a terrible painter, a dreamer, a rebel , a feminist and a self certified bisexual Witch. Who is always trying to visualize whats on the other side of the canvas she paints,just another human- Living alive Life. Now also a green tea addict.

Thursday, 30 November 2017

Blisterella! A Christmas Tale


Once upon a time, there lived a reader, oblivious to the world of love and dating, ignorant of the ways of technology. The reader lived in a tiny room in a forgotten part of the forgotten city and survived on stale bread and fresh milk. Reading, writing, editing and sleeping, and walking around the city was her life. Oh yes, this reader was a she, a happy go lucky she who didn't need much to live by and was easy to satisfy.

One day, the reader girl realised, the soles of her shoes had surpassed their lifespan and split apart into quarters of black oranges. Walking was a hobby, but shopping was not, the only money this girl would spend was on books. The thought of buying a new pair of shoes was troublesome, but a necessity. A necessity that could wait, like every other thing that has been on her wait list, as there was always someone kind enough to give away a pair of shoe that was small by a millimeter or ten or a pair that was big by a centimeter or three. In this unsatisfying world, there was always someone else's unsatisfaction to satisfy one's own necessity. Someone's overflowing bookshelf was a potential library for future readers, someone's old sweater was someone's Christmastime present. There was hope for our reader to get a pair for herself from someone unsatisfied.

On that very night, the reader revealed the condition of her shoes to her hardworking but insane deaf mother who had rung her up from another forgotten corner in a forgotten city. A mother who had dedicated her entire life to animals and happened to raise a child with her animals. Hence her love was measured in spoons of milk fed to kittens and slices of chicken fed to her daughter. Daughter chatted away about the new cafe she discovered and how granules of broken bricks had settled inside the splits of her soles and cut her skin, she chatted away without a care as she was assured the deaf mother would hear nothing via the copper wires snuck under the ground. The insane mother occasionally had sparks of clarity in her deaf ears, and it was that one moment, where she heard about her daughter's split soles.

Our protagonist found five hundred coins had been wired to her by her mad mother, to buy a new pair of shoes. A mother could be deaf and dumb and blind to the success of her pets and children, but never to their discomfort, our reader realised. Instead of dwindling and delaying that would cause her mother distress, the reader went ahead on her hunt for shoes. 

Out on the footpath or inside the glass palace, there were no shoes to be found that five hundred coins could afford. The healer had warned the reader to be careful with her broken foot and not to delve into fancy follies. Meanwhile unknown to the reader (both protagonist and you) our deaf mother had relayed the condition of split shoes to her daughter's godsister. Now every tale has a godmother, or fairy godmother or wizard godfather or murderous father, so by some twist of fate, our reader happened to manage a godsister. To put facts in order, the godsister happened to barge into our reader's life, just like those permanent paying guest in a shabby hotel that eventually become as old as the furniture in it.

On hearing the plight of her little reader sister, the godsister who somehow happened to have a magic wand conjured up a new pair of shoes and mumbled some magic into the shoes. Soon the shoes were flying towards the reader sleeping in her forgotten corner. The shoes magically wrapped around the sleeping girl's feet. So when the four eyes of the reader opened, she found shoes stuck to her feet. In moments she understood it the ill learned and under-practiced magic of the godsister. The reader put all her might but, she couldn't pull the shoes away, like bear trap it was clinging to her nimble feet.

Of course, there has to be some grand occasion for our story take turns of fate, now there is no prince or anyone remotely close to a decent man or romantic interest here. But the lookout for the new member for Reader's Assembly was announced, the most happening night in the forgotten city. The shabbier your dress was the more dedicated as a reader you looked, now new shoes were a trouble to our reader who received the tweet of invitation. Yet she decided to attend the ceremony, new shoes were not going to stop her.

On the day of the happening, the reader sailed by her books, her answers were appreciated, her dress was authentically shabby the assembly agreed, but the new shoes held their nods back. This discrimination hurt her heart and the shoes bit hard on her flesh. But the nod didn't happen. In anger and frustration, our reader poured all her strength in her palms and pulled her magic shoes off and flung them away, there were blisters on the spry feet, some had popped and were bleeding her out. With bloody feet and bloodier angst our reader left. She dared to act up against the discrimination and left.

Obliviating the pain was not easy, but after multiple ointments and sleep later, the blisters had calmed down. By now days had passed and the Reader's Assembly was looking for Blisterella, her courage had revealed the prejudices of the assembly. But our reader was deep in sleep, her godsister rang her up, expecting an apology for the ill-conjured shoes was stupid, our reader knew. Instead of asking if the blisters had healed the godsister was interested in the details of blood loss. By the time she was coming down to the juicy part of the narrative, a knock happened on the door asking for Blisterella.

"Off you go" the reader shooed the mailman. "No one lives here with this hideous name!" the reader was about to shut the door. "Wait'a min'úp lass" the mailman asked. "I've b'n seah'ing all over the city, this is the most f'gotten part of't'e city," the mailman sighed. "What do you want? Speak properly will you" the reader cringed at SMS language. "By the order of the Reader's Assembly, we hereby accept Bilsterella as our newest member for her courage" the mailman read out in proper. "No one with that name lives here" the reader sighed. "Is this yours?" the mailman showed a sneaker with spots of blood. "I had a similar pair" the reply came. "May I see your feet?" the mailman asked.

"Oh yes, that must be her's, show him the feet sister" the godsister had used magic to tune in her astral projection. Instead of putting up a fight the reader showed her feet, bloody but healing. "You have blisters! you are our Blisterella" the mailman yelped in joy.

On the evening the legend of Blisterella had spread far and wide, and the assembly honoured the new member with boxes of band aids and ointment while godsister looked down with pride.   

P.S- If there is any resemblance to real life incidents or creatures, it's definitely not a coincidence.

thanking you to bear with me




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