Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Function (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images

“Function? How on earth can I function after something like this? You were supposed to tell me! To trust me! Not just stand there and wait, wait for my entire world to collapse and come crashing down on my ears?”

“I-I wasn’t waiting for it to be something like-”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”

“You don’t want to hear it, or you don’t want to hear it from me? I’m not dense-”

“Shut up. Just shut up. I don’t want to hear it from anyone. I can’t…you don’t know anything! You broke me! I’m broken. I’m worthless now. Just a piece of junk. I’ll never function properly again.”

(c) Sara Harricharan
A/N: Just a bit of rambling characters here...hmmm... ^_^

Monday, January 30, 2012

Hoops (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images



Why do they always make me jump through hoops?

Why do you?

Is there some perverse pleasure you derive from seeing my world be ripped apart to nothing?

Do you cherish the expressions on my face when I am brought to my knees, broken and destroyed for your sake?

Why, oh why must you torture me this way?

Is not my love enough?

Must I always jump through these hoops?

You will push me soon, my dearest one. I fear and long for that day. I fear that you will push me and I will push back. I long for the freedom--the freedom that will come, afterward.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Odds (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


I hate you.

You hate me.

Together, we’ll drown in misery.

Because I hate you.

And you hate me.

Together, we’re forever at odds.

Evens and tides,

Moons and sighs

I ignore you.

You ignore me.

We pass in the halls and smile.

You smirk.

I scowl.

We’re at odds with each other, because.

Just because…

Because I hate you

And you hate me.

But I love you just as much as I can hate

And when you hate me, I know you love me,

Because if you didn’t, we have never been this free.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Friday, January 27, 2012

Dozen (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


A dozen different things ran through my mind when I saw her.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me again--the useless old things. But I remembered and I forgot, in the very same instance.

So many different things. So many different times.

So much. So little.

How I miss her. On days like these, I miss her the most.

Because the day I saw her die was the very last day of my life.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me--troublesome things--for a dozen different moments ran through my mind when I saw her.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Spring's Arrival [memories] (Friday Fiction)

This week I have the distinct pleasure of hosting Friday Fiction! So fish out a fun story of yours and join up with the linky gadget below. Don't forget to read and comment on the wonderful stories this week. 

Author's Ramblings: This is a bit of a runoff from a short piece I did some time ago, titled "Spring's Arrival" featuring the seasons personified as four unique individuals. If you haven't read it before, click here to see how this story starts and where Kevin--the narrator--begins to find himself slowly caught into this magical world. This week's story is a tale of two of the four arriving at the Season's End B&B and a short memory of young Spring, learning how to use her gifts to coax things out for springtime and not to resort to other methods. Do enjoy!

(c) Sara Harricharan : Green Willow and Sky in Spring

I don’t remember when the others showed up. I know we’d had Spring around for awhile and she was pretty cool even when she didn’t really seem to do much, but I kinda liked her and she was always nice.

Nicer than Mystica, at least.

My older sister kept a pretty obvious distance from Spring herself and the perpetual warmth that seemed to surround her. I couldn’t understand what she could possibly have against her. Mom was always careful around her, but she wasn’t like Mystica—she was nice. I think Spring liked her a little, because Mom would let her experiment in the kitchen. Mystica rarely set foot in the kitchen. I guess it was another thing they didn’t have in common.

Girls. I sure couldn’t understand them.

“Kevin, want some lunch?” Spring stuck her head through the back door, her hair less tangled today, now wrapped in series of loose strands meant to imitate a braid. She had a colorful circlet of flowers, her face was flushed and happy with the effort of her latest creation. “I made sandwiches with cream cheese and spinach, your Mother showed me how to-”

“Spinach, ew!” Mystica rolled her eyes as she edged past Spring to step outside onto the back porch. “He doesn’t like spinach and I don’t either. It’s like stewed brains dipped in-”

Something hot rushed to my head and I shot to my feet. Spring was biting her lip, the happy expression wavering. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know. “I am sorry. I did not know that—i-if you’d still like to try it then I shall leave it on the-”

“I’d love to try it!” I blurted out, surprising myself, Spring and even Mystica who tripped down the last step onto the back lawn. “The cream cheese probably makes it taste better, right?”  

“I do not know.” Spring shrugged, her smile returning to full bloom. “I have never had this cream cheese thing before, but it tastes wonderful by itself.” She steepled her fingers together. “I also made some strawberry lemonade, perhaps you would like to try that as well?”

