A repetition of dreams. Uncircled thoughts. Unselected. Roamed about on her stage. The drama followed her instincts. A bunch of drowsy audiences. Invited by their fears of unrestrained light. An infection to their eye. Their only eye. Left. The other been washed away in their points of view. Bias.
The play continued, long after their only eye went to rest. The part they didn't see was compensated for, in their dreams. Dreams that were repetition of each other. And therefore, alike.
Her acting was instincts. Missing. Next morning, from their interpretations. And interpretations said her play had a plot and a logical conclusion.
They never knew that the play went on forever. An infection that spread over to their lives.
Instinct had become their only eye.
Labels: drama, fiction, flash fiction, India, short story, story, surreal, surrealism
The dream stretched out of his forehead and wandered through the labyrinthine corridors of a day in his life. He became a reverie in there.
When he woke up, the next day, he was no more.
Labels: alchemy, art, clown, dissappearance, dream, fiction, flash fiction, identity, India, labyrinth, literature, magic, magic realism, reverie, short story, story, surreal, surrealism
He had made a small hut beside the sea. On days of the tide, the sea would stretch to the place his home was. He had made two doors on the opposite sides of the wall - one from which the sea came in; the other, it went out. On these days he had plenty of sea creatures passing through his home. Some of these he really loved to watch whilst he sat on his bed - like the gray crabs, jellyfishes, fishermen and a few ships from the distant land. He had learnt quite a few languages from the foreigners on the different ships; found a few friends in the sailors who would pass in through his hut every now and then with their ships.
One day it started to rain and it didn't stop. After a few days or perhaps, months, he found a huge ship coming in through his door.
"Which land are you coming from?" he asked them in different languages.
"Land?" they replied, surprised, "There's no land. The rain's taken it all. We live in different ships. Each a country."
So, the world started coming in through one of his door and going out of the other.
After he died, people claimed he was the greatest voyager of all times.
Labels: absurd, fiction, flash fiction, home, hut, India, magic, magic realism, sea, short story, society, story, surreal, surrealism, world
The windows were mirrors. When he stared out through them, he found his own room stretched at different angles outside. Unlike a mirror, however, he could step inside (which was also outside) through a window.
When he stepped out to one of these imaginary rooms stretched at different angles through the window (which was also a door, a mirror, a reflected door and a reflected mirror), he found that this room too had windows. As he stared outside (which was also inside), he found his own room stretched at different angles outside.
That's when he realized that there was exactly one room. One circular room (which was also spherical, cubical and triangular) constructed such, that all windows would lead to itself.
He closed the windows; thereby eliminating the room forever.
Labels: borges, door, eternal return, fiction, flash fiction, India, memory, mirror, philosophy, psychology, room, short story, story, surreal, window
