Flash Fiction: The last night

That night she whipped a storm. Dotted lights spangled on the dark road and glittered spots flitted like ants in the scorching heat and horns splintered her ear. A fag was lit and smoke held inside the parched throat, blown like strewn leaves curled in the air. She stood alone on the sprawling balcony and gently unlaced the golden bra, untied the white pyjama, traipsing naked on the icy cold floor. An air of comfort engulfed her slim body and hands caressing her long legs, moving slowly on her breast, to pinch the nipples. She was unmoved by the pain and sensation of a piercing needle.  She smiled and cupped her hand on the upper lip.

The wind blew in intermittent ruffle, stroking the curly hair ensconced in her hand and spinning in the form of a hairy ball.  She emptied the soul and lit a second cigarette,  “Fuck the world.” Legs flailed on the steel handle at the edge of the balcony. Thoughts wiped off. Memory lulled. She gently turned her round body and seductive walked inside the apartment, stopped brusquely to wade out on the balcony. The night was still and haunting. The shiny black eyes bobbed towards the Queen Necklace at Marine Drive. She chucked him out of her life.

A heavy and light night witnessed mad, intense love. Lips curled and swirled at the tip of tongues lashing. Rolling on the bed, she bent and pressed his knee,  unzipped his denim and hand flitted inside his underwear. He became hard and moaned. He panted and pulled her white skirt, pressing the boob. The skin male body sat like a force on her and the face cupped on the white sheet with hands running on her back. She moved swiftly like a warrior and lay on top of him in the stormy night. Naked skins smothered like foams and caressed each other like feather. Horn! Thunder! Screeching! Splinter of glasses! Windy chime! Moaning! A crescendo reached and the waves crashed like steam. Ferocious heartbeat. Thud! Thud! Thud!

Hands lay still on the steel bar. Head slouched on the speckled white tiles and jolted out of her reverie. She fixed the deserted dark road and a large wry smile surfaced on her face. Inside the huge hall, a male naked body slouched on the red sofa. Blood dripped on his forehead and lay cold as drop of red clotted stain pierced through the hairy chest. The lover was shot point-blank on the head and chest. Seduction and satiated expression flashed on a fresh face after consuming the first night and last night with the bride.

Love

V

Flash fiction: Mithaiwala

He was wandering aimlessly in the market and the crowd brushed and shoved him past the shoulder. He was clueless and zigzagged his way among the bustling crowd that scared him to death.

The hands and limbs were shaking. He turned left and right, aiming for the shrilling voice that called his name, coming closer to his ear and at times from a faraway distance, ‘Jerry!’ He stood face-to-face in front of the Mithaiwala in the open market who was expertly making the hot jalebi. An assortment of sweets, round gulab jamun, crimson white Rasgullah and delicious chakki were splattered on the huge gold coated thali.

The mithaiwala hand was sticky and played around expertly with the sweets, exchanging coins and the Gandhi notes that were carefully slipped under the red plastic sheet covering the wooden table. He yelped in pain. The knife ruthlessly slits his chest and he stumbled on the wooden chair. In a span of minutes, his vision of the last jalebi made became blurred before he saw darkness everywhere.  A sadistic smile lit Jerry’s broad face. He exuded a triumph at his act of spotting the knife on the table with which he stabbed the mithaiwala in the fleeting seconds.

Blood spurt down his stomach and ran inside his black trousers. Jerry was calm and stood still. He took a step and caressed the mouth-watering gulab jamun, crushed it and poured the juice on the inert body of the mithaiwalla. He bit another piece and squeezed it like lemon on the dead man’s wound.

Little Jerry was a seven-year-old innocent child when he clumsily walked into the crowded market 10 years back. He would reach early at 5 a.m to help Mithaiwala make the ladoo and the man won over the child by feeding him a piece of huge and round ladoo every evening.  One day, Mithaiwala told him that he has to earn the sweet and slowly unzipped Jerry’s short, ran his hand inside his tiny penis.  Jerry was scared on that day and couldn’t comprehend what was happening to him. This game continued for two long years.

The little child choked to death every second and hid from the world for Mithaiwala threatened that if he ever opened his mouth, the knife that lay on the table would cut its way inside his tiny body.  He lost all his emotions and his eyes went dry until the day he ran away from the market, mithaiwala and his parents to the big city that taught him to be street smart where he indulged in the petty crime of looting people, hanging with criminals and pushing people off the train to run away with their gold rings or mobile phone.

