From @textuallyhorny : With pre-bookings reaching thousands he was already a literary icon. Yesterday at an event he was asked about his “dreams”. Baffled. Flabbergasted. He realized they weren’t there since quite a while. Scanning his soul-inventory through five minutes of utter silence he scribbled something on the paper & left after a polite thanks. “SOLD”, it read.
From @TheScarlettGirl : Her hair wafted over the water like leaves of a lotus. Her pale skin glistened. Her mouth pursed like buds of a rose. Her face was a sheet of calm. She had never looked more beautiful. If this is what death looks like, I have found my haven. Her eyes closed. And then she awoke.
From @TheScarlettGirl : Where there is beauty in distinction and splendour in peculiarity. Where there is an embrace of selfness and the aura of individuality. She yearned for the freedom to be, in a world of mystique anomaly. She lived in the only place she could call her own. In a dream; a little dream where she belonged.
From @vivekisms : He dreamed of making love to her surrounded by watermelons. Dark black eyes and red mouths. The titillation and the newness intrigued him. She was hesitant. Why do it now? What was the need? They tried. They fucked with a passion unknown to them. Watermelons were the audience. Sadly, their relationship could not be salvaged.
From @themodestninja : In the wee hours of morning, he lay with his book open and his mind closed. He faded in and out of consciousness. A loud thud made him jump. "Who goes there?" No reply. He crept out of the room to see God the other side of the door. Was he dreaming? "Nope," chuckled God.
From @textuallyhorny : There at the corner of the street he used to put up his little stall. Everybody in the locality from the poor to the ultra-rich loved him. Magically, he had something for everyone in his stall. It turned into a landmark for college-goers and a playground for kids. He had perennial buyers. He hawked “Dreams”!
From @floydianbrahman : "What is our dream?", She asked as they waddled over the pebbles in the sand. He gazed into her eyes and found a strange twinkle. She had never mentioned them as a collective. The coy grin on her lips drew him in. Overwhelmed with passion, he said "This." before they melted away in the sunset.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Theme 4 - Glass
From @textuallyhorny : That morning mist was mystique. The night passed, silently and suddenly. My two-day-stubble & vacuum within - searching the sun through the frosted glass window. Memories and dreams, alive yet stagnant. Maybe it was love, maybe not. Around me, burnt cigar butts… one still glowing. Spilled scotch. Broken glass. And my foggy spectacles. Love alms.
From @vivekisms: Everything lay broken. Lifeless. It dawned on him much later. Why was it like this? Why did it have to be this way? The residue was there. Hiding in the shadows. The crystal vase she hurled at him when she left. The anger couldn’t be contained. Happiness felt like broken glass in his mouth. Soon.
From @nonsensified: Funny, how the oblivion leads you to believe in the illusion of perfection. One moment you are in the ecstasy of surreal love and then, life happens. One cut is all it takes. To forget. To hurt. To let loose. Pain induces pleasure. It’s time to let the second wine glass shatter on the floor.
From @violinraindrops : We are born alone and are to die alone. Why does love make us dependant on someone? Rain always made me feel better. It was raining that day as well. Hurrying up the staircase he suddenly stopped, leaned in to kiss me. Now I wonder what happened. All I am now is an empty glass.
From @akshayabansal : "In the dumpster lay a crystal glass which caught the eye of a destitute man. A merchant's wrath broke its stand, but what a novelty it seemed to this emaciated man. Passerby's sneered, quizzical looks appeared, but it always resounded with a 'clink' from generous hands. An invaluable treasure befitting a worthy man."
From @floydianbrahman : Thirty-six pieces of glass trinkets we painted and bound together to make our own chandelier. She loved the way it bathed the room in a myriad of colors. I loved the way she danced in the rainbow of smiles. A kaleidoscope of memories in flip of a switch. It's going to be a long night.
From @Freelosopher : Hung by the legs, the cops had pummelled him for twenty minutes. His swaying body, bloody mouth, parched throat and blurry vision fixed upon a glass on the table, half filled with water. "People are mistaken", he thought. "They shouldn't be bothered about the glass being half full or half empty. Just drink the water."
