FROM RICHES TO RAGS

FROM RICHES TO RAGS

I was squashed. The deadweight on top of me was suffocating. I wanted to scream out in pain, but couldn't. What about my heartbreak?

Did anyone hear it crack and tinkle to pieces? I didn't know that a day would come when I would be treated in this manner. Hadn't I been in this household for a generation? Sigh…

I remember that day clearly when Amos brought me home. I had stepped inside, amazed at the beautifully done interiors. It spoke volumes that I would be loved and cherished here. I had a separate room to rest too with my own intricately carved antique bed. I was thrilled to bits. Amos treated me like a queen.

The next day, I was given a makeover. Amos had returned home with a package. It contained a beautiful sheer gown for me. I looked beautiful in it. It didn't hide the beauty that I already was on the inside.

"I want everyone to treat Ms. Booker kindly and delicately. All the rough imps in this house shall not go to her room and disturb her!" his voice boomed.

Whenever Amos and I spent time together, I told him things he never knew about earlier. He was amazed at me with each passing day.

He told everyone that I was very wise and that they too should spend at least a few minutes with me. I revelled in all the glory and the importance that was given to me.

As months passed, Amos introduced me to new people and I became good friends with some who shared the same wisdom, thoughts and like-mindedness. We were often grouped together when he held clubs at home. Everyone just marvelled at the knowledge and expertise we had to share.

The 'rough imps' in the house had turned out into fine lads as the years passed. They hadn't bothered much with me as they found me too boring for their standards.

On Amos's 50 th birthday, there was a grand celebration. The fine lads had brought home someone to introduce to Amos. Everyone sighed with exclamations and wonder!

She was slim, sleek and very,very trendy!

Amos looked glad and proud that the fine lads had good taste after all. They told him her name was Kindley and that she was wiser and more knowledgeable than me. He could ask her about anything and she would be on her toes to get any latest information for him.

After the guests left, Amos eyed me suspiciously. I had aged. My once alabaster skin had become patchy with age spots.

The next morning, he roughly pulled me out of the intricately carved bookshelf while I was still groggy with sleep.

I was bound with thick twine along with other book friends atop me and dropped unceremoniously outside the front door for the rag and bone man!

Mr. Amos broke my heart…

Newbie Kindle had replaced me…

Comments

ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026. CHAPTER 1 ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION The sky bled bruises of plum and cherry over the rolling hills. A full moon hung low against the mauve casting silver shards through the trees. The mansion made of cold greystone loomed large beyond the rusted iron gates. It grated on the gravel, rasping on the hinges and yawned open like a predator's jaw as Goldwynn booted it open with her foot. Her sneakers squished heavily on the mulch of dead leaves. Clutching her backpack, she looked up at the towering, grim structure forebodingly. "Are you sure you want to do this?" her friend Lexi whispered, hesitating by the gate. "This mansion's totally cursed, they say." Lexi's voice was a thin thread. A chill crept up her back and she tight...

Moxie N' Mettle

MOXIE N' METTLE In slivers and fragments as my sleep tiptoes, did I do right or wrong my heart needles… Some skies are born of black holes and tempest wreck, There glitters not a ray of light, nor a speck When curtains turbid hold all light hostage, Sandstorms, hailstorms, dust storms, snowstorms, windstorms assail and ravage Spanning my wings as a raging fire Or as a mellow glow of a fairy light in the distant darkness, quite debonaire I'll ignite my spark from within like a star born into itself spurting lava Or explode leaving trails of cosmic dust like a Supernova I will be the Sun creating galaxies and many a constellation. Or burn like a single flame of the candle to keep my hopes and dreams alive with determination! I will be at my own pace I will be whoever and whatever I want to be—in my own race Collapse, crash and crumble! But I'll...

RUTHLESS REVELATIONS (DAY 16, LETTER R)

CHAPTER 15 RUTHLESS REVELATIONS The Three Little Pigs stood triumphant in the whimsical cottage's living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture and waltzing dust motes. Baconne , Porkinn , and Swinedell grinned at each other, puffing out their chests like gangsters. Baconne swaggered closer to the makeshift bar. "You know," he said, stroking his shoulder, "the Big Bad Wolf wasn't so bad after all, was he?" His grin split wide, showing a gold-capped tooth. The pigs snorted, their belly laughs vibrating the chandeliers above. Swinedell poured three tiny glasses of wild truffle liqueur with a theatrical flourish. "Cheers to us!" he growled, hoisting a glass. "We wanted his posh cottage for ourselves. Wolfie mutt was just defending his pad." His eyes glinted like cheap jewels. Goldwynn's face paled. She stammered as she whispered, " Wha...

THE BIG BAD WOLF( DAY 17, LETTER T)

CHAPTER 16 THE BIG BAD WOLF The pigs snarled like proper rascals, fixing their cold steely eyes on the Wolf's cottage. How dare he refuse to part with his cottage! When the pigs demand, it's given to them---no questions asked! Porkinn limped, Baconne was soggy, Swinedell rubbed a sore bump on his head, but they were far from defeated. Swinedell snorted, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Wolf thinks 'e's posh, don't 'e? " Baconne sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. "We want the cottage!” He growled. Porkinn cracked his fingers, his sly glance darting about. The pigs crept towards the back door, their footsteps silent on the soft grass. They spotted the Wolf through the kitchen window, stirring a pot of steaming stew for dinner. They kicked the door in, the wood splintering jaggedly. The latch gave in....

ANAM CARA

The waves are soft and frothy. Laced with gossamer frills tenderly kissing the tips of my toes covered with the grainy sand of the rugged seashore where I'm sitting, wistful. A gust of briny breeze tousles my hair as I gaze as far as my eyes can see. A flock of terns wheel overhead, their sharp, shrill cries punctuating the air as they dive and swoop over the surfs. A lone frigate bird , its crimson belly dazzling like a jewel skims majestically above, its long, slender wings outstretched as it rides the thermals high above the ocean. I absorb the sights and sounds of the late afternoon while absentmindedly scooping seashells beside me. As the afternoon phases, the furthest rim of the ocean is fringed in a gilded hem and the sleepy sun yawns, its dipping glow streaking the sky in a mellow tangerine and warm cherry. As I continue sitting there, the ships and yachts appear --specks of light from the portholes glimmering in the distance, reminding me of the phrase “That ship has sai...

Sangeetha Kamath

Search This Blog