This marks the second time that fellow Mutiny-organizer Amardeep has inspired the theme for our Friday 55 Flash Fiction orgy; what might be even more amusing is that as with last time, today’s post is about…relationships. Hmm. I think I’ll start calling him Dr. Drew instead of Dr. Deep. 😉
Seven hours and over 100 comments later, the discussion roars on about Blacks dating Asians, Asians dating Whites, Whites dating Blacks…yet curiously enough, no one seems to be dating Latinos. 😀 Silly rabbits, don’t you know your roots are in the sand?
I keed. What I am consummately serious about, however, is nanofiction. Tiny little stories with exactly 55 words– what could be better? Ah yes…one from YOU. As always, you are welcome to write about topics of all colors, shapes and sizes, but for those of you who like the bondage of instructions, you’ve got ’em. Please leave your mini-masterpiece in the comments below; meanwhile, I’m going to try and get one catchy INXS tune out of my head.
H_d:
That link was disgusting, not to mention totally NSFW. That is why it’s gone. Now, does anyone have any FICTION to contribute?
What does NSFW stand for, sorry to ask here but couldnt find it anywhere
i didnt think it was disgusting but it was definitely inappropriate for the broad audience on this forum. i made an error in judgement and offer my sincere apologies.
NSFW stands for “Not Safe For Work”
No worries, Hairy. 😉 Write a 55 and all will be forgotten. 😀
He turned and smiled. Her eyes were stuck to the deep red patch on her lehnga. He remembered the hour she had spent haggling down the price in chandni chowk. It had been worth it. The sapphire fabric went very well with her eyes. He shrugged, wiped the cleaver clean and dropped the bundle over the cliff.
To you I owe my only trip to the Church. I remember billowing censers, the flare of candles, and the long shadow of a cross. When everyone shakes hands, we quietly embrace. Right then, in front of God, we became one.
You remember too, I know. Your voice gives you away – its undersong of loss.
barefoot on hot pavement, we walked together, being baked by the sun. distracted by sweat glistening off taut muscles, i struggled to find a word. abandoned by language, i relented and was quiet. from the corner of my eye, i caught a look from the corner of his eye. 8 ball in the side pocket.
I’m a little confused about exactly what this week’s 55 topic is supposed to be about. Is it about “forbidden” relationships in general, or specifically interracial relationships ?
Or (self-)destructive relationships, re: the “Original Sin” title ?
The Cereal Killer of the peoples creep into Harlem at midnight. He stealthilingly move into the dilapidating flat. Beautiful black girl sleeping in bed. Almost about to make kill, he trip on basketball. Next morning he wake up in rubbish bin beat up and tooth missing. He tell himself: No more Black victims for me!
That is a really interesting website; nice one.
here’s the story. I’ve included translations for the linguistically deprived.
Jai, I was reminded of the INXS single “Original Sin” because of Amardeep’s post. Here are the lyrics:
I realize that I wasn’t as clear as I normally am wrt themes this week and I apologize. Essentially, I had the “interracial” concept in mind because of the rollicking discussion Amardeep facilitated; that’s what put the above oldie in my head, where it stayed for several hours. 😉 But, when hairy_d was wonderfully gracious enough to participate, I was surprised but ultimately delighted by how he had interpreted the constraints. So, write about “Original Sin” in the biblical sense or what you mentioned, destructive relationships. Or take the interracial angle. Does it really matter? Your 55s are always among, if not the best. 🙂
“…no one seems to be dating Latinos.”
A few comments on Latinos from my South Florida vantage point: 1. Latinos in areas such as South Florida, Southern California and the very southern parts of Texas are not that clearly demarcated from whites. Many of them are quite white in color, if white can be ccalled a color, many second and third generation and therefore indistinguishable from whites in speech. Maybe that’s why the Latinos are not discussed separately.
In fact, Latinos are very akin to Indians – very family centric, somewhat fuzzy about things like punctuality and work, love to cook, and eat…and so on. Wish they would get together more often.
I’m not sure if it qualifies, but here’s my first attempt at 55 fiction:
He cuddled up on the couch with his girlfriend and read aloud from the Sunday newspaper: “Thirty things you must do before you are thirty”.
“So much to do and only six years left,” he exclaimed, “I already feel old.”
Then he turned towards his girlfriend and remembered that her thirty-sixth birthday was last week.
And here’s another one, from an earlier post:
When I had met him earlier, you and I were in love, and he was your ex-boyfriend. Five years later, we have switched places.
