NO. Have I ever been able to escape from the unforgettable experiences of my life? NO. The word intermittently blared in my head. "Why me? Why me only in this whole world?" I started fighting with my own self. Tumbled into my thoughts, I finally stepped on the stairs of my destination. CHRISTIAN CEMETERY. The board revealed. My footsteps sounded hollow as I entered the sun-drenched cemetery. As I stared at my surrounding, a strange and very beautiful tree came across my sight. A tree I had never seen before. It had scarlet-shaded leaves and oyster white, bell-shaped flowers. The combination attracted me so much that I, at once, started walking towards it. Its shadow was extremely soothing in that scorching heat. I sat there cross-legged, my hands cupped my face and my memory scudded across my mind. I delved into the fine cafe au lait-shaded sand and scrutinized it by worming my slender fingers through it. It resulted in the formation of a small crater. I sat there staring at it with blank eyes. In that I saw that the bitter memories of my life have enlarged the armoury of my sentiments. So, then, I decided to bury all my hopes, all my dreams in it. For I knew the diminutive crater can only hold a tiny part of my melancholic life, but still I tried. A little optimism was still left in my vision. Deep, silent moans and screams reverberated off the eau de nil walls of the cemetery as I lowered my grief-struck past into the dry, dead sand. The constant whine of cicadas in the avenues of planted trees was providing a shrill accompaniment to the shrieking of unseen birds and all these tropical sounds seemed to be amplified in my ears by the unnatural stillness of the cemetery. Sadness and grief had seeped into my being and was now flowing through my eyes in the form of tears. I slowly mixed the gloom-enriched crystal beads with tawny sand. It made a perfect mahagony-shaded mixture. I flattened the mixture with my trembling hands, and with the help of a small stick, carved on it: GRAVEYARD OF MY HOPES. I gazed at the fallen, dead flowers till they dissolved in a blur of tears. I closed my eyes and squeezed back the tears that threatened to fall. The atmosphere of quiet tranquility which embraced the cemetery seemed to deepen; the whine of cicadas and the screeching of birds became subdued. I felt the warmth of the sunlight on my heavy eyelids and finally closed them forever. A deadly silence spread its cloak over the charnel house.
