I used to live by the darkened road that led to the enchanted destinies of a fellow who was lost like a long awaited letter from my lover melting into the storm cutting its way into an alien land where the people who used to stay feeling afraid of the gathering storm and reading the first signs of their doom had decided to flee on the first car they could remember seeing which was actually a mailman's van from which they emptied all their letters to find enough leg-space for making their longest journey comfortable never thinking for once how lost the mailman would feel when he wouldn't be able to deliver their loved ones' words to the people who waited like the man who stayed on the darkened road whose curse it was addressed to those who were responsible for his lover's letter not reaching him that would ensure that their doom become inescapable on the very day they were fleeing from the storm.....

Labels: destiny, fiction, flash fiction, letters, life, love, mail, short story, storm, story, surreal, tale

[A Prayer for those we forgot to invite to the Christmas Celebrations, yet again.]

Someone had whispered a scream in my ears. Its fragrance lingered like a sunflower in a wintry dusk. Like a fallacy. When music came we transformed it to a sonata and planted it in a flower pot.

Our life was a radio station that played Gothic music, forever, after we lived.

Labels: brothers, christmas, fiction, flash fiction, music, peace, prayer, religion, scream, short story, sonata, story, surreal, war

A few colorful lights were stuck in his eyes. He splashes a few wet tears in there. Lights linger. Their color disseminate from the edges. A transmutation of the glowing haze. But the sun never set on the electric light.

He walks in through the snowballs, the sledges and the dances. Walks on to the corner where she sat. Blind as ever, beautiful evermore. She smiles. She knows his presence. And as they waltz through a frenzied crowd she whispers in his ears -

"You know, last night, in one of my dreams, the darkness blinked."

She was expecting.

Labels: celebration, christmas, color, dance, darkness, fiction, flash fiction, light, love, short story, story, surreal

The broken days come in a particular weather every year. Some skins crack. A few people try to rescue their reflection from the mirrors. Trapped in the eternities of a breath.

A broken pipeline on my basement. A river in my bedroom. I watch my sinking alarm clock. Screaming. I listen to some of your sinking letters. I watch the tumbling ink pot mixing saddened hue to the water.

You had told me to rinse your memories well on a special day, once every year, after you. Tears ain't easy for a clown.

Labels: clown, death, fiction, flash fiction, grace, letters, love, mirror, short story, story, surreal

I was painted on a piece of paper. It was an exaggeration. My smile was never so full of myself. There was a face on my smile. A transparent me.

Never before had I lingered in the brushes of a colorblind painter.

Labels: fiction, flash fiction, painting, short story, smile, story, surreal, transparency, void

In a cold, cold night, he covered himself with some of his useless paintings. It warmed his outer skin. Sweats appeared. His sweats, as always, was drenched in blood. Whilst he slept.

Next morning, early morning, as early as it gets, she came to wake him up and she picked up his painted blankets. "These are your masterpieces", she exclaimed, kissing him on his closed eyelids, softly.

Labels: blanket, death, fiction, flash fiction, love, masterpiece, painting, short story, story, surreal

A drop of sun fell on her lap. She was metamorphosed to ashes. Even the last of her tears were burned. She stood as a perfect figurine of ash. She told she would be waiting for us, until I could come to a decision with the breeze on who loves her best.

It was one minute and a half to twelve.

Labels: ash, challenge, death, dual, fiction, flash fiction, love, short story, story, sun, surreal, time

The accumulation of iron inside his body was tremendous. When poverty came knocking on his door, he would melt the iron and make nails out of them. He used to sell the nails to the coffin makers. Since he was a lonely man it bought him enough money for a week.

After many weeks, the coffin makers sold him a coffin and said - "This one's for your last nail."

Labels: coffin, death, fiction, flash fiction, nails, poverty, short story, story, surreal

Designed inside his head was a small statue of oblivion. The birds came and sat on it. They chirped incessantly. Slowly, as the evenings melt their voices disappeared in the milieu of the gathering silence.