“Strawberry lemonade? Sure.” I followed her to the kitchen where crustless sandwiches were arranged on an oval serving tray, with a thin layer of lovely, lime-green filling between them. To the left of the ceramic platter was a fluted glass mug filled to the brim with a cheery pink liquid, various fruit slices trapped beneath the thick layer of ice bobbling on the surface. It looked incredibly inviting. Spring retrieved two glasses from the cupboard and began to fill them. I tried to keep my face straight as I took the first bite of the sandwich.

It was wonderful.

Spring’s face lit up even brighter as she looked at my face. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She exclaimed. “I think it tastes wonderful, spinach and all.” She slid one glass across the counter towards me. “Try it with this.”

“Tastes gouf.” I mumbled, stuffing my mouth. It didn’t taste like spinach at all. Grabbing the glass, I took a swig of the pink stuff. It was heavenly. I swallowed another half-sandwich, taking another generous gulp of the strawberry lemonade. “Really gud.”

Spring merely smiled as she went about the business of clearing up the kitchen. I was happy to sit there and watch her work, because she was fast, efficient and very pretty to look at. Her hair streamed out in shiny waves as she swirled from the counter to the sink. In the time she’d been with us, she’d learned quickly of new things like appliances and computers, though she viewed the latter as troublesome, I didn’t think much of it at all.

Instead, our little patch of the world seemed to a little warmer for all of her presence, even though the seasons were about to change. There were still vegetables coming in from the garden, under Spring’s expert care and flowers to grace the table every day.

My dad found more time to spend with us as a family when he wasn’t out checking fences, balancing checkbooks and doing other ranch-ly things. My mom thought Spring was a blessing in disguise because she didn’t shirk at the thought of hard labor and worked fairly well at nearly everything she put her hands to. If Spring wasn’t outdoors, then she was in the kitchen.

Her cheerfulness was infectious to the point that I started to enjoy our project of restoring the bed and breakfast. Spring just had a way of making it seem like an adventure, rather than an expensive chore that continued endlessly. I waited while she stacked the newly washed dishes in the plastic-coated dishrack.  

“Are we painting today?” I took in her paint-covered smock and a borrowed pair of Mom’s old sneakers. Spring liked to be barefoot, but Mom had convinced her that walking about barefoot during construction wasn’t a very good idea. Spring had reluctantly accepted the sneakers as a temporary thing.

“Painting?” She paused in mid-rinse. “I don’t think so.” She said, slowly. “It should be all done. Yes, I think it’s all done.”

“But we just started yesterday.” I wolfed down the last sandwich and carried the plate over to her by the sink. “There was the whole floor left to paint. Here.”

She merely turned with the sunny smile that always said more than her mouth would have. “You worry too much, Kevin. It’s done. I finished it, remember?” She took the plate from my hand and began to scrub it with the soapy sponge.

I didn’t remember, but I couldn’t find the heart to contradict her either. If she said it was finished, then the possibility remained that it was indeed finished.

“Go see for yourself.” She nudged me with an elbow. “I can wash dishes by myself, if you don’t believe me.”

I didn’t believe her, but I couldn’t say that aloud. I ducked my head and darted for the stairs. On the second floor, the scent of fresh paint greeted me and I checked in the first few rooms where we’d started yesterday.

They were complete.

And so were the rest.

That had been far more than just a week’s worth of work. At this rate, the construction would end early—as per Spring’s hopes.

I couldn’t believe it. I stood in the middle of one empty room, staring as I turned in a slow circle at the immaculately painted room, with only the hint of fresh paint smell to show that it had recently been worked upon. Very, very recently.

The sound of new voices floated through the opened window and I hurried over to see. A rush of cooler wind made me wince, but I stuck my head out anyway and squinted down.

It was two men, both in coats, and one laughing and talking, the other one merely nodding. I stared at them, trying to place them and not doing a very good job. One had snowy white hair and a long black coat, like something a rich person would wear, while the other had a tanned, leather jacket that hung open around his skinny shoulders, setting off his two-toned hair. It seemed like an odd father-son duo, but who was I to judge?

They were speaking between themselves and neither of them had made an effort to ring the doorbell. I wondered why when the white-haired fellow suddenly looked up, with the brightest pair of blue eyes I’d ever seen. His face was scowling and I was suddenly struck by the fact that having such a fierce scowl sent in my direction didn’t leave a good feeling at all. It made my stomach drop the way it usually did when my Dad was about to yell at me for something I really shouldn't have done.
“Oi, you up there, where are your manners, kid? Are you going to keep staring or will you come open the door?” His accent was off-key and I couldn't place it outright.

The young man next to him looked up as well and flashed a smile that seemed rather familiar. “Hello, your family is expecting us.” He gave a slight wave. “Is Spring here already?”