We meet like old friends and sit on either side of you as we watch a play called “The Open Couple”.
Later, you tease him and say: “What an appropriate name!”
Gaurav– that was fantastic! 😀 I sincerely hope it’s not your last.
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Cereal Killer– hilarious as always. 🙂
.
risible– oh, the ache…
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hairy_d– i’m glad that you posted your gross link, because your penance was more than worth all the drama. 😉
… and here’s the video … 🙂
Man and Woman meet. They fall for each other. Six months later, She leaves because He is not Jewish. She has done nothing wrong, nor has He. He applauds that She is following her heart. Is it wrong that six years later He still sees her as a she-devil from the Third Circle of Hell?
I have B. Sc. in engineering and I am now working in a good company. I like listening to music but my favorite timepas is sleeping. Looking for a BRAHMIN only partner who is into family and will be caring and understanding, but main thing: he must jolly, not too serious, and must be African-American.
That’s hillarious Mr. K!
I
She had loved him for five years; he had loved her too, in his non-committal way. Finally, tired of waiting for him, she had said ‘yes’ to another suitor.
As she mailed him her engagement photographs, she said to herself: “He will see these photographs and realize his loss. Maybe, it still isn’t too late.”
II
He saw her engagement photographs in his mailbox and thought: “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever been with. I will never meet someone like her again.”
He picked up the phone and called her, but hung up, when her father answered on the other side.
“It’s too late anyway,” he told himself.
III
Years after her marriage, they found themselves sitting next to each other on a London-Mumbai flight. They sat together in stunned silence and remembered the five years, in another life, when they were in love.
Next morning, she woke up in his bed and called her husband to tell him that she had reached safely.
She was beautifully Indian. Black eyeliner, diamond studded nose, sepia skin under a tank top and capris. He was a desi frat boy openly flirting, making her eyes flutter with sudden shyness, and love.
His South Indian girlfriend had fairer skin, tighter clothes, and longer fingernails.
She wonders if she should have been more American.
A ‘left-handed fib‘ for a friend, who happens to be homosexual. Inspired by AishwaryaÂ’s post and the Queer By Choice website.
For background on the Sepia Mutiny fib, read this.
––-*-
?
I
Am
Queer. Yes.
Left-handed
Too, if you must ask.
But sinister? Not really.
Unless you insist, of course. Some people do, sometimes.
“Why?” they question me. “Why not?” I question instead. I think I chose my left-handed-ness.
Now, my left-handed orientation, my left-handed lifestyle, even my left-handed writing, feels strangely right. Sinister, someone said?
––-*-
Are you the Archana I know?
sorry, I don’t think so 🙂
Anna,
Re: post #14
Thank you very much for the clarification (and the compliment). I figured out the theme of this week’s thread when I re-read your original post at the top of this page a few hours after my comments, but it’s good to know there can be several different interpretations.
I know that withdrawing from the battlefield would save my life
But desire and hope inspire me to fall on my own sword
Passion is an ocean; one must drown to fully experience its rewards
So I willingly ascend the pyre, burning in the firestorm of our love, rapturously embracing my destruction in your arms.
I still imagine our wedding day Aziz. The leaves waft and scatter in front of my Church under a mottled orange sky. The villagers garland you as they would a prince; my mother cries happy tears. And in our life, we will travel to Lanka, even Arabia! No one will chase you away.
Returning from the fields, and the intense California sun, Jinder entered the dinner line and picked up his tray. But, one item on his plate was unusually and puzzlingly familiar. Roti?
“Tortilla.”
He looked up and saw the Mexican girl smiling at him. Jinder smiled back, wondering why he never noticed her pretty eyes before.
Priya, on the behest of her father, had done this many times before, with different Indian men. The man gets immigration, she gets a car, and they never see each other again.
As they finished the last walk around the holy book, they both knelt and bowed.
IÂ’m going to go to hell for this.
“Study hard,” her mother once instructed her. “A man will respect you if you are educated.”
She covered her burn with Neosporin, chalked it up to teenage infatuation, and later got a medical degree.
Her heart has been broken again by a physician, one callous enough to believe that incising the heart will fix it.
He walked around the neighborhood, hoping to remember what he felt like then with her and wondering if she still lived close by. He hoped that theyÂ’d cross each other on the sidewalk, and she would look into his face, not recognizing him, having moved on as he may someday. He stared at his watch.
