Monday, December 30, 2013

55 word stories

I just realised that I have no post from this year on my blog. And turns out I have nothing to write about as of now. so instead here's a collection of 55 word stories I have contributed to A big thanks to Vivek Tejuja to come up with the engaging blog for lazy writers like me.

Her husband treated her like dirt; only worse. Her ex-boyfriend could not see her plight; he was falling for her again. He asked her to come along and start afresh. She would never agree though she knew his feelings were true. The idea of freedom suffocated her. In fear she sought refuge

Little Chintoo had heard a lot about the zoo and would do anything to catch a glimpse of it. In parks, on the roads, everywhere, he would just hear people talk about the Zoo. If only his mother would let him pay a visit. At every mention, she would scold him and say "They run the country in the Zoo. We dogs have no job there."

The beer was extra chilled and the ice was instantly broken. Ashish and Megha met at the airport bar and hit off instantly. The delayed kingfisher flights had landed them an unintended date. A good 5 hours later they had to part ways. They kissed goodbye as she winked and asked “Your city or mine?”

They were in love once. But on that day, they ended it for once and for all. His mind was flooded with memories and thoughts as he drove to work after signing divorce papers. Dazed and lost, he stood outside his office staring aimlessly at his name board. It read “Bilal Mushtaq - Marriage Counsellor”

Raju got up from his chair. He took slow strides as he walked towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge and gulped down some chilled water. He then walked back to his chair and sat. In another five minutes or so, he would pay another visit to the loo.

Mosquito 1: Let’s enter the house from the southern entrance. That’s the farthest from the mosquito repellant.
Mosquito 2:  Sounds good.
after 2 minutes of searching
Mosquito 1: Look what I just found? An arm!
Mosquito 2: Go slow. Don’t wake him up.
Mosuito 1: but...I...zzzz… (falls in a peg of whiskey)

He fell from the sky and landed next to a fully grown immature imbecile with six fingers. He was blue in colour, had three fingers and would keep screaming ‘sunlight’ in an irritable monotonic voice. The six fingered imbecile and his friends were awe-struck by his tricks. They named him… What was today’s topic again?

He was a born fighter, but he found himself helpless then. He would always give his best shot, only to fall prey again. On that fateful day, he decided to give it his everything. He picked himself up, dusted himself off and finally quit. Today it’s been 2 years since he overcame his cigarette addiction. 

They met in college. Their paths crossed. Soon they were on the same path. Some way down the road, things however changed. His insensitivity, her ego surfaced. They then grew apart. Now it’s been 7 years and they’re indifferent to each other. They’re on parallel paths, equidistant at every point - never closer, never farther. 

Fairy Tales
“He made his way past puddles and honking cars” the grandmother read out to little Diana. She continued “And finally, he reached the railway station where he would catch his train home.” Little Diana was bored of the Fairy Tale. She stepped out of her house and slid down a beanstalk.

Suresh lay dead in a pool of pepsi. Besides him was an open book and a packet of chips. There were rope marks on his neck but no rope around. The windows were shut and there seemed to be no chance for anyone to have entered the room. Well, go ahead. Solve it yourself.

The whole world was going berserk with the start of another week. Everyone was ranting and tweeting about yet another manic Monday. But he sat in his jail cell unperturbed. For him Monday just meant a different Biryani.

I sat deciding what to write and how. I then wrote on, but still felt something wrong. I changed the story, changed the characters, and changed the entire plot. Yet as I concluded, the word limit was crossed. I again edited, revised and reworked. I had finally completed my first story, exactly of 55 words.

She hated living with a drunkard male chauvinist. Alas! She had no choice. To channelize her frustration, she would occasionally scream into a jar. One day he came home drunk again. He took out his belt to hit her. As he lashed out the belt, its tip hit the jar and broke it.