I thought of trying my hand at writing a short story today. Took me two hours to devise the plot, write the story and upload it on my blog. I will be grateful if you can spend a few while reading it and giving your valuable feedback in the comments section below.
Mrs X discovered her neighbour after a long time, quite surprised to find her standing beside the entrance. “Long time no see!” gleaned Mrs X with an ear-to-ear smile, “Where have you been all these days?”
“Just get in,” she motioned towards her living room, “Let’s catch up over a cup of tea”.
“That’s okay,” replied Mrs Y with a smirk, “Thank you”.
“I’m in a hurry. Will catch up with you later,” she spoke the words as she dashed unexpectedly towards her residence and vanished.
A woman aged forty-twoish barged into her bedroom, heaving deeply all the way. Her face was both red with fear and bright with snobbish pride.
The twelve-year old budding painter, seated on the bed, glanced her mother without raising her head. She immediately recognised her familiar body language during moments of triumph and adventurous escape.
“What’s the trophy this time, mom?” she raised the much-awaited poser.
“Sabotaged her plumerias,” she replied with a genuine chuckle.
“Sabotaged whose plumerias?”
“That rustic simpleton’s,” she responded motioning towards the house next door.
“You mean, Aunt X’s?”
“Who else?” explained Mrs Y, adding, “And she thought I was waiting beside her entrance for her tea!”
“But mom, what do you gain by devastating blooming flowers? Poor little plants and their hard-working owners!”
“Pleasure, my daughter, pleasure!”
Next morning, while watering her little front garden, Mrs X was at her wit’s end figuring out how the top part of her young plumeria plant could have separated completely from the stem below. It had been just a few days that the plant started bearing flowers.
“Didn’t I tell you the last time when my dahlias were destroyed? Never ever harm the plants, got it?” she charged her little daughter.
Mrs Y, standing in her high-walled veranda, thought herself to be doubly lucky to be an audience to the high drama going on in the house next door.
“Pleasure, my child, pleasure!” she thought.