…but I can write it. So can all of you, apparently.
Dear, excessively creative readers writers, since we commenced our sweet Friday festival of nanofiction fun, it feels like someone put a chip and new exhaust system in that vehicle called time. Those around me will attest that I can often be found muttering, “Where do the hours go?” several times a day; thanks to this delightful ritual, I’m even more incredulous. It’s Friday? AGAIN? Didn’t I just write this post? Yowza. It’s like Groundblog’s day.
In any case, indulge me in my disbelief, that it is already time to write an uber-short story and leave it or a link to it in the comments section below.
If you’re just tuning in, you might want to read this and then this, so you learn what I’m going on about, as well as how you can join in the chant. That second link established yet another tradition I’m sticking to– I like the idea of selecting the three short-shorts that made me swoon. Without further blathering, here they be:
When Jai Singh said, “I guess I may as well kick this off….” he wasn’t playing, y’all. The following gem left me daydreaming with a wistful smile on my face, as I concomitantly recalled my fond days in History 196A AND a certain battle scene from LOTR. Suh-wooooooon.
60,000 Rajputs waited in the crisp dawn, armour glinting in the sunlight, horses battle-ready. The track down the mountainside twisted ahead, the green flags of the approaching legion already visible.
With a thundering evocation to the Almighty, they raised their curved swords skywards in unison. The black smoke from the pyres billowed above the fortress.
Jay’s 55 was adroit; it captivated all of us, as we attempted to solve the ingenious riddle he posed:
Ice broke under the ankle. In a hospital room they conspired friendship. Set to work, she fumbled at the remote clumsily. In the boardroom she spat venom as they cornered her – then unbelievably granted reprieve. From the loft she saw the little woman walking towards the cab. She knew that it should have been her.
I’m so grateful that he didn’t make it easy on us, that he gave us the joy which inevitably came from figuring it out. 🙂
MD narrowly beat out ANOTHER one of Jai Singh’s stories, with this evocative piece:
TO A SON:
It started with that old jazzy song, do you know it?
It started like this: he left his wife to come sit at my table and said, “do you like this song?” I answered yes. And as I recall, he reached over and sipped from my martini.
And that is how I met your father.
What wasn’t beaten widely, by Jai Singh:
The dark-haired, tuxedoed gentleman sat quietly at the roulette table. He gazed around the 7-Star hotel; of course, he already knew exactly who would lead him to ‘The Sheikh’.
Nafisa brought him his drink, dark eyes glittering, her diamonds priceless. “Compliments of the Ambassador. He’s been asking for your name”.
A faint smile. “Bond…..James Bond.”
I know, I said three, but Jai’s riddle was too good to omit, so consider it an honorable mention, since I only wanted to include one puzzle. 😉 Poor Jai– my Apprentice fetish smothered my inner current events nerd. 😀
And today? What will you fit inside 55?
Boy wails his woe, a tantrum, clamorous, annoying. Passersby pause, smuggle stares, critical, accusing. Dad’s mortified, eyes seek Mom’s, sheepish, beseeching. Weary lids drooping, she turns, sighs, starts to reason. Grandma interrupts, imperious, dismissive. Enters shop, grandson in tow. Child giggles gleefully, temporarily triumphant. Furious now, man glares at wife. She rolls her eyes, resigned.
The dancer stopped with the music, the rich fabric of her pleated skirt still swirling.
Her bare back glistened, provocatively arched; arm raised, eyes mischievous, lips teasingly promising a thousand secrets yet revealing none.
The prince had the stunned smile of a man irredeemably besotted.
Akbar’s narrowed eyes flicked between his son and the courtesan.
besotted?
I had to look that word up. How embarrassing..
Here’s mine — this is becoming a Friday morning ritual!
A little story about a guy named John.
http://aishanimusic.blogspot.com/2005/10/todays-55.html
Oops, here it is.
Daycruz,
It basically means “infatuated”.
(for Umair Muhajir)
The Emperor looked on as his son lay dying and cursed the fate that had made a great warrior a helpless father. Then he remembered a vow that he had made before he faced his dreaded foe on the plains of Panipat. He knew what he must do. Even if it meant his own life.
Come let’s dance the dirty dance. I shall show you the new moves to a new kind of music.
It shall be our secret adventure. Hold me close. Look into my eyes. Do you see the fire you bring in?
Let’s shiver. Let’s heat it up.
Come let me show you the dirty dance.
i never claimed to be a good writer, but here’s mine:
Standing next to a raging stove, hovering over bubbling and boiling pots, she dropped spices into the mix with her turmeric caked fingers. Smells wafted up. She was pulled back into memories:
India-1973-just a week before her trek—a crash course in cooking with her mother and sisters teaching her the ‘basics.’
