Creative Fiction: Jilting Aphorisms, Yearning Abstractions.

Where to start... this specific piece is very close to my heart. This is mainly because it is the culmination of one of the biggest phases of change in my writing style. This is perhaps where I came to terms with the relationship between structural rules and the freedom to follow my own rules. It also was a gift, and so designed to bring forth meaning. And lastly, it was also my first attempt to write in the form of children's tales, full with tune and flow. Have a good time with this one, folks.



There was once a little girl called Sue, who loved to sing. When she danced to the winds in her white frock, a tune to her lips, she looked angelic. Singing was her hobby, and she enjoyed it to the core. She thought music was magic. She even told her mother, “Mummy, I want to sing to the world!”

Her mother took her to her lap, and taught her how to sing. She taught her the rules, the notes, the scale and the solfeggio. Her mother saw her talent, and made her meet a Guru. He taught her to sing, and how to recognize song. Every day, they would sit together, and he would make her listen to songs. He would discuss the flaws, the irregularities in their music, and ask her to sing to him. Again. And again. And again. Till she didn't want to sing any more.

It wasn't that Sue didn't want to sing to the world any more. It’s just that there was no magic in it any more. She had lost the joys of singing, and try as she might, she felt suffocated. The world did not seem so musical any more. She once heard a woman praying, praising the lord, and was disgusted she was singing in the wrong tone. So she closed her ears.

It was when Sue decided to run away from her world of music, did she chance upon a withering flower. In the middle of spring, when birds chirped, and streams gushed, this one flower seemed to shrivel in sorrow, and longing. She caressed its petals with her soft hands and asked,

“Why do you wallow in sorrow, my friend?

When the world bathes in blossoming bliss?”

“The birds tell me the world is colour,

Hues of blue, and yellow, and green

Of red, and brilliant aquamarine.

But I can see none of this beauty

For I am blind, ugly and without pity.”

Sue laughed, and laughed, and laughed till it hurt. She laughed so much it offended the little flower. But while it pouted, curiosity evoked, the flower leaned close and asked,

“Why laugh you at my plight, little Angel?”

And Sue said,

“Because little flower, you are a fool

You think you know not beauty

When it is your destiny, it is your duty

You may not see the different colours, hues

But you yourself are made of these brilliant dues.

I laugh, for you cannot see what I see,

Your brilliant yellow, your royal green

You are colourful, my flowery friend

Though you fail to see the magic from your end.”

The flower must have felt better, because it straightened, its colours now brighter, and smiled regally. Sue caressed now healing petals, while the sparrows serenaded its speedy recovery.

“Thank you, Miss, for showing me the truth,

Your music is magic, your words: honey;

I wish you sing to all, as you sang to me

For your music is magic, your words: honey;”

Sue shook her head, ruefully.

“I wish I could, dear flower

I loved to sing: to myself; to all

But they are bound by rules too tall

There is no magic in tune any more

Nowadays I find singing a bore”

And this time, the Flower laughed, like it had never laughed before. The petals shook, it swayed from side to side. Sue couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a tear too.

“What find you funny in my predicament, Sir?”

The flower seemed to take a moment, to think, to answer, and then

“There are rules to the world, my dear

Spring comes naught but for once a year

We grow, blossom, and live but once

There are rules everywhere, look

The sun rises from the east

The larger one eats the smaller beast.”

“The chirping of these birds, My lonely laments,

The gushing streams, Those chirping crickets

Alone, all of these are nothing but noise.

But when in sync with your voice,

And along a few lines, did we not

All form and perform a symphony?”

“Rules are not binding

They are but a guide,

You’ll find your magic,

When you feel with your eyes.”

Sue, blinked, looked about her. The flower was right, she had been singing, without realizing. She had followed rules, and yet felt free.

“Reign with rules, sing with your heart

Let not the rules reign over you, my friend”

She thanked the flower, and skipped her way. And since that day, Sue took the flower’s word to her heart. You know, even yesterday, I heard Sue singing to the world, spreading magic and tune, from ear to ear.