More Eggs, E-Book

Dimpra Kaleem

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Following on from the success of 'All My Eggs in One Basket', Dimpra Kaleem now brings you twelve more stories of love, laughter, sorrow and sadness.

From beautifully woven tales of love from afar to disturbing and misleading horror, Dimpra Kaleem takes you on a journey that plays with your senses and toys with your emotions.

So sit back, get comfortable and enjoy twelve more eggs, in a different basket. 

  '

REVIEWS:

  'This is is the latest collection from one of my favorite writers, Dimpra Kaleem, of New Zealand. I especially like 'Broken Images'. It's bit fantasy, a bit memory and reality, and a simple beautiful love story about two very different people who find acceptance in one another. Read it. You'll be glad you did.

Julie Larsen.

Storystar.com

  'You know what? I'm going to say it. Dimpra Kaleem has a masterful way with words. Dude writes smooooth. He dances with your mind. And it is a serene, playful dance, rich and engaging.

As a writer I sometimes find it hard to just 'read'. I quiet often find myself analyzing the text, learning from it, or picking it apart.
Not here'

Mark Taylor .

Independent Author / Reviewer.

  'I really enjoyed these interesting short stories that covered a variety of topics. The author has a great writing style and a way to keep the readers turning page after page as each short story unfolds. I really enjoyed the ones that involved time and recommend them to readers who like a good story with that added twist that makes the tale worth while'.

PS Winn.

Independent Author / Reviewer.

Leseprobe

Dimpra Kaleem

More Eggs,

Different Basket

For Deb and Matthew - My life is nothing without you in it. To Julie, Jama and Gail - Your support is the foundation of my success. To Will and Ken - Role models to a man. To the heroes that we have lost. To my loves that I have forgotten. To you all - I draw inspiration and strength from your inclusion in my life. BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

I SEE YOU EVERY DAY

  I moved to this area of North London about six months ago after my job with the Law firm, ‘Hixson and May’ fell through when Mr. Hixson was found to be in position of information that was not attained in an entirely legal way. This discovery resulted in the liquidation of the company and the redundancy of six of the junior lawyers in its employ – myself being one of them.

*

The small amount of savings I had put aside, coupled with the generous redundancy package given as part of the insurance taken out by the, much more astute, Mr. May, gave me the freedom to take a year off from gainful employment, and also helped me put down the deposit I needed for the two-bedroom flat owned by an elderly couple who had rented it out previously as extra income for their retirement.

It wasn’t the Ritz hotel, but it was warm and comfortable and afforded good views of the surrounding area, including the local park as seen from the kitchen window, and it was from here that I first encountered the young woman I came to know later as August Rain.

Everyday, at around 5.30pm she would walk her dog, a golden retriever I believe the breed to be, along the footpath that ran around the lake.

From the moment I saw her I was captivated.

August Rains’ appearance shunned any image of what society demanded as perfect. She was short, plump and wore an assortment of brightly coloured summer dresses that would cling to parts of her that other, less confident women, would hide away from the world. This, along with the oversized sunglasses she habitually wore against the gaze of the warm mid-summer sun that set low in the horizon, added to her charm.

As she walked she happily chatted away to her companion, seemingly about this and that, almost as if he were a person in his own right. Occasionally she would stop and sit on the park bench that looked out over the pond.

At these times I would fancy that she was looking directly at me, for the bench was situated in such a way that it faced my kitchen window.

This fancy would come to inspire a world created out of my imaginings, bringing to life images and stories of which we played the lead roles.

Forged by destiny - a couple in love.

I would wait for her to notice the odd looking man gazing at her from afar and to be intrigued by him to such an extent that she would look over the top of her sunglasses and smile, beckoning him over to join her on her walk, and to maybe be a part of her life.

Such fancies kept me happy for a while, but the more my imaginary world grew, the more my heart ached for her, until I decided that I would give fate and fancy a helping hand, for it was folly of me to expect her to notice me from so far away. So I went into the park and walked the same path as she, only in the opposite direction. My plan was to smile at her as we passed, and hopefully she would return it with one of her own, and maybe our story would begin with a simple – hello.