She missed them.
Jai Singh- Mughal-e-Azam? you’re my hero.
I just realised the above may not count . boo
Each day the same boy ate lunch, alone. He seemed about eleven. His connection to the war was unclear: Soldier? Orphan? Refugee?
The diners made him their mascot. Claiming he spoke many languages, he entertained them with his gibberish.
The aid workers, clustered amid laptops and liters of beer, ignored him studiously.
Eventually, he disappeared.
The words swirled in the air as Catherine’s eyes reflected the serenity of the resolute: “You came back”. Morris started, surprised at the tone, “I had to…no, wanted to…”; her laugh cut him off. As her fingers flitted over the keys, he retreated, seeking familiar ground but instead recognized the death knell in their song.
She was screaming. A nightmarish sound of agony and terror rang against the echo of a promise to protect her forever. It taunted him, making that vow seem empty and meaningless. HeÂ’d never witnessed such brutality.
She fell silent. He didnÂ’t know what to do.
The doctor asked if heÂ’d like to cut the cord.
The roof started leaking 2 days ago. Today the water almost reached the threshold of the door. No end to the rain in sight. Every time the train rumbled by, the water levels would rise– licking the entrance, splashing and flooding and soaking.
It was time to move away from the F-train, the family of mice knew.
Very good DD ! Take a bow 😉
Damn right (one of my favourite films). I had a feeling you’d like that one 😉
Parasitic star gazer dancing on a plane of lucidity. The lights scintillating above creates the impression: Is this divine consciousness? She looks down, as flowing strands of vibration encompass her mind and overcome her body. This must be a dream she thinks as she takes the final step.
“Had it really come to this? Did she have no other choice?” Shutting off the world, she peered over the ledge at the river and looked away—there was no turning back. Flinging her arms, she jumped into a black oblivion…and waved at her family as the slack rope pulled her up and swung her.
I don’t have any fiction– I just want to thank our beloved A N N A for putting Sammy Hagar into my head first thing on a Friday morning. 🙂
one foot on the brake, and one on the gas. HEY!!
Heres my attempt: There is a brown hill. Another brown hill next to it. The rising red sun peeking from behind a hills. A blue river flows from between the hills. There is a house on one hill. A temple on another. A tree next to the house. And a well. “Nice Painting, Pablo !”, the teacher said. The 3rd grader smiled.
Her breasts fell forward and he caressed her erect nipples with his thumbs.
She thought of that moment now, as she traced the fine scar on her chest with her index finger. “The operation was a success,” her doctor had said, “You will be fine in no time.” She refastened her hospital gown and cried.
“Welcome to Cantor-Fitzgerald! Here to see Mr. Shah?”
“Yes, I’m early for 9AM. First time in Manhattan, so I played it safe.”
“Please take a seat. Mr. Shah’s flight from Boston should be coming in any minute now”
“Can I take a few pictures while I wait?”
“Sure. Isn’t the view simply to die for?”
Raj stood at his apartment’s floor-to-ceiling window, the night-time view of Manhattan spectacular.
He pondered his integrity.
Casualty of war. Definitely worth the price.
The woman on his couch stretched languorously, ruby dress matching her lips.
In a moment. Raj nodded and turned back to the cityscape, as the infrared dot settled on his forehead.
With the cold rain pouring on and around them, he turned to the other mourners at the funeral, their faces and bodies hidden and accentuated by the garish costumes they insisted on wearing, even here. “Why are they so sombre?” he wondered silently, fiddling with his cape. “After all, everyone knows only Bucky really dies.”
People with narcissistic personality disorder, characterized by self-centeredness, seek attention and praise, exaggerate achievements, and expect others to recognize them as being superior. Narcissists tend to make good first impressions, yet have difficulty maintaining long-lasting relationships. TheyÂ’re generally uninterested in the feelings of others. SheÂ’s so vain, she probably thinks this short is about her.
The intern relaxed and smiled under her facemask – she’d just survived her first Whipple. “You guys finish up,” said the attending, discarding his gown and sauntering out of the OR. “Great job,” whispered the resident, watching her carefully suture.
At the code, she wondered if post-op sepsis could be traced back to a punctured glove.
NOW I get the Jay55 one, after all these posts on SM on one particular topic (Sorry, I don’t have or watch TV )
Good one Jay.
They caressed each other’s fingers, by now their souls fused into one. Even distant physical separation no longer prevented him from instinctively knowing her heart.
She is the clear blue sky of the neverending summer…..Every beautiful sunset…..A ghazal in the form of a woman.
One who experiences true love knows the reality of the Divine.
