backup now, the blue screen of death

eyes clad with kohl, a kid
walks, every step downloaded
with a faint trace of innocence,
a cache of life, wonder and
bright colors.

/a stack of thoughts, a queue of memories
looping in an array of careless composure/

I read about the hacking away of life
of a kid, of the school where I spent
almost years of five, in an emulation
of deeds, as the school bus met with
an accident, tender hands clutching
wane seats, as we did back in the day,
when the driver took a reckless turn,
as if communicating in bauds: a wish
or an anguish, a sign but of a nybble.

/clusters on a disk are we, bugs winding down,
a chip of a life booting characters, low bandwidth/

.

*Using a bit of computer jargon…

Accident: A 100 Word Story

copyright – Indira by way of Scott Vanatter

“The truck driver had fallen asleep on his way to Kanpur,” he was reading from the newspaper for the benefit of his wife, who was serving him tea.

“An accident then, huh?” she said carelessly.

“Yup, it claimed 5 lives, that of the truck driver and four others of the same family riding in the car, the truck smashed.”

“That is sad.”

She was looking beautiful in her magenta sari with that brilliant red mark on forehead, which declared that she was his.

He lovingly pulled her onto his lap on the newspaper with the photograph of the harrowing accident scene.

*Written in response of the Friday Fictioneers Writing Prompt.