It was on a Friday evening when I made my first attempt to gain her attention, and with my heart in my mouth I began my casual stroll in the direction that I knew she would approach from.

I bought a newspaper from the local shop, as an aid to nonchalance, for this would be the reason I had taken this route, strolling with an air of someone merely enjoying the balmy summer evening. As I walked towards her my heart began to beat faster, for she seemed more beautiful than she first appeared to me from my window so far away.

Everything about her was perfect.

Her dark, rich red hair bounced along with every step she took and her usual attire of summer dresses showed the world that she was confident and comfortable in her own skin. Her voice, that I could now hear, was soft as she spoke to her canine companion, seemingly about her day, the smell of the flowers and of how the sun felt so warm on her face.

Such a perfect face.

As we passed I looked up and smiled at her – a smile that was not returned. My knees actually sagged a little at this silent rebuttal, shocked at the realisation of the apparent yawning gap between my fantasies and what was shown to me as reality. I sat on the bench where she sometimes rested and watched her carry on by, taking with her my hopes and dreams.

Dreams of which seemed to fade with her into the glare of the setting sun.

Maybe she hadn’t noticed me.

Maybe.

I sat for a while as I tried to re-kindle this small ember of hope that still burned within my breast. Was I being so foolish as to let my imaginary world crumble because the focus of that world had not returned my smile?

Yes I was.

Tomorrow I would try again, and maybe this time I would say hello.

But tomorrow came and went, only to produce another unrequited smile, coupled with the loss of my nerve to speak to her.

The tomorrows stacked up until they amounted to weeks with nothing to show but a mute smile and an aching heart.

The weekends obviously had other plans for Ms. Rain, as she never seemed to appear on these days, but I had formed the habit of buying a newspaper everyday from the small shop at the entrance to the park, and so I continued this habit, stopping only at the bench that faced my kitchen window in order to watch the world go by – a world that seemed oblivious and uncaring at my loneliness.

I had woken up early on one such Sunday morning and so I decided to fetch my paper before breakfast. As the start of the day seemed quite clement, I stopped at my usual resting place. I found myself half –heatedly reading the news as I soaked up the early morning rays of this hot summers day, and as I read I heard the familiar voice belonging to the object of my obsession.

I froze.

I had not seen her on the weekends as she had a different pattern from the rest of the week, and it appeared that my love for her had been so blind as to assume that she walked her dog at the same time everyday.

As she approached I realised that her sudden appearance had not given me enough time to ‘nonchalantly’ get up and walk towards her, and so I remained seated and satisfied myself with just watching her walk on by.

But she did no such thing.

Instead she sat herself at the opposite end of the bench.

My heart was beating so hard that I feared it would leap from my chest.

From past experience I knew that she would only rest for about five minutes or so before continuing on her way. I had to end my torment by finding out, one way or another, if this woman who had captivated my heart so, would engage me in conversation.

I cleared my throat, at which point she turned towards me.

“Hello” she said, “what a lovely warm morning. I shall miss the summer, wont you”

Her voice took my breath away, so much so that I stammered my reply.

“I-I will indeed miss”

“Rain” she said, “August Rain – how do you do Mr?”

“Ritchmond – Albert Richmond”

I proffered my hand but Ms. Rain did not reciprocate, causing me to awkwardly retract it.

“You walk this way everyday Mr. Richmond”

It was a statement rather than a question.

“I do,” I said.

“Yes, Sammy and I come here every day too, just as a bit of exercise”

“Sammy? – Oh, that must be this young man here” I said, and with that I moved a little closer in order to pet her dog. In doing so I noticed how sweet she smelt. Her perfume was as the summer flowers that grew like an infestation all around us.

She laughed and easy laugh at my poor attempt at humour.

“Not so young now, are you old man”

She reached down and petted him, and with that our hands briefly touched. I quickly snatched my hand away with instant regret at my haste and at the message it possibly sent.

“Do you live or work around here?” she said, appearing not to notice my apparent reluctance to our physical contact.