I stopped going to work. I became socially reclusive. I lost interest in sex. I slept all day. I ate meat without even bothering to cook it. I resented my family. My children. My mailman.
I was beginning to regret the whole “werewolf” thing.
the hopeless romantic in me love this topic. Gaurav- your stories are making me sad. Great stories though.. just sad.
They planned on having an exuberant wedding. The bride was famous amongst her colleagues for her vivaciousness; her professional accomplishments and wide circle of friends from all backgrounds were testaments to second-generation Asian success in modern Britain. As was the happy couple; by all accounts a perfect match, irrespective of their ethnic and religious differences…..
Detective Lyons shook his head to clear the image of the carnage, trying to focus on completing the murder report. He was struggling to understand how this could have happened; the calculated brutality, the merciless logic, the chilling rationalisation.
Nafisa’s father and brother continued to glare at him from across the table; defiant, unblinking, unrepentant.
Niki: All irony is tinged with sadness; sadness is what lends irony to a situation. Thanks, BTW, for noticing my entries.
Gaurav Mishra,
Buddy, I think everyone must have “noticed your entries” — they’re superb 😉
Excellent contributions from everyone else too; I found TheKingSingh’s 55s to be brilliant, although you need to have a little inside-knowledge of historical & current events regarding US/Canada-based Sikhs to understand the underlying message 🙂
Jai ~ thekingsingh is definitely giving you some competition =)
Sonia Kaur,
Yep, I’ve noticed that too 😉 Bleh, I don’t really regard SM’s occasional 55 extravaganzas as a competition anyway, although our keshdhari friend is very good indeed. It’s always great to read other people’s examples of clever creativity.
By the way, in case any of you missed it the first time around, here’s a 55 I recently wrote on another thread regarding what some would regard as the ultimate interracial relationship. “Interplanetary”, even…..
Superman gazed at Lois Lane sashaying towards him on her vertiginous heels. Noticing her designer bikini, he mused that flossing is always a good habit to cultivate.
It was at that moment that Superman wished he’d chosen Batman’s Kevlar-reinforced codpiece instead of his famous red speedos, which were rapidly beginning to feel far too snug.
Jai and Sonia, I would hardly consider it competition. Jai’s writing definitely deserves the the credit he gets. Besides, the day this becomes competitive would be the day it stopped being fun for me 🙂 Sometimes I hit, more often I miss, but it’s always fun to try and create and see what others create from the same ANNAficated topics.
Jai, you’re right about needing to know some Canadian/US Sikh history. Sometimes it helps to
stealincorporate context to tell a story within the 55 word limit. 🙂Just before the clock strikes 12 and it’s time for another 55Friday, my last entry for the week.
––-*-
They had set up a small household in her hostel room: electric kettle, coffee mugs, tea bags, powdered milk, a jar of Nescafe. Every morning, he made undrinkable tea for her and passable black coffee for himself, before walking through the still-asleep hostel corridors to his own room. His reward: a sleepy kiss from her.
––-*-
When they broke up, he tried sleeping in his own room but realized that he had forgotten how to sleep alone. During one such sleepless night, as he walked by her room, he saw her throwing out the coffee jar he had deliberately left in her room, hoping that it would remind her of him.
––-*-
I thought that I was done with last week’s 55Friday. But as there’s no 55Friday on Sepia Mutiny this weekend, probably because Anna is bonding with her sister, I decided to write one more. Or two.
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He saw her first on the dance floor, her every move a sexual invitation. When she spoke to him, her voice slithered into his veins, making them throb with anticipation. When she looked into his eyes, his legs went limp. When she quickly averted her eyes and blushed, he felt he had conquered the world.
––-*-
He tossed and turned in his bed that night, thinking about her. Her sexuality had the asexual abandon of a child that made him think of Nabokov’s ‘Lolita’. That, more than anything else about her, intrigued him, turned him on. He woke up late next morning, wet with sweat, the whole night a wet dream.
––-*-
After I wrote the 55-fiction fib, I thought: why not a 55-fiction chain story?
On a whim, I put down the plot of Mike Nichol’s ‘Closer’ in a series of eleven 55-fiction pieces, here.
Anna, since you are busy, may I take the liberty of initiating a ’55-Fiction Chain Story Meme’ here? The first two parts of the 55-fiction chain story are here (same as #43 above).
Interesting? Interested?
NSFW stands for Not Safe for Work..
Karmath
Wide Circles