Spring? They know Spring? I ducked back inside the window trying to process what I’d seen with what I knew.

I didn’t know anything at all.

I scrambled down from the room and flew down the stairs. I nearly crashed into Spring who dodged backwards with a bucket of soapy water.

“Kevin!” There was a slight tone of disapproval, but it was said with a smile as she twirled in a quick circle to keep the water from sloshing out of the bucket without losing her balance. It was a fun, yet strange sight, but then again, Spring was always whirling and dancing about somewhere. “Please be more careful.”

“Sorry, sorry.” I skidded to a stop, hesitating between helping her carry the bucket upstairs and the folks I knew were on the other side of the door. “um, hey, have you seen Mom anywhere?”

Spring was already halfway up the stairs. “Your mother?” She paused. “I think she was in the garage downstairs, something about a yard sale?” Her forehead puckered in puzzlement. “I did not think that one could sell a yard without their home involved, but-”

“Ask me later!” I turned towards the kitchen and the garage door. “Mom!”

“Kevin!” Spring called after me, now at the top of the stairs. “Would you please open the front door?”


She was already starting down the second-floor hallway and her voice was faint. “Let in the one with the pretty hair and tell the grumpy old man to stay outside until he finds his manners.”

“You know them?”

There was no answer.

Another gust of cold wind swept through the house, enough to raise an army of goosebumps along my arm. I shuffled towards the front door. If Spring knew them, then there was probably nothing wrong with letting them in. Then again, the one with the two-toned hair had mentioned we were expecting them. I wondered which family meeting I’d missed with that bit of information.

My hand hesitated on the doorknob and when I finally turned it, my fingers nearly froze. It was that cold. I ended up wrapping the end of my sleeve around the knob to turn it. That was odd.

With the door open, I could now see the newcomers clearly.

The old man really wasn’t old at all, but he did seem to be very grumpy. His hair was a pure, snow white and his eyes were a piercing dark blue. His skin was very white, very pale and very smooth. His scowl hadn’t changed. He wore a cream-colored turtle-necked sweater under a black, full length wool coat and equally dark jeans. His boots were scuffed and dark shade of brown, the same as his battered knapsack that accompanied him.

“Looking at something, kid?” He grunted, pushing past without a single nod of acknowledgement.

“Hey!” I turned after him, only to feel a new hand on my shoulder.

“Please don’t worry about Winter, he’s having a bit of a hard time adjusting.” The young man who spoke had a voice and smile vaguely reminiscent of Spring. His hair was two-toned, the shade of auburn with brown and golden tips and streaks throughout. “Hello, you  must be-”

“Kevin.” Spring’s voice floated down the hallway. “Do let the man in. It’s freezing out there or rather, should I say it’s frozen in here?”

It was the first hint of sarcasm I’d ever heard from her.

That’s when Mom’s conversation clicked, the one I shouldn’t have overheard last week in the laundry room.

Spring. Winter. The charming fellow in front of me could only be Autumn.

Oh great. Now there were three of the four seasons rooming inside our under-construction bed and breakfast. A shiver nipped through the air and I tried to ignore it. This was certainly going to be a strange year to remember.


Spring smiled to herself, watching the disgruntled Winter putter about and Autumn's care attention and answers to the questions of their young host. She knew he'd get on well with Kevin, it was just a matter of convincing her favorite brother not to freeze the poor thing solid.

A smile leapt to her face and she found herself remembering an old memory from years before. They had been closer then and the memory had been...interesting.

“You kicked it?” Her father fairly shrieked. “Of all the things on our Good Lord’s green earth, child, whatever possessed you to do that?” He tugged handfuls of his great white hair as his green eyes grew wild with panic. "You're sure they didn't follow you?"

Spring merely shrugged, turning her hands, palm up to the sky. “They were sleeping and all quiet and it’s supposed to be my time. They won't bite.” 

"Sting." He corrected, mildly. 

"Fine. Sting. They won't. I told 'em not to." She shifted her chubby freckled hands to rest on her hips. “And I was being nice! I wasn’t gonna freeze ‘em like Winter! He would've killed them!" She exclaimed. "I just wanted them to wake up and make the flowers all pretty and everything.”

“I wasn’t gonna freeze ‘em, Spree.” Winter sauntered over, his hands shoved into the pockets of his brown fur vest. He patted her curly head, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I don't go around killing things, I just put them to sleep for a bit. Your job is to wake them up and you’ve got air for brains, flowerhead. Nobody kicks a beehive and lives to tell it.” His silvery brows knitted together. “You told them you were Spring, didn’t you?”

The guilty child immediately looked away.

