Ravenclaw ��

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  • thewingedpen 66w

    ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴜᴇʙᴇʀʀʏ ᴘɪᴇ

    I took my refuge at a chintz chair near the window. My head was getting dizzy, it always did when I came near a lot of people. Taking a deep breath, I shot a glance around the room. It was quite large but the crowd made it look smaller. Everywhere, people laughed and gossiped, with the occasional clinking of glasses. It was a small get together, and I wouldn't have been here if Chloe didn't force me to. I hardly knew anyone. The room was bustling with a strange concoction of emotions; euphoria, affection, sadness and maybe a little regret. I was lost in my reverie of thoughts when I sensed someone standing in front of me with a tray of glasses. Her eyes had a slightly frosty look about them, her blond locks floating a little in the afternoon breeze. I picked up a glass and shuddered, it was freezing cold.

    The call for lunch came and everyone started towards the dining hall. I caught up with Chloe in the hallway.
    "So, having a good time, aren't you?" I asked her irritably.
    "Yeah, you know, I'm meeting Aunt Stephanie after such a long time!". She was really happy, so I left it at this.
    "Well, do you know who that girl is?" I pointed towards the blonde girl who was now guiding people to the hall.
    "I reckon she is Mrs. Beckett's niece, Ivy. Never saw her before though." she said.
    At that precise moment, we bumped into another one of her long-time-no-see relative, so I hurried ahead before I was also dragged into their conversation.

    The dining hall had a high ceiling and a long wooden table was placed in the center of the room. I pulled up a chair and sat with the others. Food was served. The table was lined up with dishes, all of which looked delicious. I ate a few and they tasted fine (I usually don't eat outside). Then after came the dessert. A lady in lime green dress, whom I took to be Mrs. Merriweather, stood up. She announced, "Now, y'all might've met her already, Ivy I mean, she came here a week ago. She's been so sweet to help me out with the arrangements and she also baked the blueberry pie herself!"
    Everyone clapped. I took a slice of the pie and ate a spoonful. It tasted a little sweet at first but then it got pungently bitter. As it went down my throat, it settled like a piece of lead. I shivered slightly, it was cold.
    I slid off unnoticed as everyone was busy admiring the pie.

    I was passing through the hallway when I saw Ivy, sitting on the stairs cross-legged, looking lost as ever. She saw me looking at her and stood up straightening herself. I went up to her.

    "Hello, Ivy. I'm Clementine."
    "Hello" she said in a monotonous tone. I bored into her eyes.
    "Are you alright, Ivy?"
    She got startled. "Ye--yeah absolutely. Why'd you ask?"
    "It's no use lying to me. I know what has happened."
    "No you don't. How know? You c--can't." She eyed me suspiciously.
    "You have to let it wasn't your fault that he died." I spoke in a firm tone.
    She was positively shaking at this point. "I--I don't know what you're talking about!"
    She sat on a stair, sobbing.
    I sat down beside her. Patting her head softly, I said, "It's in the past now, dear. You have to move on."
    "I can't... I loved him more than my life! I don't have a single grain of hope left with me..." Her eyes swam as she spoke.
    "You're wrong here. There is always a little sunshine worth fighting the storm for..."
    She looked up. "Tell me, do you believe in magic?"
    I held her hand firmly in mine and bored into her eyes once more. A cold stream flushed within me, I felt cold blooded and weak. But the girl's face radiated like sunrise after a long night, eyes sparkling like waves in sunshine. Her dried lips drew up in a smile.
    "I don't know how, but I'm feeling a lot better now." She said warmly. "Thank you for talking to me Clementine. It really helped." She paced gleefully towards the dining hall.

    Inspite of the cold feeling, I was satisfied. Afterall, this feeling was only going to last one or two hours, but the pleasure of saving a life lasts much longer.


    In case you didn't get it (I know I'm a bad at narrating), the narrator of this story has superpower of 'empathy'. She can taste people's emotions by tasting the food they cook. And she can heal other's emotional wounds by extracting them into herself.