From @themodestninja : He could see himself in him so much. The way he walked, the way he talked. The way he smiled and the way he cried. Just a little teasing and he would stay cross with you for days. Nothing could oppose his authority in the house. Fortunately or unfortunately, he saw himself in his child.
From @vivekisms: Everything lay broken. Lifeless. It dawned on him much later. Why was it like this? Why did it have to be this way? The residue was there. Hiding in the shadows. The crystal vase she hurled at him when she left. The anger couldn’t be contained. Happiness felt like broken glass in his mouth. Soon.
From @nonsensified: Funny, how the oblivion leads you to believe in the illusion of perfection. One moment you are in the ecstasy of surreal love and then, life happens. One cut is all it takes. To forget. To hurt. To let loose. Pain induces pleasure. It’s time to let the second wine glass shatter on the floor.
From @violinraindrops : We are born alone and are to die alone. Why does love make us dependant on someone? Rain always made me feel better. It was raining that day as well. Hurrying up the staircase he suddenly stopped, leaned in to kiss me. Now I wonder what happened. All I am now is an empty glass.
From @akshayabansal : "In the dumpster lay a crystal glass which caught the eye of a destitute man. A merchant's wrath broke its stand, but what a novelty it seemed to this emaciated man. Passerby's sneered, quizzical looks appeared, but it always resounded with a 'clink' from generous hands. An invaluable treasure befitting a worthy man."
From @floydianbrahman : Thirty-six pieces of glass trinkets we painted and bound together to make our own chandelier. She loved the way it bathed the room in a myriad of colors. I loved the way she danced in the rainbow of smiles. A kaleidoscope of memories in flip of a switch. It's going to be a long night.
From @Freelosopher : Hung by the legs, the cops had pummelled him for twenty minutes. His swaying body, bloody mouth, parched throat and blurry vision fixed upon a glass on the table, half filled with water. "People are mistaken", he thought. "They shouldn't be bothered about the glass being half full or half empty. Just drink the water."
From @themodestninja : He could see himself in him so much. The way he walked, the way he talked. The way he smiled and the way he cried. Just a little teasing and he would stay cross with you for days. Nothing could oppose his authority in the house. Fortunately or unfortunately, he saw himself in his child.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Theme 3 - Cooking
From @TheFuzzFace : Non-stick pan no longer gleaming black, Syrupy pancakes in a stack. Eggs are frying, the juice a-squeezin’, Through this breakfast I am a-breezin’. But then I stop, because something isn’t right, And then, at that instant, I see the light. Because the only thing for which my heart is achin’Is juicy, golden, deep-fried bacon.
From @Freelosopher : Circling the house stealthily, the aroma assaulted his nostrils. In that instant, he chose the door over the window. "Ma'am, a piece of your pancake for this weary traveler?" "Why come in, son! Been cooking 'em since I was 13!", beamed the 76-year old lady proudly. Food emerged victorious over material greed that night.
From @themodestninja : A little stirring. He waits for the sizzle. There it is. He pours the stew in three bowls neatly. Admiring the plating for just a moment, he drops in the key ingredient. Perfect. A waiter picks up the tray on cue and heads out. Three heads fall on the table, dead. They had been served.
From @vivekisms : For now he followed directions. As they were given at the back of the packet. Another night when he had to cook all by himself. They cooked together earlier, and now he was clueless. How much flour? How much sugar and icing? The cake had to be baked. It didn’t taste the same without her.
From @ChoteyDilWallah : On their anniversary, he cut himself twice while cooking a surprise dinner for her. Tortelli di zucca. He knew her weakness for all things Italiano. She came as night fell and he brought in the ravioli. "We've to talk." The love affair ended when she left him for the neighbour. The neighbour was an Italian.
From @TextuallyHorny: The flames swayed higher and higher from the open grill. I cried. They were always there. Latent, sparking & sometimes serpentine. Tears dripped from the fresh flesh. Reformed. The feeling has been same since last summer. She left. Flames died. Feeling tasteless within I reluctantly flipped a ready-to-cook packet. “Add salt to taste”, it read.