"You're not supposed to tell them that!" He exclaimed, exasperated. "Really! Does everything I say go in one ear and right out the other like-"

"If she doesn't want to listen, she isn't going to." Summer chuckled. "Just let her alone for now. Perhaps one of them might be daring enough to sting her."

"After a seasonal declaration?" Winter rolled his eyes. "Hardly." He muttered and stomped off. “A beehive.” He muttered. “Of all the things on…”

(c) Sara Harricharan

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Champagne (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


So let's toast, shall we? A glass of champagne to everyone who dares.

To a broken life, shattered dreams and unwistful hopes.

Let's toast.

For all those missed moments, piecrust promises and dark nighted fantasies.

Let's toast.

It's a lovely, wretched mess, isn't it?

Why not celebrate?

Happiness is nothing unless you are sure of it. Elusive as a bird and stolen like life, it is nothing, so we linger over it and sigh.

Ah, but let's toast, shall we? A glass of champagne to everyone who fears.

To new life, new dreams and pledged hopes.

A rousing cheer!

For every captured blessing, sacred vow and sunrise renewal.

Let's toast.

It's a beautiful, delightful mess, isn't it?

Why not celebrate?

Happiness is everything, unless you are sure of it. Elusive as as the tide and stolen like the night, it is something, so we linger over it and cry.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Thorns (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images



They blister, they burn, they tear.

I hurt.

Bleed me, break me, tear me.

You hurt.

Piercing the skin, stinging the soul. I am left with nothing, but an empty, ugly hole.

These torns in my side, are nothing.

The scars I bear are nothing.

For on His head, He wore them--in a crown of plain mockery. They meant for it to hurt. For His sake, His pain, and His blood. I am purchased, redeemed and loved.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Monday, January 23, 2012

Hinge (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


The squeaky door hinge was the first warning that set off all occupants in the old wooden cabin. Mutterings, whispers and shufflings filled the air.

The sound of the rasping metal on the backdoor sent them all into a tizzy.

Well, everyone except Anabelle, who didn’t even pause as she hurriedly stuffed her hands into mittens and awkwardly wound a fat scarf ’round her little neck.

“Mummy, c’mon, Daddy’s out there, he's hurt!”

The grown-ups exchanged glances with the little girl of blue eyes and pink lips.

“I guess she’d know.” The old groundskeeper sighed, at last. “Not like I could pick out a frostman from a twitch.”

“Twatch.” The mother corrected and suppressed a shiver. “Twatch.” She reached over and tugged the scarf straight.

(c) Sara Harricharan

~Twatch is what they call the woodsmen in this snippet--folks who brave the ice and snow and usually wear white and light blue to blend with the surroundings. They fight frostmen, which are like the abominable snowman/Yeti.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Fences (Flash Fiction)


“Fences?” The horse snorted. “Do they really think mere fences can keep me in here?” There was a toss of the majestic head, the coppery mane streaming out in the afternoon breeze.

Her handler, the equally redheaded human, merely shrugged. “I don’t know, Fen. You’re lucky they let you have me as it is.” She stroked the sunny muzzle and smiled at the answering whicker. “Besides, you know it’s expensive to have a Horse Whisperer in the first place, you should be glad they scrape enough together to bring me here.”

Fen snorted again, pawing at the ground in agitation. “Why’d you have to be so expensive then? Why can’t you be nicer?”

“Nicer doesn’t get results.” The redhead sighed. “It just gets…fences.”

(c) Sara Harricharan

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Scarce (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


“What is it?”

“A daisy, I think.”

“You think? I thought you knew everything.”

“Shut up, you big idiot.” She reached for his shoulder, using him for leverage to stand on her feet. She winced, as her crooked leg wavered beneath her. “Daisies are rare these days. Scarce as an honest heart. It does look white and that is yellow in the middle, isn’t it?”

“Looks like it to me.” He shrugged. “Not that I could tell white and yellow from red and-”

She elbowed him in the stomach.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Friday, January 20, 2012

Runaway (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


Run. Run. Run as fast as you can. Get away. 

I felt the air burning through my lungs as if it stripped the very life out of me that I was trying so desperately to save.

I ran until I thought I couldn’t run anymore.

And then I stopped.

Falling to ground, tangled in everything from remorse to regret and the dust and dirt of the world beneath my feet.

I gasped for breath and I cried for release.

I wished that I was anything, anything but what I was right now. I didn’t want to be another runaway.

Not from Him.

Never from Him. 

(c) Sara Harricharan

{This is not my Friday Fiction post...I'm still working on it. Cheers!}

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Liberty (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images.


