Today as he took a wrong turn, he found himself walking right into his yesterday. Reliving a day you had just spent can be quite boring. Grudging, he decided that tomorrow he'd be taking the right turn. But when he woke up the next morning, it was still the continuation of yesterday. So he was unable to take the right turn because he was living in the past and the past is unchangeable.

Then, one day he heard an alarm clock somewhere and came up with a plan. He decided to set an alarm clock exactly one minute before the 24th hour from now, so that the next day the alarm clock would go off at the same hour, breaking the recurrence.

The next morning, just one minute to the 24th hour, he heard the alarm clock. He was jubilated. He suddenly came up with a plan. He decided to set an alarm clock exactly one minute before the 24th hour from now, so that the next day the alarm clock would go off at the same hour, breaking the recurrence.

Labels: alarm, break, clock, fiction, flash fiction, recurrence, short story, story, surreal, time, today, yesterday

She was playing with the mist. She made balls of smoke and rolled them into the denser mist. Then, she would go in looking for the ball. Each time when she came out with the ball she realized that it was not the ball she had rolled inside. And so, she understood that someone else was playing the same game from some other corner of the mist.

She decided to go looking for her playmates. She walked deeper into the mist and came out of some other corner. There was no one present but a few more balls of smoke waited for her. She kept down the ball she had in her hand and picked up another ball. Then, she looked around. Still there was no one to be found.

So, she turned around and started returning to the corner from where she had started. But when she had crossed the mist she found that she had come out of some other corner. And there were more balls over here.

She couldn't decide which one to pick up.

Labels: corner, fiction, flash fiction, identity, mist, philosophy, short story, smoke, story, surreal

Her skin was aglow when she was excited. One evening, in her excitement she slit her skin somehow. Light particles poured all over the street. They gushed towards a direction the slope went.

People who slept in their bedrooms became conscious of this light. It was as if a million light bulbs rolled through the streets. They stepped out of their houses and danced in that light. Bathed in it. And they all gushed along with the light.

There was a blind man in the town, however, who unperturbed by the light went in the opposite direction, against the slope. He discovered the girl.

And as he waltzed with her in silence, he exclaimed - "I've seen many darknesses, none as colorful as yours."

Labels: blindness, color, darkness, fiction, flash fiction, light, love, short story, skin, story, surreal, surrealism, waltz

Uncertainty had never been talked about. And therefore, in time, it became a certainty that uncertainty would arrive, like the great depression, upon their town.

Still not talking about the uncertainty, the townsfolk decided to mend their own houses; to take safety measures; the apt precautions to eliminate uncertainty completely. When this completion was complete, each breathed a sigh of relief in their private bedrooms realizing that 'their' home, at least, was safe.

Slowly, as the news of the safety measures spread, each became further ascertained that uncertainty was imminent and that the neighbors knew. And as long as they're all ascertained of this and do not discuss of uncertainty, they can keep uncertainty away.

Hence, they only thought of certainty. Since that was the only thing on their mind and talking about certainty, in some ways, was also talking about uncertainty, they were no longer certain on what topic they could talk with their neighbors.

Uncertainty remained never talked about in the town.

Labels: certainty, communication, fiction, flash fiction, safety, short story, silence, story, surreal, talking, uncertainty

""I was writing here" he said, pointing towards the torn journal "when I left."

"And you were writing there" she said, pointing towards the torn journal "when you left.""

"And therefore, he actually went away from two places when he was writing in the torn journal?" the children asked their storyteller.

"They asked me the very question I had no answers to", the storyteller wrote in his torn journal right at that instance.

Labels: children, fiction, flash fiction, journal, schizophrenia, short story, story, storyteller, torn