Stream of Consciousness
A Hundred Years in Seven Lives
The aroma of cardamom and sandalwood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the nervous energy that crackled between the two families. In the Sharma household, Mrs. Sharma paced the polished marble floors, adjusting the pleats of her silk saree for the tenth time. Her son, Mohan, was finally settling down, and the weight of tradition, the unspoken pressure of ensuring his happiness, pressed heavily on her. Across town, in the Iyer residence, similar anxieties played out. Mrs. Iyer fretted over the arrangements, ensuring every detail of the impending roka ceremony was perfect. Her daughter, Shalini, was a gem, and they wanted only the best for her.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
In the Shadow of Skyforest
The Skyforests were alive in ways only Aria could truly understand. As she walked through the bioluminescent grove, her boots sank into the soft moss, releasing a faint earthy scent that mingled with the sweet aroma of blooming nightflowers.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
Where the Sea Meets the Sky
The wind howled a mournful dirge across the cliffs of Slieve League, whipping the sea into a frenzy below. Amongst the jagged rocks and swirling mists lived Lonán, a being of ancient power, a Fomorian bound to the land. His form was a reflection of the harsh landscape, skin like dark granite, eyes like the stormy sea, and a voice that echoed the wind’s lament.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
A Desperate Measure
The fluorescent lights of the electronics store hummed a monotonous tune, a soundtrack to Amelia’s increasingly desperate existence. Every day was a battle against dwindling sales targets, impatient customers demanding the latest gadgets that the store couldn’t afford, and the gnawing anxiety of overdue bills.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
A Silent Plea
The digital alarm clock on Ananya’s bedside table screamed 6:00 AM in stark red numerals. She groaned, pulling the thin blanket over her head, a futile attempt to block out the insistent buzzing. Another day. Another race she knew she couldn’t win.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
Saathi Screens
The Mumbai monsoon was a relentless beast, mirroring the tempest within Rohan. The rejection emails, “We regret to inform you…” Another one. The tenth this month each a digital slap in the face, had piled up like the overflowing garbage bins outside his window. At 42, his once-promising marketing career lay in ruins, with a CV boasting a decade of experience in marketing for a now-defunct textile company, Rohan was facing a harsh reality, the recession had hit India hard, and his skills were suddenly deemed redundant.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