(Today's prompt is what I'd call pure um, 'crack', meaning that it was written for nothing more than stress relief and a good laugh as it's been one of those days. I figured I'd share though, instead of just tossing it out. Cheers!)

“I’ve taken the liberty-” He began.

My heart leapt through my throat and splattered on the floor.

We stared at each other for longer than was strictly polite.

Then he reached down, picked up the squirming, sputtering organ and handed it back.

I blinked. “Er, that doesn’t really, um-”

“When he said android, I wasn’t really expecting something this fully…functional.” He hid a smile. “Fireproof, waterproof and idiotproof?”

“First two are standard, I guess time will tell with the other, yes?”

“Asking or telling?”

“I think I’m taking the uh, liberty of asking.”

The smile on his face made the sun rise with a halo and two free-range eggs, sunny-side up.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Rendition (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images



It was the worst rendition of Peer's Haughe, he'd ever heard.

But the earnestness in which the child was singing simply vanished all purpose and intent to ruin the moment.

His head and ears throbbed for several long moments afterwards and when it was through, the Tester wasn't quite sure how to handle the young couple's expectant faces. He looked from the toddler to the mother, to the father and then back at the little boy.

He closed his eyes, folded his hands and took a deep breath.

When he opened his eyes, the smile was fixed, force and polite. "A banshee." He said, thinly. "I believe you have a banshee."

The happy parents practically danced out of the testing office, squealing over their good fortune as they left.

He sighed at the now empty office and thumped his head on the hardwood desk. "Human parents." He muttered. "Idiotic human parents, the boy can't be a banshee unless his mother is part--" the stack of paperwork slipped off the desk and fell to the floor.

He sighed.

Worst rendition ever. 

How could be so hard to sing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star? 

(c) Sara Harricharan

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Bellow (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


"Get down from there you idiot!"Grandfather bellowed. "Save a heart!"

I jumped.

The screaming and crying as if everything had finally come down around us had become too much to bear. I hadn't thought twice at inching up to the edge.

But his shout scared us all. My father was whiter than ash in the fireplace after Thanksgiving Pumpkin pie was served a day old. My mother was in hysterics for something that made no sense at all. Grandfather was the worst. He didn’t know how to ask and I didn’t know what to say, but he needed us and we needed him.

Then the world did turn darker when the wooded trail gave way beneath father's feet. I lunged and missed. Grandfather crumpled to his knees, fat tears streaming down his wrinkled face."I hate you." He whispered. His fists clenched tight, then, louder. "I love you."

I never saw my father again.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Crisp (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


Burnt to a crisp.

I supposed it could’ve been worse. I supposed there could’ve been a hundred and one more things that might have gone wrong, but instead, there was simply nothing left.

It was ash. Piles upon piles of black, white and grey in generous quantities of indeterminable shapes and sizes.

Gone. All gone. Burnt to a crisp, as if there were nothing more than a hand that had turned a dial one notch too far.

I stood in the doorway of what could have been for longer than absolutely necessary, because when I saw the blackened hole, I realized your wish had been granted. There was nothing left here for me any more. It was all pointeless.

I was finally, dead.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Settling In (Chai Time)

(c) Sara Harricharan

You know one funny thing about the year changing over?



What? No, you're right. I didn't think it was funny either.

But it was very interesting to think about. I don't make a long list of new year's resolutions and all of that, but I do like to pick one thing I think I can throw myself into and see how long I can stick with it. More like a game than a pesky resolution.

Want to know a good one for this year?

Flash fiction.

Er, I meant, actually, my thing for this year. It's been quite fun, waking up to a new word prompt every day and flipping over a little timer and then having at it. The results are being posted in their wonderful shortness over at my Fiction Fusion blog, do stop by if you're interested.

I've been enjoying it, because it makes writing fun again. I try to tell a story in as few words as possible or to give a glimpse of a scene that makes you want to read more of that story. It's had me wracking my brains quite nicely for the new year.

I guess that's good--the thinking, I mean, not the brains part, the brains part kind of hurts.  >_>

Anyhow, settling.

The year's settling in and now I can finally do something about it. By do something about it, I mean that I'm thrilled that I've been able to sit down and snatch a few minutes to spend on something that I really enjoy.

How about you? Did you grab a few seconds for that necessary, but really special thing? Hope so.



Below (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


“Look out below!” Johnathan screamed and then of course, he jumped.

I stared after him like the idiot he was and wondered–briefly–if yelling before you jumped actually helped.

Of course, then I yelled the same and jumped after him.

They never told me that the canyon was bottomless. They never told me what I was supposed to do if nothing happened.

I’ve been trapped here between nothing for the past five centuries.


