Since I’m experiencing worrisome technical difficulties AND I’m in transit, I’m going to err on the side of paranoia caution, break with tradition (if we can define seven weeks as such) and post this week’s nanofiction orgy early.
I went back and forth with regards to what I should do about this situation, since I am 99% sure I won’t be near my prrrecious iBook at 3am EST, when I usually come up with some hackneyed way to express my incredulity about how fast the week has gone by…blah yadda blah. I couldn’t bear to be tardy with our 55-fiesta, which is just uproarious because I am never punctual to ANYTHING. Shocking. I guess it’s love.
Since the “only city in the world” (does anyone else remember the Barney’s ad which stated this? I can’t find it on Google) is half the reason for all my fretful feelings, I think I’ve found our theme. New York. Or, your New York. My New York is heaven. There’s no place I’d rather be. Perhaps your New York is London, Bombay, Kampala…you get the idea.
Of course, you are welcome to write exactly 55 words of flash fiction about ANY topic your heart sweats; leave it or a link to where we might find it below, please. Spank you very much.:+:
Title Backstory:
WDRE 92.7 FM.
New York. (doubly apposite!)
1991.
“It’s not that faaaaar.”
As I lay there next to her, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of love. The years of praying for the perfect match, had ended, culminating into the being next to me. I am not alone anymore. I am not scared.
Hi, I have been lurking for a long while but this weeks topic got me creative so I decided to post!
Bombay! The crowded trains full of crazy & interesting conversations, the long commutes, the hot summers, the mild winters, the torrential monsoon, the potholed roads, the mouthwatering chaat, the roadside shoppng in Bandra, the cheap books at Flora Fountain, those picnics at the beaches, those sunset evenings on the seafront rocks, the lights of Marine Drive …
Only in NÂ’Awlins
In French Quarter, Saint Louis Hotel Bar, New Orleans.
“Hey, that woman is really striking, Martine.” “She is a man, Kush.” “How do you know?” “Adams Apple. Only a man looks as pretty as pretty woman. You better keep that in mind; otherwise, it is going to be Crying Game.” “Only in NÂ’Awlins. Ms. Martine.”
Okay, fine, last week’s 55 friday works best for this one, for me. Read today’s at trilia.net. Need I mention that the locale in question is Vancouver?
What a strange obsession, some said. Why would anyone want to leave the greatest country on earth? But she knew what she wanted to do, and more importantly, where she wanted to go.
She signed the papers on the same day: the international student application and the loan application. Must prove sufficient funds, you know.
As you twirled under the building lights, I fumbled through my pockets to strike a match that could let the world capture this rapture. The lint I recovered danced around you as I fell in love.
New York is the final frontier of the unceasing battle between manÂ’s aspirations and his disillusionment. The ravages of civilization are apparent in the cracks on the walls, the faultlines barely concealed by makeup. God rolls in his grave, and the stars twinkle in the gravel of the sidewalk, under the opaque manmade night sky.
For my N-Y
“I hate you.” “I love you…” Huff. “Then why did you bring me here?” “You know why.” “How is this better for me? You took away everything I had…Do you even know how hard that was on me??” “Just wait. When you stop being scared, stop dwelling on what was… you’ll see. You’ll still be you, but better. And you’ll love me too.”
She watched the clerk fill out the form and mentally high-fived herself. No oneÂ’s gonna know that IÂ’m American! She had watched countless Bollywood movies and worn out her Berlitz CDs for this very moment, to fit in seamlessly in the city of her heritage.
“Yeh leejiye aap ki package.”
“Thanks,” she said reflexively. Damn.
“It’s always happy hour somewhere,” yelped Sei, as the fetor of gin infiltrated the tent. “Heck, it’s 5PM in Dhahran right now. Drink up.” We glared at him as much as the sleep in our eyes would allow. Swatting away an early mosquito, I managed, “Alcohol is illegal in Saudi Arabia.” Sei and his schedule.
Vishal strained to see the view outside the window. As the flight descended, the scene shifted rapidly from deepest black to the glittering metropolis beneath. It seemed as though every building, wall, and street was bejewelled with decorative lights. From this altitude, seeing countless fireworks rising up and exploding was truly spectacular.
Diwali in Bombay…..
The rain slanted down remorselessly on London, grey streets blurring into grey buildings, grey skies; the cold November afternoon causing the dark-attired populace to huddle even further underneath their umbrellas.
A single sari-clad figure made her way through the crowd, the blue, red and gold a vivid splash of brilliance, like an echo of paradise.
The Big Smoke
Four hundred languages and even more meals, Harrods of Knightsbridge or back alley deals. The centre of the world and Greenwich Mean Time, A new exploration with each Big Ben chime. The princes in the tower and all the QueenÂ’s wealth, When a man is tired of London, heÂ’s tired of life itself.