    P.S- It's my first lame attempt at writing a short-story.

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  • thewingedpen 74w

    I've always loved rains, but I never liked the darkness that hung over the sky long after rain had stopped. The shadow drapes the dancing hydrangea bushes in my garden, making them look weary and tired, just like my brain.

    It makes me time travel down my memory, entrapping me within my old self. All those stale feelings, rush inside my mind, making me feel nauseated. It's not nostalgia, it's the feeling that comes when you don't want to re-live the past, but it shows up at you door anyway. I badly wished the clouds to go away, but they always stayed until they wanted to.

    The nights have never made me feel this way. She slowly lowers herself and kisses the light on her cheek; giving her time to heal her scars and rest until next morning. No, this darkness is different. It suddenly overpowers the forget-me-not blue sky and the light fades away. The only thought of darkness overpowering the light was frightening for my naïve mind. In every fairytale, the evil is supposed to lose, right?

    But life was never a fairytale, it'll never be. Sometimes, everything seems messed up as if an inexperienced writer wrote the story of your life, and it all appears to go back to the same loophole. There are some things which may never change just because of us wanting it to. But what can change, is our way of receiving them. Let them come inside, but keep the door open; they'll leave soon. Sometimes, it's okay not being okay. Afterall, the clouds are always temporary, the sky will be clear once more. So, give me a smile, won't you?

    ~Shreya Mukherjee

    P.S- This is not a literary piece, but more of a reminder to myself and everyone else who feels like this.

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  • thewingedpen 77w


    It's raining inside. Drops are falling with great fury, swirling in mid air and crashing the floor. My pale skin is drenched but the water doesn't seem to seep through me, like an overwatered plant dying of thirst. It's been so long trapped inside these four walls (whom I can hardly call a 'home').

    I used to dwell in my dreams. I danced in the rainfall of golden autumn leaves, and they used to sing me a swan song so serene.
    Fireflies ebbed in and out of the sea of darkness. I wrote poems for them and they told me the stories of mystique lands and dazzling skies. I cut open my scars and bled blues on the paper until it morphed into an art.

    But now, everything has changed. My world scorched up in the flames of reality. Two worlds crashed and I got trapped under the rubble. I should be crying, but the tears are somehow afraid to fall. My thoughts are crumpled up like the countless letters you sent me, in which the faded ink still whispers in your voice
    "Just keep breathing, everything will be alright."

    I'm trying to stay alive but the air seems to be getting thinner every minute. The howling winds and the sreeching thunder don't make me afraid anymore. I don't even know if I'm a person or a memory of someone who lost the road to her home and died a long ago. This homesickness is plaguing my soul. Will I ever find my way back home? Will I succumb to this numbness? But that too seems impossible.

    //ᴰⁱᵈ ᵐʸ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵉˣⁱˢᵗ?//

    ~Shreya Mukherjee

    Sorry for submitting so late Ashu. And thank you for giving me permission to submit it after the time's over. My occasional writer's blocks and online classes made it very difficult to post it on time.

    Hiraeth is a Welsh word meaning "homesickness for a home where you can't go anymore or which never existed."

    Gosh! I can't even believe my eyes right now. Thank you so much @writersnetwork and @mirakee for considering this worthy of your valuable repost.

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  • thewingedpen 79w

    F• E •Y

    It's that kind of night
    Which seeps down your bones
    So deeply
    That you're left swimming
    In a sea of stars
    Snorkeling on the surface
    But slowly, you start to
    ° .
    D °.
    R °. °
    O ° .
    W °

    It's that kind of night
    When smoke obscures your mind
    And you start levitating
    A few inches off ground.
    Your brain becomes
    Dizzy and your eyesight
    Comes in little bursts of
    light and euphoria.
    Your nubivagant soul
    Wanders above the clouds
    You choke
    on the happiness around.