I suppose it'd be alright, except for I'm getting a bit bored. I do wonder what they’re doing down there…below.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Accordion (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images



I wasn’t even sure what she was talking about, but then suddenly, I had to know. It seemed like it was and then I was sure. It was the missing twist, the final touch, the last key.

I couldn't believe I hadn’t seen it. I’d ignored it and overlooked it because I thought it was olfashioned. In my crazy young mind that ridiculous excuse of a musical instrument didn’t exist.

I’d never considered the ancient energy within would actually prove to be beneficial.

I suppose, that sometimes it helps if you don’t know what will kill you some day.

I can see the headlines for tomorrow.

Death, by accordion.

(c) Sara Harricharan

A/N: I forgot to post the past few snippets--apologies folks! University can be a bear sometimes...

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Benched (Friday Fiction)

This week's Friday Fiction is hosted by the wonderfully talented Rick "Hoomi" Higgenson over at his blog, Pod Tales and Ponderings. Do stop by and check out the awesome stories! Click here to visit.

Author's Ramblings: This is actually a flash fiction prompt for "Bench" That I decided to expand, just because Nella is a fun character, though a bit of a brat. It features an original idea of mine for a sport called Disc, where players have four corners of a large outdoor field to protect and several flying discs to deflect as "Balls". Certain moves can be used with certain powers or simply on the physical endurance of the player. Some moves are outlawed, for certain health reasons, mental, physical, etc. I thought that was a good spot to start off this rambling bit with. Enjoy! 

Found on Google Images

“Bench, now!” Shreena bellowed, her dark eyes snapping with anger. “I can’t believe you, Nella.” She growled, her gloved hands fisted and resting on her broad hips. Her glare could’ve melted the protective gear that the lithe redhead before her wore. “That’s an outlawed maneuver and you knew it! I can’t believe it! Are you trying to get us blacklisted? They could kick us out of the tournament for this!”

"They can't ban all of you." Nella rolled her eyes. "And it was a perfectly legal move several decades ago, they just changed the rules for stupid reasons."

"Not stupid reasons!" Shreena struggled to keep her temper from expressing itself in more physical means, a feat visible by the way that her hands were twitching in spite of the stiff dragonhide gloves. "A full bodyslam against a reinforced sidewinder disc is not something to take lightly and you know fully well the reasons why it was outlawed for women to perform such moves! Don't you even care? Do you even know what you did? I can't believe this! I can't believe you!"

“You and me both, coach.” The Halfter frowned, readjusting her wrist guards. “Really, Nell, for shame.” There was a faint quirk of her lips and she turned away with a toss of her head. She'd have to take the redhead's position as a side hitter in left quarter and she was not looking forward to it. Halfter was her pride and joy as far as titles went and this was certainly not something that she would've seen happening in the first half of the Drakken Championships.

Nella shuffled to the bench and dropped down with an audible thunk to show her displeasure. She opted to study the game chart pinned on the corner of the dugout and pretended that nothing else mattered.

They’d never figure it out.

They’d never know.

She’d certainly never tell.

Only a female with Arsonne’s Gift could perform that trick–illegal or not. It would be just the thing to save their little world from the darker days ahead. The games had everyone on edged, but only for the sake of the bet that every world was riding on. Sure, Drakken was in danger, as was every other planet and yes, they might be the only decent team playing to win in hopes of freedom, but still, the villains weren't playing fair, so why should they?

Nella sniffed.

She'd thrown the move in there on spur of the moment when she'd seen the opposing team's Halfter employ an outlawed move of her own. Doing something that obvious would ensure, at the very least, that all referees were on the lookout for moves both above and below the line.

At least, the second half of the game might be fare.

If not, they were doomed.

Though, now that she thought about it, there had to be a way around it.

Her brilliant mind snapped to work and Nella relaxed on the bench. She could trust them to win the game and they could trust her to take care of everything else.

In this case, everything else would be a certain piece of incriminating evidence housed in the Minster's Westbring office and in a difficult spot with certain protections over it that hindered all thoughts of accessibility.

Nella hummed in thought, remembering the feel as she'd performed the necessary twist and tuck of the bodyslam. It had been very satisfying.

And the disc had zoomed away with something she'd never felt before.

I bet it could blast through their securities... She mused. I guess I've done it after all. I'll just have to slip in there and grab it tonight and as long as they win this game, we're good. Scot-free and homebound.

Pity they'd never see what hit them.

Nella smirked.

(C) Sara Harricharan

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Conceal (Flash Fiction)

*Image found on Google.com


It was easy to hide.

