Hey, guys! I never thought I’d be able to write another 100-worder. But surprise, surprise, I’ve somehow done it. Hope you find it as amusing as the last one.
Catch up on the previous parts here.
First that intimidating queen, and now this supposed ‘princess’ in a very un-princess-like outfit saying something about saving his life. Ivaan wondered how many people wanted to save his life that day. His head already ached. He badly needed to sleep. “Look, I don’t know who you are and how exactly you plan to save my life, but I really need to sleep now. I’d appreciate it if you could leave me alone,” he said, trying not to yawn.
It howls in my ears
It ruffles my hair
It presses on my eyes
It slaps my cheeks
But most of all, it tells tales.
Tales from far, tales from near
Tales which can make you gasp in fear
Wind- raconteur of nature needn’t beg for attention
Without any permission, it begins its narration.
Click here for the previous parts.
Ivaan was even more befuddled than he had been earlier- if that was possible. He had been saved by a talking lion from slaves of a witch whose name sounded like a tea kettle. He was sure he was going insane.
“You can stay here tonight.” The queen spoke. “This is the safest place for you. As soon as the first ray of the sun colours the sky, we’ll send you back home. But not right now. Earth is too dangerous a place for you to remain until the sacrifice time has passed.”
The word ‘Earth’ jolted him. He wasn’t on the Earth? Then where the hell had he ended up? He voiced his thoughts, though not in precisely the same words. “What is this place?”
“You’re in the kingdom of Vasiona in a dimension parallel to yours,” she replied casually.
“What the… I’m not even in my universe?”
Me: I’ve been trying for almost a couple of hours, but I still can’t sleep. I think I’m in love.
My Brain: Stop kidding yourself, girl. It’s because you slept for four hours in the noon.
Me: I still have five hours of sleep left. Why don’t you stop thinking so much and let me sleep?
My Brain: That’s because you have so much to do. How about we start drafting that apology letter?
I know you all had been anticipating part 4 for a long time, and I realise it was cruel of me not to write yesterday, but you know the problem- time is a resource we all lack. But that’s no excuse for you to skip blogging- everyone’s busy, you’d say. And I agree. So as a kind of reparation, part 4 is going to be as long as two parts combined. There, now you have one lesser week to wait in exchange for waiting an extra day. As always, here’s a link for the previous parts. Let’s get right into it now.
Azar was cooking rice on a gas stove when her hand accidentally hit the utensil of almost-boiled milk on the adjacent gas stove and it fell down with a loud clang, spilling the thick white liquid all over the floor. She gritted her teeth. Her husband would come storming into the kitchen anytime now. She quickly set about mopping the spilt milk, trying to ignore the scalding burn her right hand had suffered. Her left hand wasn’t her dominant one, so it took her longer than usual. As a result, her husband entered the place before she could finish up.
“Spilt a perfectly good kilo of milk again, have you?” In truth, Azar had never spilt milk before. “Do you know how expensive this is? Of course, you wouldn’t- you laze about in the house all day like a Maharani while I toil in the factory all day. Milk comes so dearly, but still, I buy it to keep you nourished and this is how you repay me?”
“I’m sorry, ji. It won’t happen again,” she said, cowering. She knew what would come next.