Overheard at Delhi National Airport, while waiting for a flight.
Mrs. Mehta, a top executive at McKinsey telling her daughter over the mobile phone, “Now Pinky darling listen, tell Ayah Ma (nanny), if she speaks in her Hindi again to you, we will deduct 10 Rupees each time from her salary. Our house always English.”
mine’s up. 🙂
i haven’t read any of yours yet– i’m saving them. later on, i want to curl up with some excellent tea and enjoy them in peace, one after the other. that be some nerd bliss, yo.
“You seem to have picked up English pretty fast. You speak it quite well,” the lady at the real estate’s office commented as unknown files on me were fetched from some distant subterranean server.
I wish I had a biting pop-culture-referenced comeback to that line but I merely smiled and said “You too.”
my installment is up. 🙂
5-10 Years Later “Dad, what did I do? Just chill ‘k?”
“Look at her! Everyone is laughing at me…this is all your doing!”
“Darling, please…your cholesterol…”
“Pinky has no idea about the value of money, our traditions, nothing.”
“Dad…”
“I canÂ’t believe I sent you to an Ivy League university, all the way to America, to learn Hindi…”
Almost 365 days had passed – she wouldnÂ’t know for sure since she erased the diary entries. When she entered the room, the nostalgically familiar scent reminded her of the steps to the dance. She looked down at her paralyzed lower half and felt the pain in her heart that her feet would never again know.
my shot @ this and thanks Shawty for the comment.
The paper shook in his hands.
“With grades like THIS you won’t even become someone’s secretary!”
The childÂ’s face emptied of color.
“Sorry, papa” she whispered.
He pinched her ear savagely. Tears marked a diameter on each round cheek.
“Stop crying, Toral. Are you weak AND stupid?”
Oh, how she missed last year and kindergarten.
“Ow!”
“You okay?”
“Yeah…it hurt a little…now it tickles. I didn’t expect this…”
“It’s your first time, relax.”
“I know. I should. But…I can’t. I’m so apprehensive!”
“I know, but this is supposed to be fun.”
“Ow!” This time, she pulled away.
“Jae, please forgive my friend…this is her first and probably her LAST pedicure.”
Everything about him was sheathed in bliss–the garden, the rocks, the well, even his mother. If only she felt this way.
She stepped forth from the Ambassador, her braided hair coiled round her body which was blossoming into womanhood…
“Bablu why are you staring at your sister that way?”
“My cousin, mummy, my cousin.”
Anna, delicious. Simply delicious. Best one yet.
“It’s gonna get ugly, but do you make an omelette without breaking an egg?” – John thought to himself. He knew what had to be done.
So the prince wonÂ’t listen to him? Hah. All I have to do is send the email to the biggest loudmouth, and hope that he squeals. And talk he did.
thank you, daycruz. 🙂
J tugged at the neck of his jacket; nervous but trying to look calm.
He was moments from delivering the words of hope. The last two sleepless nights had given him just enough time to write a first draft. He still needed to tighten the screws on the title though.
“Meeting with fate”? Nah, too simplistic.
“Lakhi! Jaldi aa! You’re going to be late!” called his mother from the kitchen.
Lakhi finished tying his patka and looked himself over, trying to ignore the now purple bruise under his left eye that he got at school. Looking at his face in the mirror, he recited his daily prayer.
“Please, just leave me alone.”
thekingsingh,
that sound you just heard was my heart cracking. 🙁
My final one for this week….
Kuldeep Singh could see him ahead, kalgi streaming, horse galloping.
All our hopes and prayers. Thank God I’m fighting for the right leader, the right cause, the right reasons.
“Boleeee Soooo Nihaaaal…..” The Guru, sword raised, raced out alone, spearheading the thousands riding behind.
This is it, breathed Kuldeep, as the two armies collided head-on.
First Day of School
“Are you black or white?”
“I’m-“
He black man, look at his skin.”
“Maybe half white, his hair aint kinky.”
“Yeah one a them!”
“I’m-“
“He’s a Paky you idiots, a towel head Ayyy-raab. Their taking over.”
“I’m Indian you stupid people!”
Silence
“Where you bow and arrows man? Can you do the rain dance?”
“Coldplay is easy listening, I-shop-at-Banana-Republic…pop. You can’t call it rock. Chris Martin’s falsetto makes me want to shit kittens, it’s so irritatingly cute.”
“Please. Like you’d turn down that kind of fame, to ‘keep it real’”
“I hate it when you make air quotes. So unnecessary.”
“But I’m right.”
“That’s no excuse for air quotes.”
hey kids, thanks for playing, tune in…in four days when we do it again. 😉