From @floydianbrahman : The pot was still simmering on the stove. The gravy watery than most days. She wanted to pick some spices from the riverside market but Gauri's fee was due next week. Burning her hand once again as she baked chapatis on the open fire, a rooster cackled dawn in the vicinity. It's time for school.
From @Kantaap : She’d been burned most often while cooking the dishes she loved the most. Each burn left a scar, too painful a reminder, yet she never gave up. In search of that one simmering, tantalizing perfect taste. This time, she was sure she had it. She turned and there he was. “Hey. What’s cooking?” he asked.
From @Freelosopher : Circling the house stealthily, the aroma assaulted his nostrils. In that instant, he chose the door over the window. "Ma'am, a piece of your pancake for this weary traveler?" "Why come in, son! Been cooking 'em since I was 13!", beamed the 76-year old lady proudly. Food emerged victorious over material greed that night.
From @themodestninja : A little stirring. He waits for the sizzle. There it is. He pours the stew in three bowls neatly. Admiring the plating for just a moment, he drops in the key ingredient. Perfect. A waiter picks up the tray on cue and heads out. Three heads fall on the table, dead. They had been served.
From @vivekisms : For now he followed directions. As they were given at the back of the packet. Another night when he had to cook all by himself. They cooked together earlier, and now he was clueless. How much flour? How much sugar and icing? The cake had to be baked. It didn’t taste the same without her.
From @ChoteyDilWallah : On their anniversary, he cut himself twice while cooking a surprise dinner for her. Tortelli di zucca. He knew her weakness for all things Italiano. She came as night fell and he brought in the ravioli. "We've to talk." The love affair ended when she left him for the neighbour. The neighbour was an Italian.
From @TextuallyHorny: The flames swayed higher and higher from the open grill. I cried. They were always there. Latent, sparking & sometimes serpentine. Tears dripped from the fresh flesh. Reformed. The feeling has been same since last summer. She left. Flames died. Feeling tasteless within I reluctantly flipped a ready-to-cook packet. “Add salt to taste”, it read.
From @floydianbrahman : The pot was still simmering on the stove. The gravy watery than most days. She wanted to pick some spices from the riverside market but Gauri's fee was due next week. Burning her hand once again as she baked chapatis on the open fire, a rooster cackled dawn in the vicinity. It's time for school.
From @Kantaap : She’d been burned most often while cooking the dishes she loved the most. Each burn left a scar, too painful a reminder, yet she never gave up. In search of that one simmering, tantalizing perfect taste. This time, she was sure she had it. She turned and there he was. “Hey. What’s cooking?” he asked.
Friday, February 24, 2012
2nd Twitter Story - Cars
From @themodestninja Sipping the aged bottle filled with new vodka, tears in his eyes, he had been running away from that cursed vehicle. A speeding red blur knocked him down. Pain. He saw red. The red car, the blood. More pain. He thought he heard the driver come out. Even more pain. And then he was gone.
From @textuallyhorny They were the last two to leave the parking everyday but, never spoke. One red Beetle another, Honda City. That day the Beetle broke down. He offered her the backseat while he drove. Yes, rearview mirror was where it all happened. Their first conversation, first glance. “Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear”.
From @oneblackcoffee She always hated the abandoned garage. She was disgusted by the rows and rows of lifeless cars. The landscape never changed. Day 35. There was something different today. She knew there was someone else. “What a sad place,” someone whispered in her ear. “Want to make it make it more provoking?”
From @vivekisms Cars crashed. The accident took place. Like love, between them. There was nothing left. The debris of the relationship would be cleaned or not, no one knew. They went to the second-hand car lot. To sell the spare parts. To sell what was left of their relationship – nothing at all. The car crash happened.
From @textuallyhorny They were the last two to leave the parking everyday but, never spoke. One red Beetle another, Honda City. That day the Beetle broke down. He offered her the backseat while he drove. Yes, rearview mirror was where it all happened. Their first conversation, first glance. “Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear”.
