I could almost peep through her huge almond eyes that served oceans and volcanoes from time to time as she feverishly scratched me. Peeping through the doors,she sniffed her red nose.

Sometimes, when we fall, it hurts. It was the falling that saved me this time. I hardly had the inkling, but I was being inked by you and the ink was indelibly tattooed on my heart…..’

 

Somebody moved outside and I was thrust inside a bundle of notes. Luckily my head was peeping out.

Few doors passed, trees, bushels, stores and finally I arrived at the door 356B. Why was she twisting me like that. Ouch it hurts!

The boy was tall standing next to the girl with almond eyes, a little too timid, a little too enthusiastic to receive notes on the ‘ Anatomy of living organisms.’ Blob! This is boring.

Hey! Easy, guy! easy.

As the idiot was stacking the sheets while trying to catch a glimpse of her retreating figure, I slipped away with the boisterous wind. The girl turned her face, saw me on the ground horrified. But what could she do, here came her father!

Me, ‘The letter not delivered’ lay there with an aching back as cars and bicycles so judiciously flattened my already flat profile.

‘ I am a love letter, damn it! Help me reach the lover.’

I was rising, rising abruptly into the teenie weenie hands that cackled at my sight and began horribly twisting my insides.

I was now a love paper plane flying non sensibly to the tunes of a kid with a running nose. Yucks!

Twenty times he puffed me and threw me into the air. Till I landed through a window into a room. A tall boy saw me come. THE TALL BOY!

He threw me outside.

ArtoonsInn Watchers: We’d much appreciate you giving your review and rating(0-10) in the comments.
Event details: https://artoonsinn.com/failed-to-deliver-one-day-writing-event/

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Check out Arjun Rana, the co-sponsor of this event (Failed to deliver)’s book here –

Ecopy : https://amzn.to/2DJT8Sw
Paperback : https://pothi.com/pothi/node/197337

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Written by Pallavi Suri

I teacher by passion, an amateur writer by accident. I write on whim to empty myself, and fill the pages. Poetry is love and they say it only comes when it overflows. It does for me sometimes and I write. A beginner with stories.