The world of crime suited Jerry. He became one of the trusted gang members and it took him no time to graduate into a fearful don in the locality. There was something that haunted him, the fragrance of sweets suffocated him to death every second.

Reality flashed right in front of his eyes.  He grabbed the hot jalebi and the juice lashed inside his tongue as the sweet cut through his tooth with delight. The other half of the sweet was saved and stuffed inside the mouth of mithaiwala. Jerry took another jalebi and crushed it for the last time, rubbing it inside the lower body of the mithaiwala that soaked in blood. “I have kept the last bit for you and after all, you made it with your sweat and blood. Happy Diwali.” Jerry walked away and the taste of the sweet still lingered in his mouth for he knew this Diwali was special and will stay with him till he is alive.

Love

V

Flash fiction: And he jumped!

The road was deserted at night. It rained heavily. There was something eerie at the usually frequented bridge. The sound of the train siren could be heard at a looming distance. Something purred past him as he stood on the edge of the bridge. He turned around and saw a black cat disappearing in the fleeting second. Anxiety ran down his body. The puerile smell that flew from the river almost blocked his nostril.

It was now or never, he told himself. A strange sensation ran down his limb. The terrain was muddy. He rolled his denim and removed his slippers. He thrust his right feet on the old bridge in the city where drug addicts, prostitutes, and drug addicts find a refuge at night but there was no one there at this wee hour. The fading paints of advertising for evening classes were scribbled and posters of B-grade films at the sidey theater were worn out. He pressed his hand on the concrete cement in a decrepit state and with utmost effort stood on the bridge. He watched the still water flowing down the river.

It was time to jump. The arms were slowly raised and the legs taking position as if it was an army drill. He finally jumped. But, not inside the river but back to the deserted roads running for his life and sprinting his way to save himself. A loud gunshot and frantic cries were heard as he was ready to kill himself. It woke up the dogs who were in a deep slumber and they started barking ferociously. The wild animals were running after him and he jumped over an empty stall, turned around to see that they were closing on his inch. The dogs looked suddenly menacing and craving for the human blood and flesh. He was panting heavily in the dark.

There was an old wooden stair and he hopped down. He felt a creaking sound behind the back and was shit scared that it might break anytime. Finally, he found himself on the ground and walked slowly looking for a hideout. There were thick bushes, thorns and the wedge in the dark. His furtive eyes looked around. It was time to run again with his naked and bruised feet and blood dropping on the ground. Fear engulfed him. He felt weak as if he was going to pass out anytime soon. The dogs couldn’t be seen anywhere. As he started running again, few gun shots flared and missed his thin body by a whisker. He gasped and flipped his way inside the forest. He was clueless where his steps were taking him.

An unknown force pushed his body violently as if it was the hands of a ghost. The thick grasses knotted together and tied his foot and he was jolted down. His body rolled in the mud and slipped its way towards a deep trench. All he could hear was the sound of stormy water.

Post-script: I decided to write the flash fiction after reading Shailaja’s post on 10 Important Tips for Writing Flash Fiction. Read it here.

Love

V

 

Flash fiction: Once upon a time…

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who stayed alone in the palace and made friends with the pigeons, dogs, and cats. She would often speak to the wall and express her anguish on not finding a sensitive heart that would love her for she is and not her money. She waited throughout the long days and nights that become months and years. One day, she listened to her heart and took a brave step by transgressing all limits. She would chuck the royalty. The princess gave a slip to the guards and stepped out of the city, removing the expensive jewels, traveled in the second class compartment of trains, visited the villages and cities in India. She became a commoner, wearing humble jeans and tee. She saw poverty in the slums and witnessed violence of vile men and women. One day, lady luck shone on her and she met a man, with whom she fell in love. One night, they made mad love to each other, tearing each other’s clothes and stood naked, admiring the human flesh that was bare open like their souls intertwined together. He may not be the man that she would spend the rest of her life. But, at least, she spoke the language of the heart to a human being, touching his flesh, unlike the palace where Kings, Queens, and consorts are mere commodities who have forgotten the art to be human. In the palace that she left forever, everything has a price that takes the form of jewels, crowns, and power. She has nurtured the art of living like a human being, facing adversaries and counting her blessings. She often faces disappointment and heart breaks but at least, she breathes fresh air, is not suffocated or consumed by illusion. The princess that she was knows what it feels to be alive.