From @oneblackcoffee She always hated the abandoned garage. She was disgusted by the rows and rows of lifeless cars. The landscape never changed. Day 35. There was something different today. She knew there was someone else. “What a sad place,” someone whispered in her ear. “Want to make it make it more provoking?”
From @vivekisms Cars crashed. The accident took place. Like love, between them. There was nothing left. The debris of the relationship would be cleaned or not, no one knew. They went to the second-hand car lot. To sell the spare parts. To sell what was left of their relationship – nothing at all. The car crash happened.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
55 Word Story - At the Grocer's - Twitter 1
So here we go, the first theme of the series, "At the Grocer's"
Here are the responses:
From @thegodlet : The ripe tomatoes. Shiny skin stretched tight over their luscious bodies. They were begging to be cut open. Just one carefully placed slit, and their life would come oozing out in a slow slush. Seeds and juice mixed together. Delightful. I couldn’t wait to go back home to my kitchen knife. And my overweight neighbour.
From @nelsonnium : It was love at first sight. Curves, perfect, a sense of freshness, water drops glistening on perfect, taut skin, yet; an object for sale. A quick few words, a wad of cash exchanged, and now his for the evening. Nervous, he turned; tripped and fell. A melon’s carcass splattered on the pavement. “Another one, please?”
Mine (@vivekisms): I ask for half the supplies compared to last month. I think the grocer knows. Yes, we split. I go for films by myself too. So? I die? Don’t want to go home. Can’t eat by myself, again. The paper bag with ‘half’ the supplies tears. Spills onto the road, to the sea. I weep.
From @69fubar: A can of Mountain Dew rolled and thunked into the cash machine. The cashier waved it in front of a scanner which pinged. Picking the can, the cashier went to end of her table and rolled it towards the scanner again. And again. And again. In a closed grocer's shop. Everyone else was gone.
From @BlueToothFairy_ : I was looking for a new baby formula at the grocer’s, pondering over which to use, now that he was 23 weeks. A man in rags smelling of sweat and evil, walked to me. “The world is going to end. Do you still care about raising him?” He asked. “I hope you’re wrong.” I replied.
From @nimue_ : She picked her stuff like colors – yellow bell peppers, green beans, cottage cheese, ripe tomatoes , onions , and spices. He watched her with a curious look. Finally he asked , “Darling, are you cooking tonight ?” “Not today. But very soon I will.” “Then this shopping ?” “My cooking classes begin tomorrow.” she declared.
From @_poohi : It became a media event. Who could be so unimaginative that they'd hold a wedding at a grocery store! It was rumored that they met there for the first time. How romantic! But it wasn't true. The couple honeymooned for free at Shimla and the grocer opened a new shop the next month.
From @textuallyhorny : She was there. At the counter. May be the only reason I went to the grocer’s every alternate day. May be I never accepted that as a fact just like I never accepted the change back. She did not know how but her kitchen got replenished every alternate day. I never asked. She never complained.
From @Freelosopher : Hungry and almost broke, he headed out to the grocer's. She was buying vegetables. A familiar face that once meant love. Their eyes met. She saw the hunger. An imperceptible nod later, he handed the money to the cashier and took the packet. They walked out together. She asked, "Your place or mine?"
From @Ser_NM : He sat at the store on the corner of 5th and 22nd day in and day out, thinking today would be different. They came and went, some made small talk others less inclined. It did occur that while the world kept going on, for him this was it, "Lemons, get your Lemons, fresh lemons, yup, lemons"
From @themodestninja: A haze of kisses and muffled cries, it was their fucking best yet. Sex in the stacks. The store had closed, they were spending the night there. And he wasn't complaining. She crumbled under him for perhaps the third time. Almost suddenly, the alarm went off. Then he woke up with a very wet underwear.
That's it...A wonderful night this has been. Thank you all.
Here are the responses:
From @thegodlet : The ripe tomatoes. Shiny skin stretched tight over their luscious bodies. They were begging to be cut open. Just one carefully placed slit, and their life would come oozing out in a slow slush. Seeds and juice mixed together. Delightful. I couldn’t wait to go back home to my kitchen knife. And my overweight neighbour.