Somehow, I thought it would be harder. I thought they would care. I thought they were watching. I thought they were looking.

Eyes were everywhere. Mouths and tongues flapping in the blistering cold.

But no one saw and no one spoke.

I didn’t think it’d be this easy. To hide. To run. To conceal the truth from those who desperately need to hear it.

Somehow, I thought it would be harder.

(c) Sara Harricharan ^_^

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Sparkling (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


Sparkle, Sparkle, Little heart, 
Stand brave and tall without a mark.
Look straight into the bright blue sky
Pretend that you will never ever sigh
Sparkle and dance with all your might
Try and try to reach the light 

Her song haunted us all, as we stood at the cliff’s edge staring down in the shadowy chasm. I didn’t know what to say. They didn’t know what to say.

So we all stood there and said nothing and waited for the sparkles to fade away.

Sparkles that still shimmered, sparkling, in the night, the only proof that an angel had been there just seconds before.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Bland (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. Looks tasty. ^_^


Bland. Pointless. Troubling.

I didn’t know what the word meant until I stood in line with the rest of them, hands outstretched, reaching and accepting something I cared naught for. I would take it, because it filled my empty hands, I would hold it, because I had nothing else to hold and when the darkness fell, I would sit in silence and eat it.

Because that was all I had.

Because that was all there was.

Pointless. Meaningless. Bland.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Monday, January 9, 2012

Savage (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images.


"Savage and wild, that one is."
That’s what he said when he pointed her out on the cliffside. I kind of thought he was joking. I kind of hoped, anyway.

How does a girl even know what to do with so many blades? She barely looks even half the weight of the broadsword on her back. But from the slit in her left sleeve, I saw the marks when she dropped by the mess tent.

The entire patch of sunburned skin was covered in blue, black and purple dots. Perfect round pinpricks of color.

Every dot represented a dueled match won.

I'd never seen so many on any one person.

The Colonel thumped me on the back with a smirk as I choked on my mashed dinner. “I told you, boy.” He laughed."Savage and wild, that one."

I wondered, if maybe, she’d like to be my friend.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Lilies (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


Lily of the valley.

That was my favorite song for years. Our favorite song. I don’t remember when it changed. I just remember the Sabbath mornings where we’d stand with our faces to the sun, singing songs that seemed so very old, but so very special. I remember your voice. So beautiful.


White. Pure. Simple.


How I miss it. How I miss you.

The way things were, the simplicity of the simple.

It’s all a mess these days. Such a horrid, wretched mess. Because somehow in looking for you, I’ve managed to lose myself.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Oil (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images

Oil and water.

Water and Oil.

I think we hate each other. Maybe. I don’t know.

Is it the color of my skin? The shade of my hair? The glitter on my eyes? The sound of my sigh?

It’s got to be something. It’s got to be me. I must’ve done something horrible, that’s the only reason you could hate me.

Maybe I’m just ugly, maybe I don’t belong, but I do wish that you could see past it and see that I mean no harm.

I’m just another person, a shadow of a human. I’m just another nobody, just like you.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Friday, January 6, 2012

Happy New Year!

I feel more obligated than anything to do a happy go lucky, welcome to the 2012 new year routine.


No, not really. I mean, I'm not laughing. It's a whole 'nother new year again and now I've got to do a bucketload of work that usually gets done just because it is the new year.

You know, things like making new lists, finishing old lists and just, well, lists.

Lists are kind of fun, you know? They can have numbers they can have unlimited pages and they don't necessarily always have to make sense.

I like the lack of sense part. That's always my favorite. Probably because I make lists that are all over the place. Not that I'm doing it on purpose, but it's much easier to put things in a line if you make a list.

Yes, I am rambling. The new year tends to do that to me. ^_^

Anyhow, for the new year, the first poem of the year. *ahem*


New in all it's numbers
The first time that I write it
Made to be special
The first time that I say it
The first three stay the same
The last one makes a change
A welcome to the new year
with well wishes to everyone dear


Sara Harricharan (c)

For Nalia (Friday Fiction

Hello everyone! Happy New Year! I have the distinct pleasure of hosting Friday Fiction this week, feel free to jump in and join the fun. Just add your name and link to your original fiction piece in the widget below. Don't forget to read and comment on other entries--we all love the feedback. Happy holidays! ^_^ 

Author's Ramblings: This snippet is part of a character sketch for Eredas, a companion warrior from my 2011 NaNoWriMo, who was charged with protecting his mentor's daughter, a reckless lady knight. This was to help me decide and flesh out exactly what kind of gift or talent I should give to him. It's during a raid on a suspect's estate and Eredas has a bit of a flashback at the worst possible time. It's a bit rough, but fun to write. I do hope you enjoy. Happy weekend!  