Love

V

Friday Fiction: Rock to hell

Hey folks,

Hope Friday is treating you well. Get started for happy hours and party after office for you deserve it after a whole week of slogging the ass. Since it’s Friday, I am treating with a peppy, light and funny fiction. Hope you will like it. Yeah! Rock to Hell

Rock to Hell

The pub was crowded like a beeline to hell.  The waiter brought a tray with two glasses of the red liquid, Rock to Hell.’ He toggled with his Apple smart phone and placed the glasses on the table careful not to spill it on his new and expensive blue Denim and white shirt. A leggy lass sporting a red short skirt flitted past the table and his roving eyes scanned her curves.

Someone whispered in his ears, “You will not change this bad habit of hitting on every moving thing in a public glare.” It was a familiar tone. Deeksha was dressed in white Salwar and looked like the odd one in the South London pub. Akash winked at her, “Babe! Lemme kiss you.” She warned him, “Don’t you ever try this trick on me. I am still married…”

Akash stopped his joke midway and his face became emphatically serious, “So, he told the reason he is deserting you?” The glow on Deeksha’s face waned away and muttered, “Quite flimsy would you imagine. Just because I like my dog to sleep inside the house and he likes cats.”

“What are you planning to do?,” he asked.

“I dunno re. May be become a nun…haha,” she laughed sarcastically.

“Don’t pity yourself, yaa. Look what are you doing to yourself? Make life happening and flush him out of your life.”

She sobbed. “Stop acting like a Bhartiya Nari..tell him to fuck off and get a life.”

“I mean how,” she was confused.

“Get drunk…first, gulp your Road to hell.”

“Pardon me”.

“Don’t go to hell. It’s the drunk silly.”

Deeksha gulped everything and was suddenly high. “Ok! Cool, handsome. Let’s get drunk…with you first.”

“Not me, you dumbo. Let me finish. Get drunk with your gang of girls.”

“Why not you?” she innocently asked.

“My face! By any chance, do I look like a girl? I said your gang of girls. Okay! I understand that boys and girls have very distinct inside features but we have facial differences. Second thing, do a strip tease in front of everyone in this pub right now and chuck out this out-of-place white Salwar Kameez. You look like a roasted Papad in a London Pub, the same junk that our people fool the gora pretending it’s Indian Thali.”

Deeksha was already high. She leapt out of the sofa when Akash forcefully pushed her on the sofa. “I am not finished yet. Do some masti. Hit on some unknown guy shamelessly. “You,” she pranced with joy.”

He made faces, “I am not a random guy. Everything I am telling, you are saying, You, You, You. That way, it’s better you hit on Karan Johar. Now, go!”

Deeksha hung herself on the pole, attempting a lame dance. The crowd cheered and she walked clumsily on her toe, removing her Kurta to perform a somersault to the crowd’s delight. throwing it on their faces. She showed her bareback, jeered to the music and had the best time of her life doing the pole dance. She was high on free-spirited alcohol. Something was shining. She gotta take her revenge now. She grabbed the mike. Her speech was slurred, “People!! I am high on life. You know why? My husband has just left me for her kitten. But, I am happy and flushed him out. He’s such a bore and impotent on bed. You know who is my husband?”

The crowd didn’t know where to look and Deeksha pointed her finger straight at Akash. The latter was flabbergasted and wondered when the fuck did he become her husband. He had no option but to drag her away from the party. She dozed inside the car. He vowed never to take his best friend to a public party, pep her with being mad and get her high on alcohol. So what, she was getting a divorce!

They didn’t realize that their parents are plotting to get them hitched after Deeksha’s divorce is completed.

Love

V

 

Flash Fiction: Sultry girl and statues

 

Anamika flits around in the long white skirt and struts around the spacious apartment on the 12th floor. She sits alone during the whole day inside the white coated luxurious sea-facing apartment and smiles seductively at her prized wooden wardrobe.  Anamika slides open the wooden door to hold the statue close to her chest, “Oh! Lover! What do I wear today at the party? I promise that it’s the last time that you gotta stay alone when I am not around. You know everything about me, our deeply buried secrets and you are the  one who see me naked every night.”

She places back the statue in the wardrobe and it jerks towards the short red skirt lying on the hanger. Anamika perches her head inside the wardrobe to kiss the statue. “Today is the last party. I always lived up to promises made to you. Gotcha company. No crying, okay,” she gestures as if the statue would come to life.  Anamika disappears in her silver-grey BMW car.