“I live across the way – just opposite the park actually”

August Rain smiled.

“What a wonderful view you must have”.

“Oh yes” I said, “most beautiful”

The conversation paused a little, a gap that she filled with a sigh, as if she were imagining what I saw from my window. Never realising that the beauty I spoke of was hers.

“I feel we are so lucky to have such a small slice of paradise as this”

Her comment was wistful and seemed to be addressed to the world in general, and not just for my benefit. A warm breeze chose that moment to play with the trestles of her hair. It moved easily as it danced with the wind, and I marvelled at how this simple action of something so mundane could enrapture me so. She herself seemed to be lost in the moment and my foolish whimsy imagined a connection between the two of us. After a while she brought herself back to the present and turned her attention to her dog.

“Are you ready to finish our walk old boy?” she said. Sammy looked up with obedience in his happy face, at which point she turned to me.

“It was very nice to meet you Mr. Richmond – Albert,” she said as she stood up.

“And I you” I replied.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your day”

And with that she began to walk away.

I stood also, and stole myself - reaching down inside for the courage I needed to tell her how I felt, how much I had fallen, and how much my heart beat for her.

“Miss Rain” I called.

She turned to face me once again.

“August, please”

I smiled,

“August – our paths have crossed for the past few weeks, and I must confess that this was not an accident”

A look of confusion crossed her face, but before she could voice any concern I plunged on with my confession.

“You stated that my view of the park must be one of beauty, and indeed you are correct, for the view I have seen for the past few months is of you. I see you everyday August, but I fear that you do not see me”

With this she smiled.

She took a step closer to me and removed her sunglasses so that I could see her eyes for the first time.

They were pale.

Unmoving.

Dead.

“I have not seen you, or anything else for that matter since I was six years old – but this doesn’t mean that you have gone un-noticed to me”

I didn’t know what to say.

I stood silent as this revelation sunk in with all the new feelings that came with it. I looked at Sammy and noticed, for the first time, that he was wearing a harness – how had I not seen this?

My silence must have sent the wrong message, because as a result of this lack of response, August Rain put her glasses back on.

“Do not fret Albert – you are not the first to react this way”, and with that she sadly turned away. Calling over her shoulder she added,

“It was good to meet you Mr. Richmond”

 My future was dissolving in front of me, and my world was becoming a colder place in spite of the warm summer sun.

“You may not be able to see me – but I still see you”

The words left my lips – blurted out like some lovesick teenager.

Awkward and clumsy.

She stopped in her tracks.

I hurried over and faced her once more.

“What do I have to do to make you see me?” I asked.

August put her hand to my face.

“I see you everyday,” she said, “The sound of you slowing your step as we pass one another.

The smell of your aftershave.

The crinkle of your newspaper.

The sound of you stopping after we pass, and the imagining that you stare after me – watching me leave and hoping that we meet again.

All these things are visible to me – and to Sammy, who slows his walk in order to prolong our meeting. He knows more than you think”

I placed my hand over hers.

“Then let this clumsy fool start again” I said, “My name is Albert Richmond, and I am in love with you Miss August Rain – and my love is blind”

THE END 

SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME

“These were dark days – the darkest.

But I could not recall them - for my next memory was my first”.

 SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME

I had lived in darkness for so long.

Time for me was irrelevant and passed me by as if I was of no concern to it – a separate entity, devoid of mass and substance.

Then can the light – far away at first but growing with intensity with each passing second, and as I opened my eyes the face I saw before me was that of an angel.

“Hello” she said, “we’ve been waiting for you to join us”

I began to speak, but the dryness of my throat threw me into a coughing fit relieved only by the celestial apparition providing, and assisting me with a glass of water. When I had regained my composure she asked me the most profound and complex question, the answer of which totally alluded me.

“Can you tell me your name?”

I looked into her bright blue eyes – eyes that could only have been designed by a deity of such power, and holding knowledge as to the things that would calm the souls of men.

“No” I croaked.

The pain of talking caused me to revert to sign language. I repeated my answer by shaking my head.