When I saw it, I thought of her.

The color was too bright and everything else in the room was rather dark and dreary. But the scrap of ruffled yellow brought back a slew of memories that I wasn't prepared to push away. In the moments before the raid ended, I didn't remember it starting.

I remembered everything else instead, even the things I swore I’d forget.

Sirens, screams and glass breaking played a song that I wouldn't soon forget and everything about Griffiths settled south of my stomach. 

I remembered her apple pie on Winter Solstice and her smile with a cracked, bleeding lip, after she’d just hit the minister of soulless idiots.Well, minister for something important, I was sure, but a lady knight cares little for those kind of distinctions when she's got the crown's protection riding boldly on her staff in the form of the royal colors.

Something about her fearlessness screamed of strength and courage. The kind of courage I couldn't even summon with a bottle of Bergland's best. Not that I would try, drink doesn't hold well with my kind--not if we want to live to see the next few hundred years. I'm not particuarly fond of dying. I knew it hurt in more ways than one and that this last death would most certainly hurt worse than all the others.

Found on Google Images. Nalia's Standard Symbol
But I did promise him and when the raid began, I could only think of getting to her. She caught my eye halfway across the battlefield. Blood, guts and glory was the warcry, but to her, it was nothing more than duty and necessity. She was the spitting image of her mother, all done over twice, with a cherry and a half on top.

They said that she picked up her new skills in the Western Lands, but all I knew was that the deadly blade in her gauntleted hands had grown darker overnight. Yet, when we crashed though the walls and into the estate, somehow I got tangled all the way to the kitchens.

Somehow she got tangled right along with me. When I saw her beside that chicken yellow apron, I could only see a little girl with her father’s eyes. Eyes that haunted, eyes that hurt and eyes that helped, even when there was no honor to be gained by it.

Everything went wrong in a smattering of seconds. I realized she was outnumbered before I managed to piece together the fact that the had been anticipated. It wold seem that we'd walked straight into a trap of the worst kind.

The kind of trap that would require thinking to get out of the entire mess.

Stupid trap.

Stupid idiots.

Stupid thinking.

Nalia would laugh if she knew what I was thinking. Thankfully she doesn't. But that doesn't help the situation. I'll have to actually think and then follow through. I hate following through. It's always a pain in my head.

"Eredas!" Her scream ripped me from my muddled mind and she flew forward, bringing a momentum that drove us both to the ground. "Now is not the time to get lost in your mind, man!" She panted into my ear and suppressed a wince.

The very fact that she let it show on her face instead of hiding it, spoke volumes more than anything else she could have said. Surprisingly, thinking didn't seem like such a bad thing to do after all. All I'd have to do was calculate the necessary points for--she whimpered.

I nearly died. "Nalia!"

"Lucky blow. That's all it is." She grimaced. "A really lucky blow. Halls are clear. I think there's one left. You handle it, okay? Just get...please, get us out of here!" She coughed and spat blood on the ground near my left ear. "Think!" She pleaded. "Just use your head."

Oh how I hate that phrase.

But I would.

I'd do it for her, if no one else. I owed him--no, her, that much, at least.

There were more ways than one to get her out of there.

There were also two left, not one.

Bother that. 

(c) Sara Harricharan

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Trunk (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


The trunk was securely fastened with black-chains covered in thick, gunky looking globs of green algae.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Usually, mysterious trunks don’t turn up on my doorstep every Thursday morning, but this one had been the third one this month.

I really didn’t know what to make of it.

There were five locks in various places, holding the trunk closed and the chains together. I wondered what on earth could any living being wish to keep inside a trunk that had a mouth.

It had a mouth, you see, because the teeth carved in front would screech, every time I lugged it through the entryway and down to the basement.

As I recall, it was the third one this month. I still didn’t know what to do with it.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Thanks for reading!

Monday, January 2, 2012

Glimmer (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images


It was a thread, a shimmering strand, a glimmer of hope, as they all say.

I didn’t really think it was.

Something about the missing reflection haunted me. I thought, perhaps, I might have been seeing things, because I’d always seen things. Sometimes when there are constants around you, a person looks to them, expects them, convinces their mind that such things are natural and necessary.

And when it changes, their world comes crashing down.

I suppose that’s why I didn’t want to believe it.

I didn’t want to think that I could be wrong or right, whichever the case was, because when I looked into the rippling pond, I didn’t see my reflection.

I caught a glimmer of something that might not have been. Shimmering silver and pale limelight.

Now I fear, it shall haunt me.

(c) Sara Harricharan