From @nelsonnium : It was love at first sight. Curves, perfect, a sense of freshness, water drops glistening on perfect, taut skin, yet; an object for sale. A quick few words, a wad of cash exchanged, and now his for the evening. Nervous, he turned; tripped and fell. A melon’s carcass splattered on the pavement. “Another one, please?”
Mine (@vivekisms): I ask for half the supplies compared to last month. I think the grocer knows. Yes, we split. I go for films by myself too. So? I die? Don’t want to go home. Can’t eat by myself, again. The paper bag with ‘half’ the supplies tears. Spills onto the road, to the sea. I weep.
From @69fubar: A can of Mountain Dew rolled and thunked into the cash machine. The cashier waved it in front of a scanner which pinged. Picking the can, the cashier went to end of her table and rolled it towards the scanner again. And again. And again. In a closed grocer's shop. Everyone else was gone.
From @BlueToothFairy_ : I was looking for a new baby formula at the grocer’s, pondering over which to use, now that he was 23 weeks. A man in rags smelling of sweat and evil, walked to me. “The world is going to end. Do you still care about raising him?” He asked. “I hope you’re wrong.” I replied.
From @nimue_ : She picked her stuff like colors – yellow bell peppers, green beans, cottage cheese, ripe tomatoes , onions , and spices. He watched her with a curious look. Finally he asked , “Darling, are you cooking tonight ?” “Not today. But very soon I will.” “Then this shopping ?” “My cooking classes begin tomorrow.” she declared.
From @_poohi : It became a media event. Who could be so unimaginative that they'd hold a wedding at a grocery store! It was rumored that they met there for the first time. How romantic! But it wasn't true. The couple honeymooned for free at Shimla and the grocer opened a new shop the next month.
From @textuallyhorny : She was there. At the counter. May be the only reason I went to the grocer’s every alternate day. May be I never accepted that as a fact just like I never accepted the change back. She did not know how but her kitchen got replenished every alternate day. I never asked. She never complained.
From @Freelosopher : Hungry and almost broke, he headed out to the grocer's. She was buying vegetables. A familiar face that once meant love. Their eyes met. She saw the hunger. An imperceptible nod later, he handed the money to the cashier and took the packet. They walked out together. She asked, "Your place or mine?"
From @Ser_NM : He sat at the store on the corner of 5th and 22nd day in and day out, thinking today would be different. They came and went, some made small talk others less inclined. It did occur that while the world kept going on, for him this was it, "Lemons, get your Lemons, fresh lemons, yup, lemons"
From @themodestninja: A haze of kisses and muffled cries, it was their fucking best yet. Sex in the stacks. The store had closed, they were spending the night there. And he wasn't complaining. She crumbled under him for perhaps the third time. Almost suddenly, the alarm went off. Then he woke up with a very wet underwear.
That's it...A wonderful night this has been. Thank you all.
At The Grocer's
I ask for half the supplies compared to last month. I think the grocer knows. Yes, we split. I go for films by myself too. So? I die? Don’t want to go home. Can’t eat by myself, again. The paper bag with ‘half’ the supplies tears. Spills onto the road, to the sea. I weep.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Party
Here is the 1st one:
Nice party. I was seated next to Truman Capote. Andy Warhol was drunk. To my right, Marilyn Monroe was scandalously dressed. Across was Sridevi in a golden toga. Jawaharlal was sulking (Indian menu- Samosas instead of caviar). Jayalalitha farted. Madame Tussad hadn’t waxed her armpits. I took a second class train back to the suburbs.
Nice party. I was seated next to Truman Capote. Andy Warhol was drunk. To my right, Marilyn Monroe was scandalously dressed. Across was Sridevi in a golden toga. Jawaharlal was sulking (Indian menu- Samosas instead of caviar). Jayalalitha farted. Madame Tussad hadn’t waxed her armpits. I took a second class train back to the suburbs.
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