Tag Archives: allegory

Just a drop!


“I want you to change”, he said.

“Nothing is wrong with me”, she said.

“You’re being too sensitive”, he said.

“This is a natural normal reaction”, she said.

“You are being too defensive”, he said.

“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. It’s the law of nature”, she said.

“It’s a bit over the top. Look at all the cascading drama you create for just a drop, he said.

“Stop looking at me with a nano camera“, she said.

Some days she steams. Some days she doesn’t react… Just gives him a cold shoulder or a icy stare.

———————————————The End ——————————-

There is a link to a you-tube videos below that explains the “cascading drama.. for just a drop” and “a nano camera” references:




With a Blog titled “Roots and Water” no one should be surprised by my allegories using my favourite element element on earth: water

The above 100 word story is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week. PHOTO PROMPT – © Douglas M. MacIlroy

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes, that fellow Friday Fictioneers have, on the same photo prompt.

A Tall Promise


“My door will always be open for you. Promise!”, he said looking purer than untrodden snow.

It warmed her heart.

On a dark day of her life, she took a taxi to the address he had given. The neighbourhood didn’t look promising. It was not that the grass was not greener…there was no grass for miles.

Undaunted, hopeful, she got out paying the hefty taxi fare, emptying her purse.

“The door is so high! How can I get in? Help!”, she pleaded, shivering, seeking safety, still hoping.

“It’s your problem, you don’t measure up”, he said coldly from above.


The above 100 word story is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week. Photo prompt copyright Lauren Moscato.

Click on the InLinkZ link below to read other amazing takes, that fellow Friday Fictioneers have, on the same photo prompt.

The drop

© Copyright - Rachel Bjerke

I existed. Why? What am I part of?  I never knew.

I looked around me.

We all existed. Why? What are we part of? We never knew.

Some of us disappeared.

How? Where to? We never knew.

Until the day I met him.

His touch transformed me.

I lost my form. I rose.

I saw all that I could be. The possibilities were endless.

Snow, Ice, mist….

Anything but a drop of stagnant water in an abandoned fountain that I was ,all my life.

I dropped. That was my last memory.

I existed. Why?

I vaguely remembered something about possibilities.


The above 100 word Allegorical story/Poem is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week. Photo prompt  © Copyright – Rachel Bjerke.

Maze Builders – An allegory of sorts

The maze builders were constantly busy. The maze walls built over the centuries were crumbling under the onslaught of time. It needed constant repair. They also needed to innovate ; chart  twisted paths that led nowhere; build circular loops that bought one to the starting point again and again and design dead-ends that could be mistaken as safe havens. They were skilled men and it was no challenge to them. They built mazes that paralleled their twisted minds.Together they made a network of mazes and they marvelled at the power of their collective accomplishment.
They lived in the maze all their lives; that was what they knew. That was how their ancestors had lived. That was what their ancestors commanded them to be. Some commands were written down centuries ago and these were venerated.  Some were not written yet passed on through the generations as tradition. Some commands were encoded in their DNA. No one knew why or how these commands came about. The maze builders didn’t care to ask  “why?”. They interpreted the commands the way it suited their individual purposes. And they knew the way in and out, so they had the power.
Some maze builders decided to give up and live  under open skies with no walls. They were called bad names and sneered at. “Not man enough”, the maze builders declared. Though some secretly wished their daughters and grand daughters live a life out there without walls with these “pussies”.
Now and then a daughter got lost in the maze.These same men, the fathers and brothers uncles and nephews ,those who contributed the bricks and the brawn ;Those who helped built the maze ;Those who helped sustain it, Wondered how to find her. They scratched their bald heads in bewilderment. They cried. They stood helpless. Powerless in spite of their intellect.
“Woman, How can I find my sister? How can I get her out of that maze? Where is the way in and where is the way out?”, a maze builder asked of the one who was always there for him. He opened his heart and showed how it bled for his sister trapped in someone else’s maze. She looked at him from where she was sitting, with her back against the wall, with compassion. Her heart bled too for his sister and all such lost. But she was too weary to think. There was no words of hope she could offer.  No solution that she could think of. No action that she could do to at least save his sister, if not all. All she could do was to make comforting noises. His big tears dropped into the cement , which his hands kept mixing by habit. There was no need to add water….so much was his tears. He continued to work as he brainstormed a solution, picking up the bricks and building by rote. Soon his work was close to completion , but the solution was not.
He laid the last brick with the skill of a master’s hand that could work without any input from the brain. Thoughtlessly, you could say as his thoughts were elsewhere, with his lost sister. The blue print of the dead-end he designed fluttered in the wind. The woman, the one who listened to his worries, the one who comforted him , the one who was someone else’s daughter, sister , would now forever be trapped in the dead-end, with her back against the wall. His work was done.
As darkness descended over her as the last brick was laid; as she huddled to rest her weary legs after the run in the circular maze, a question arose in her foggy mind. “Why didn’t she, his sister,  ask for help?”.
 ————-end of Allegory —————
The above is an allegory of the hypocrisy of men that still persists in our “society”, especially the Indian society. These men wish and encourage their daughters/grand daughters to be brave as “Jhansi Rani – a fearless queen who lead her country to battle”  yet treat their life partners as lesser humans. They expect  the women to fear them; worship them. With no thought to the example that they are setting and how their actions shapes the society that their own daughters end up living in.
I have witnessed personally these “powerful” men stand helplessly in front of a equally aggressive male, less than half their age, who is abusing their daughter/sister/niece. With all their alleged intellect and power they have been unable to even dream of a solution that doesn’t involve heartache for all the involved parties or some form of destruction. They continue with their aggressive behaviours towards women like animals ,that are incapable of change or evolution , if they are not pleased with the smallest innocuous thing. Yet they  never take that tone with this aggressive male on larger issues and walk on egg-shells around him.
But what confounds me even more is the inability of these abused women to ask for help. I blame the  ‘take whatever shit comes your way with patience and a smile  only then your are an “ideal woman” ‘ mentality of this society where women are worshipped (and whipped) for their high tolerance to non-sense and patience.
The solution in the case of the maze-builders is simple, men: rip down the walls; women: scream for help. In real life, men: treat women as you want your daughters/sisters/nieces to be treated. Let all learn from your actions. And women , ask for help and do not tolerate non-sense… If not for you, for the future of your daughters.