“Do you know where you are?”

Again, a shake of my head confirmed that I was unaware of my location, although this was surly heaven.

“Am I dead” I asked at last.

The angel smiled.

“Someone smiled on you – you are safe, and most definitely alive”

“Where am I?” I said, although this was interrupted with more coughing. The angel calmed me once more.

“You are safe – now try to sleep. We have a long road ahead of us”

My confusion at her last statement was overtaken by the need to sleep, and as I looked at her beautiful face, I fell into the dark once more.

The sound of explosions and the screams of men dying infected my dreams. I could still smell the burning flesh of those blown apart, and the feel of their blood on my face – splashed to the four winds by machines of terrible design and of sadistic designers.

I felt disjointed by the fact that I had no memory of my own experience during this terrible time, or even as to whom I was.

I awoke with a start.

My sheets and clothing wet with perspiration.

“Are you alright?”

At the sound of the angels voice my heart began to slow once more, and my fevered dreams subsided whist the screams of the fallen echoed back into silence.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“Hell” I answered, “am I a soldier?”

“Not any more. Your only job now is to get better, and mine is to make sure that happens,” she added as she brushed my damp hair away from my face. Hers was as beautiful as before and I drew strength from its radiance.

Over the next few months I was restricted to my bed, my angel being my only visitor. Every time I saw her she would bring comfort in the way of medicine and company. She would read to me as I slept and would talk to me about such trivial things, but things that would steer me to recovery, not only my health but of my memory too.

I looked forward to her visits and missed her during her absence.

“You are a nurse,” I said one day, because although she resembled one of the celestial occupants of another plain, it was obvious to me by now that she was no such thing. This evidence was only brought about due to my reasoning that I was not in Heaven, even though her beauty was a contradiction against this.

“I am your nurse – for now” she added. “It is good that you have started asking questions – do you have any more?”

This didn’t require much thought.

“Who am I?”

My nurse tilted her head to one side.

“I’m sorry, but you have to answer that one for yourself for it would hamper your recovery if I told you. You will remember in due time”

The nightmares that came to torture me at night caused me to awake with feelings of dread and fear, but over time my dreams began to reflect the feelings I had for my angel. The screams of the dead began to fade into her smile, and the stench of death was replaced by the sweetness of her perfume. But in the background of my unconscious mind, there was another who seemed to be waiting for me. Some other lost soul.

My feelings towards my carer seemed a betrayal of someone that was part of my life. Someone who was important to me in some way.

Someone who held a place in my heart.

“Am I married?” I asked one day after my angel and I had shared our dinner together. She placed her knife and fork neatly on her plate and collected mine. Having stacked them together she sat on the edge on my bed.

“Do you feel married?” she said.

I thought about this question for a moment.

“I feel the presence of another person in my dreams”

“And this ‘other’ is a woman?”

I shook my head, as I did not know the answer.

My angel stood up.

“It will come to you,” she said patting my leg, and with that she picked up our used dinner plates and left me alone with my thoughts.

It was nearly six weeks before the dreams that were awash with death and destruction were fully replaced with images of an imaginary life with my angel. I fantasized that she and I would leave this room together one day and onward to a new life of love and happiness. I began to wonder if there was another that held her affections, to which I harboured an irrational jealously for that man I longed to be.

After a while I was taken outside in order to get some fresh air.

This turned into slow walks around the local park with the conversation always of the mundane and trivial. Never exploring any subdued memories – never daring the demons to return. Around us, the busy day-to-day happenings carried on. People living their lives as best they could, haunted as they were by the shadow of war.

My feelings during these times grew for my angel.

These times of innocent intimacy were a lifeline to me, cleaning my soul.

One morning I found myself watching her more intently than I had been. I would often find ways of watching her without her knowing, for the way she moved in the execution of her duties were like a performance shown only by dancers, and enraptured me so that I needed to drink in as much as I could. She looked over as she was folding the fresh bed sheets that she had brought in earlier, an action that would normally been my cue to turn away, but this time I met her gaze as if held firm in its grasp.