‘What a boring party,’ she wonders. The tall dude is sitting alone at the bar sipping beer and waiting for his catch, scanning around to hit on a sultry, hot women for a night of stormy passion.  One night stand is what the sex obsessed guy  looks for every single day. Anamika gently run her finger on his blazer and winks at him, “Hi handsome, won’t you buy me a drink?”

He beams, “Of course.” He was already making ideas and his mind is blown by her flawless face, enticed by her long fingers and red nail polish that makes her the sexiest living thing in the party. Anamika plays with her hair, “What a boring party, dude? Let’s get out of here. Your house or mine? Actually, tell you a secret. Let’s go to mine. I live alone.”

Anamika spent the whole day cleaning the blood sodden statue and removed the greasy skin smeared on the surface. The two skeleton stand tall and within an inch of each other inside her favorite wardrobe. She was right. Her first friend will never stand alone and they have each other for company, lusting at Anamika in the dark.

Love

V

Flash Fiction: The game has just began

Flash Fiction:

Kavya flashed her million dollar smile for the cameras closing on her. She walked with elegance and poise, stopped for the shutterbugs causing a commotion, desperate for a shot to grace their glossy covers. Dressed in a black dress and wore her braid plait, they were enamored by her new look and she only could don a different avatar to make them go weak on their knees. The day was special for she took them for a ride. She sat at home, munching on Maggi noodles and laughing at herself on TV. After all, she is enjoying her freedom of being a simple girl at home, something her fame took away from her.

Image credit: Google

A pair of gold sandals worth million almost hit her on the head. “Will you stop this drama? I cannot be you,” her look alike fumbled.

Kavya put a wicked smile, “Babe! I am paying you in gold. You would never make this filthy money for the rest of your life.”

“I am tired of playing this game of fame. When the hell are you going to free me and my child?”

“The game has just began. Just be Me!! Your child is in safe hands.”

Kavya locked her look alike inside and sneaked inside her car in the middle of the night, faraway from the Paparazzi to an unknown destination with the latter’s daughter. Her new alike has no chance for she will make headlines news. After all, who will believe the poor girl? Kavya will remote control her from an undisclosed destination and after all, the daughter is her pawn.

 

Flash fiction: A cup of coffee

Flash fiction:

Image credit: Google

 

 

Lallan steered sugar in the cup of freshly brewed coffee inside the apartment. The room was damp and dark. Perfume wafted in the air. He peered through the grey curtain and not a soul could be spotted down the aisle. The strong scent of the Ayurvedic soap made him feel a burning sensation inside his nostril. Still, he was drawn to the perfume that lured his senses. He took a coffee sip and left it to be consumed by flies. He spilled the liquid over the inert body in the dark. Her blood smattered body lay breathless on the floor. It was not his last crime and the coffee tasted heavenly.

V

Flash fiction: Last shot

The shot is ready. His earlier take was sensational and the film crew was in awe for there was no need for a retake. The actor performed the heart breaking and emotional scene without wearing glycerin. The director canned the shot and the scene was framed at one go. It was the last day of shooting. The crew ensured that the camera is in motion and the make up is applied without any glitch on the actor’s face. He submitted himself to the director’s and unit’s vision. The equipment were in place and the co-actors ready, taking position to ensure that the crew call it a day. It was already past midnight and the mansion was created to perfection in the old, high tech studio.

Image credit: Google

The actor was getting ready in his vanity van and the film unit was waiting with bated breath for his appearance. Now, why is he taking so long?, they wondered. Star tantrum is common in the industry but it’s something he is alien to. It’s been an hour and he doesn’t show any sign of making an appearance. Some whispers made the round that the sexist Brazilian female model sneaked inside the van. Tongues are waging that he must be having a good time but making the whole unit waiting for him like is something unheard. At least, not him. After all, he is known for his professionalism in the industry.

He casually walked after three hours, pretended nothing happened and lay on the bed for the death scene. The assistant director ran in his direction, “Ready Sir?” He nodded without uttering a single word and looked like a mask. The crew gushed at his methodical acting, “Look! How he is living the role without uttering a single word!”

Roll camera, action, take two! The heroine sped towards the bed and hit him on the chest. He doesn’t bulge at all, “No! How can you leave me and go like that. How would I live without you.” The director shouted, “Cut! Perfect shot, Sir.” He doesn’t move at all. The director shouted, “Sir! Stop living the role. Wake up.” He doesn’t get up or open his eyes. It was the last shot. He slept peacefully in this last journey.