Gopika Ashokan

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2020

Stories (4)

4 Stories

262 karma pts

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“The Prettiness of Dead Things” by Gopika Ashokan

Submitted to Contest #56

If I have a choice, I will continue my life doing everything which reminds me of my presence in this world. I am willing to defy the notions and commotions that everyday life tries to thwart my way–the irrelevant creatures that humans have made of themselves. While writing this, it's already raining, not the deadly rain which removes the shelter from the shelterless, nor the one which forces the street hawkers to shut down their shops in anxiety. No, I am talking of the rain which cleanses one's soul, which makes the trees lustrous, whi...

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“My Muse” by Gopika Ashokan

Submitted to Contest #54

I painted my Muse. Now I have to destroy it!I cannot fathom the unruly hour which made me do this hideous act. I should have been incapacitated the very second this unworthy thought struck my mind. But my capriciousness led me to it.Fifteen years ago, I left him intentionally at the Art Gallery. He was watching Van Gogh's Starry Night with an air of wistfulness. And I slowly traced my way outside the Gallery and into the cold street. When I had distanced myself from god knows what, I stopped and turned around. I saw him walking the street, e...

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“The House of Cards” by Gopika Ashokan

Submitted to Contest #53

The city, once privy to the ongoings of my world, now seemed marred by contempt for the world. The star gazing ritual from my rooftop now felt so disdainful; the armchair which used to flawlessly fit my corpulent body now pricked me and reminded me of the unwanted bulkiness; the modestly built teapoy which I adored now appeared tastelessly fashionable.I looked above; the firmament was a blanket of stars. Stars always made me believe that illusions can be magical. But there was nothing magical about today.I could have saved Ruth. He saw me, h...

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“The Man Who Loved Sunsets” by Gopika Ashokan

Submitted to Contest #49

Everyday at 5pm, Ove had walked the same street for almost six years now. His legs frolicking over the dead lilies, the packet of bread swinging in his sweaty hands, his eyes narrowing down the small green bench opposite the Central Library, where he settled down to bid adieu to the sunset. Once he was comfortably seated, he took out his leather bound diary from his old-fashioned coat, kept it carefully beside the packet of bread, leaving enough space for one more person to sit, and patiently waited. Ove noticed that the solemn expression ...

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Author bio

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