    It's that kind of night
    When you chug
    More air down your lungs
    Than it can hold
    You keep chain-smoking
    On faux silver lies
    In a hope
    That atleast when you suffocate
    You won't feel the pain
    Scorching up
    What is left of you.

    "The more you hide the pain,
    The more it'll grow,
    Until it's big enough
    To engulf you whole"

    You ignore these words
    That ring in your head
    And tug on the blanket
    Which is a shroud in disguise
    Waiting to strangle
    Your delicate life.

    You live in the halcyon
    Or maybe the halcyon lives inside you.
    And you keep it safe
    Like a fabrige
    But it's too weak
    To save you now.

    You feel so lost tonight
    You feel so lost tonight
    You feel so lost tonight.
    // Like you don't even exist //


    fey (Scotch)~ the extreme, strange pleasure before the end arrives


    Thank you so much @iamsleepy for inspiring me :) Reading you was bliss ❤️

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  • thewingedpen 80w

    Dear love,

    I saw you the other day, on those cold streets. You didn't look at me. Guess the fog had blurred your vision, or your brain did. Well, the point is you didn't notice me, but I did. You haven't changed a bit. Your neck was still wrapped up in that mint muffler I once knitted for you, those eyes were still pale cornflower hued. Your cheeks still go pink when you smile. And you still wear your brain on your sleeves instead of your heart.

    But there's something that has changed. You've got someone else to be your pink peony. Her skin is softer than mine and probably she doesn't even bother you with crazy thoughts and meaningless talks. I promise, I ain't crying. I'm happy for you. Very happy.

    You remember how I always said, that I'm a dandelion. That I was made to fly with the soothing breeze, far far away, into the unknown worlds and finally sink with the golden sun. You always laughed at me when I told you. But you still gave me a bouquet of dandelions that day. That day, before I left you.

    You know, I was scared when you said you'll wait for me forever, outside the operation theatre. I made you promise you won't. And I'm glad you didn't wait. You see, flowers don't live much long. But I didn't wither, I flew away with the breeze, dispersing into the air. I wasn't lying, you see. I saw many things, but I missed you. So I sat on your window sill yesterday. Tears were flowing down your cheeks, on a pressed dandelion in your diary.

    So, I decided to write this letter to you, to remind that I'm still there, in the air you breathe and the poems you write in your diary. You can feel me, whenever you want to. Now, stop crying you stupid.

    Love you,
    Your dandelion


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  • thewingedpen 81w

    Blue is such a stubborn feeling, most of the times
    It's like a rain wetting all your paper thoughts,
    And you become sick of doing it all over again.

    Sometimes, your threadbare imagination isn't enough to cover you
    And that gypsy mind is left woolgathering.
    These blues make your dreams shrunken like
    Your favourite dress after too many washes.

    He still sends you flowers,
    But they wither too quick nowadays.
    Those memories rain down
    And disappear in a whiff of air
    Before you could even get high.

    But blue isn't always a raining despair
    It's also the clear sky that gives you hope
    The azure that tingles in your bones
    And inspires you to be alive, one more time.
    Isn't it the same sky, you look upon
    When your heart is grey and ashen?

    Don't the sapphire waves of ocean
    Drown your soul back to life?
    You go back to the shore often
    As you believe, you see your true reflection there
    Undiscovered, mystique, wild and free.

    Blue is so abundant, it's everywhere you see
    But the genuine blue is rare, if you see clearly
    It is a beautiful mess, a choas so serene
    It heals you too, and makes you bleed.

    It's the colour of curtains hiding mysteries.

    //Blue is beautiful,
    So are you//


    P.S.- In one line, I've said that geniune blue is rare. By that I mean, the pigment blue is rare in nature. Most of the blue we see around are due to a specific way of reflection light.

    P.P.S.- Blue's my favourite colour.

