Three Line Tales, Week 150
By Neel Anil Panicker
It had become a pattern with her; always had been so; in fact more pronounced in the past decade or so, ever since Michael died.
Life was never linear__always a mixed bag, first a straight line, then peppered with twists and turns and finally the bend__ a false corner that flattered with false hopes only to deceive.
But this time, that turn, unlike on previous occasions, held hope, held a promise, held the visions of a future sans worries, sans pain, sans all deathly memories, for on that corner stood, sanguine and smiling, Inder__Michael’s best friend, and now her savior.
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