He had to undergo a brain surgery to remove the statue. And ever since he couldn't forget the lovely birds that migrated to far-off lands in search of a brand new oblivion.

Labels: birds, curse, fiction, flash fiction, oblivion, short story, silence, story, surreal

He had filled a balloon with the summer breeze. Once, when he went rowing in the river he dropped it there, accidentally. He wasn't brave enough to jump into the water to retrieve it. So, with saddened eyes he watched it flow farther and farther away from him.

She had been sitting on the river bank one evening when a strange balloon came flowing down to her. It came and touched her feet which she sat dipping in the water.

Accidentally, once again, the balloon burst and thus, with the first drops of sweat that appeared on her forehead, she felt warm and cozy in her first love.

Labels: balloon, breeze, fiction, flash fiction, love, short story, story, summer, surreal, sweat

His eyes had been burning since last night. He had caught one of her tears in his eyes. When he opened his eyes the world seemed infinitely more hazy than it did when he cried all by himself.

The sensation was strange. Lately, he had come to realize that there was a taste-bud on his retina. Her tear lingered like the salty sea in his eyes. She had always been this salty..... he knew, when he looked at her.

She used to cook him meals and they would never have to buy salt. Before she applied the last of her in last night's menu, for the last time their eyes kissed.

Labels: death, eyes, fiction, flash fiction, love, salt, sea, short story, story, surreal, tears

[This piece is not to be read by the weak-hearted]

One fine morning, living inside his worsening illness, he had been unmindful, the viruses of nostalgia, finding his body perfectly weak, captured him. And he went thinking how she used to bring the aroma of magic to heal his diseases. And he wished, like any lover does in his ailment, that she would again transmogrify his pains away and that she would come back to him from so far away like lightening does.

She didn't, but the doctor did. The doctor told, after his check-up, that there was a worm inside him and prescribed a few medicine.

One fine morning, waking on her warm, cosy bed she found that her ailment had vanished. And she found a worm had climbed outside her mouth and was now slowly vanishing outside her window.

Labels: disease, distance, fiction, flash fiction, magic, medicine, short story, surreal, worm

I came back to the abandoned place the pick up the last of her pieces. I was always against her metamorphosing into glass.

"You can't hold yourself together for too long that way", I had warned her. But my words fell on her glass ear. Cracking them. The beginning of the discovery.

Her skin had the properties of the mirror. People took some of the broken pieces for their homes. She depreciated.

I came back to the abandoned place, today. My twenty-three old mirror was broken by one careless movement of hands last night, as I made love blindfolded to my live-in partner, Medusa.

Labels: betrayal, death, fiction, flash fiction, glass, love, medusa, mirror, short story, story, surreal

And still drops of his dreams fall on her lap where he used to sleep. A realm of jumbled alphabets.... and some of them were sharp. They wounded her. Her lap bled.

'I' was an alphabet that pierced right into her veins, over and over again.

Labels: alphabet, dreams, fiction, flash fiction, short story, sleep, story, surreal, voice

Dusts fell on my tears. Accumulated. Till your window was darkened by wetness. And suddenly, you remembered the light-bulb I had gifted you long, long back, wrapped in a rose-bud.

"Chase your inner darkness away", I had said.

Now you knew what I meant. There were rooms in either side of your skin, where you lived, twice. Duplicated in every unfragmented moment. The shadows overlapped.

You decided to swallow the light-bulb after you had carefully peeled off each of the rose petals.

Labels: darkness, fiction, flash fiction, love, magnetism, rose, short story, skin, story, surreal

He let his voice fly with the winds. She waited at the other end of the breeze to catch his words. Once again, to cover her nudity with his scattered words. It kept her warm.

Lately, the industries been breathing its fumes in the same air.

Lately, she has been taking his words to the laundry before she would put them on.

Labels: fiction, flash fiction, industries, love, religion, ritual, short story, story, surreal, voice