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  • thewingedpen 87w


    Today, I took out that old guitar
    It smelled of loneliness
    And over-burnt hope
    Reminded me of the way
    You played with those strings
    Guitar strings and my heart strings

    They say,
    there's no fixed form and cause of happiness
    Same goes for regret
    If you bolt the doors,
    You'll regret on not basking in fresh sunlight
    And if a storm wrecks you up,
    You'll regret on letting it step in.

    You say, "you don't love me anymore"
    I give a feeble smile.
    My whole world was burning and falling apart last night
    While you took it as shooting star from a distance.

    But somehow, you can never punish love.
    No matter, how much you blame it
    Slam the door on its face,
    Swear not to see it again.
    But once you see that innocent smile lingering on its face,
    You tend to fall, all the way again.

    //Love is a fragile, little flame
    But its warmth is enough to keep you alive//

    -Shreya Mukherjee

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  • thewingedpen 87w


    All these days, I was running
    away and away
    from the chaos in my mind
    White washing my scars
    Masking the cracks
    With crêpe of lies and lilies.

    But now, this silence
    Has locked me up with myself again.
    The heartbeats I've ignored
    And questions I erased
    Are bothering me once again.
    My fears are howling at my ears
    Chilling bones to the core.

    But I'm learning how to fly,
    I rise and fall back to the ground
    And rise again
    I try to decode my thoughts
    And mess up at the very end
    I paint myself yellow
    Then accidentally spill black all over.

    My mind is a labyrinth,
    I've got to come out.
    My mind is a prison,
    I've got to break out.

    And in the end, it's just me with me

    And I'm still learning to love myself.

    ©Shreya Mukherjee

    For #rf_mood_ch by @_rainfrost_

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  • thewingedpen 88w


    Whole day, I've been clinged to
    My ol' tangerine headphones
    Few vague beats,
    Ring out
    Rush through me like water
    And ripple in the clear silence.

    All these years, I've been hiding
    Under the creases and folds
    Of marooned skies
    Hanging by a bookmark thread
    Engraved on dark calligraphic lines
    A captive of imagination and wild.

    A hydrophobic soul
    And a hydrophilic body,
    Sewn together into a perfect mismatch
    While my hair smells of petrichor
    And eyes rain down
    My soul dries out.

    As sunsets and sunrises
    Disperse into same vermillion hues,
    The city submerges under smog and fake lights
    Underneath the shelter of parchment
    I burn and bleed and cry and smile
    And I keep on weaving moonlight
    Into my hair braid, twirling
    On the rhythm of my own esoteric tune.

    I put on the music a little louder
    To keep sanity beyond my boundaries
    As from outside I'm a shy being
    A grey figure among many
    in the monochromatic world
    But in solitude, a mystical dreamer
    Of a world full of magic and mysteries
    Thriving on the oasis of books and dreams.

    //They say I'm insane.
    I say, "maybe"//


    @writersnetwork @mirakee

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  • thewingedpen 90w

    Hello mirakeens! I'm glad to be back. ^_^

    Just a try. Haven't written anything for a long time. ��

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    What do you think when you look at my hair,
    Entangled strings of darkened dreams,
    Wove so complicated, with a faint hope
    Which break even by a soft touch of pain.

    What do you think when you look at my eyes,
    A whole world crashing and burning,
    Deep inside its own smoke.
    Do you still don't get it,
    Why I cry ashes and dust?

    What do you think when you look at my lips,
    Damask glow, sparkles of stardust,
    They become a shade paler every night
    Dwindling, but never growing bright.

    What do you think when you look at me,
    A crypted being, thousand locks upon heart.
    An ashen memory, a withered reality.
    I did burn in flames, got down the deep
    But the 'me' in myself ain't dead yet,
    I'm blooming into a sunflower, soaking fires
    Like a fantasy, inside my own world.

    But a blind eye can't see
    The light of a reviving angel,
    And the doors will be locked forever
    For a world you don't deserve to be a part of.

    ©thewingedpen | Shreya Mukherjee