The Rhyme

My sister had penned this, and I loved it! Read on..


‘Ringa ringa roses..,’ the little girl sang fiddling with the rings, not bothered by the two men standing a little away.

One of them threw the white flower that he was holding at the older man. ‘Pocket full of poses…,’ the girl continued the rhyme playing with the rings. The younger man took out a gun and pointed it at the old man’s forehead.

‘Haisha .. Huisha..’

His eyes looked merciless and firm while he got ready to shoot.

‘All fall..’

A gunshot.

She let all the rings fall as the old man fell.

‘Down,’she finished.


P.S: This short story has its origin from the creative juices of my dear sister, Samikshya Mishra. You can read more of her stories and beautiful imaginations here.

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