My city.
As she bit into the object of her desire, she was first surprised by its tangling linger.. But as she sunk her teeth deeper into the juicy, fleshy thing, she experience a sense of pure ecstasy as she let its sweetness and fresness of it engross her sensory buds… And she thought as though it were almost Heaven on Earth…
Oh for the experiences of the Big Apple..
Given that there are lot of cities I like, I closed my eyes and picked one. Hope that’s ok with y’all.
You can find my 55 at http://desinole.com
We were the only persons in Building “C”. My mother was having a hard time adjusting to the bed. The cacophony of strange noises that was suburban Montreal cut through the dingy barracks room. She sobbed quietly as I felt a lump in my throat and wondered how we would ever cope. Thanks IDI
Here is my 55 on this frosty yet sunny morning in Vancouver.
From SM archives, a haiku on hogtown, TO
OH SNAP…WDRE reference…they were the shiznit even before I had good musical tastes and was listening to “All Nighter” soundtraks, back when Crooklyn had neighborhoods and not distressed fetish objects, before bottle service and non-smoking bans thrills, kills, spills on the same nite.
By the way Anna, heard a lil factoid: Jyothi Mishara of Whitetown decided to start his band after hearing Pixies live the firts time.
“So what are you trying to say?” She looked in her father’s eyes, hoping that he’d approve of her illicit desires, the freedom that now surged through her and whispered for mutual liberation, all because of that one fateful visit. “You’re not going. Stay. Here.” “Sorry Daddy, but I left my heart in San Francisco…”
He kept his backpack down, removed his sweaty hat that still carried the dust from the distant land. He could see her sleeping, drenched in the morning sun. A few moments – then he kissed her on her eyes as they opened in amazement. As her hands reached around him, he whispered in her ears – home is where you are..
Here’s mine.
They lived exuberantly, death always imminent yet their minds on eternity. The terracotta-coloured fortress the centrepoint; despite the troubled times, they felt blessed to be in such close proximity to the living saint.
They called this the City of Bliss, where it was said that every day was like a wedding, every night like Diwali.
It took less than 24 hours for the island city to be submerged completely, the imperial maritime capital like an upturned chandelier as the ocean finally claimed its prey.
The cataclysm had been sudden; a last gasp of the dying Ice Age, railing at Man’s arrogance.
The ships fled worldwide, whispering secrets of forgotten histories.
The Maharajah looked out over the ramparts, surveying his kingdom, hand resting on his sword’s hilt.
The huge setting sun loomed on the horizon, turning the sky a deep orange; the sandstone walls of the magnificent fortress mirroring the golden hue of the desert, the city surrounding it a testament to blood, audacity, and honour.
I think the first day I really became free was at Bice. I was at the bar drinking a cappucino and Sunny said to me, “bitch!” So I got up and left, just like that, and walked to Michigan Avenue. The buildings rose up around me, glinting in the sun, and whispering tales about living.
I once drove all the way down Michigan Avenue in ten minutes flat. It’s New Year’s Eve, just a few minutes before midnight, and all the streets are empty. Everyone must have been indoors, getting drunk and waiting to kiss someone as soon as the clock turns. “This is it,” I think. “This is it.”
I moved to Chicago, Wicker Park, in 1990 to share a place with three other artists/students/waiters. Since that time, I have drawn hundreds of drawings, dropped out of school, and been the personal wait staff to thousands. I married one of the artists/students/waiters after divorcing the other. We are deliriously happy. The three of us.
How poetic, MD 🙂
Baby, bugaboo, and I make our way down the esplanade towards the public gardens. I take photos of baby seated on a bronze duckling and we feed the geese from a swan boat. I purchase onesies on Charles Street and we lunch on Newbury.
I awaken alone to the tick tock of my biological clock.
Even the fact that these are late is an ode to my cities of choice…but I do apologize 🙂
I’d also like to add that these are all true stories 🙂
Wild City We drove into the park at the crack of dawn. Two minutes later we stopped dead in our tracks. Before us was a cheetah, but even more amazing, behind her trailed her seven cubs, playing, fighting, tumbling over each other, darlings all.
For two hours we sat mesmerized, the Nairobi skyline framing perfectly the cheetahs.
East Coast Memory
We sit creamed, screened, on pristine sands bordered by water that is both clean and warm courtesy of the equatorial sun. We sip madaf, eat kachi-keri with mithu-marchu (skin and all), have huge cookoutsÂ…
Best though is sleeping/sitting under the canopy of a star-filled night, water lapping at the shores of my fatherÂ’s home town.
Madaf = coconut Kachi-keri = raw mango Mithu-Marchu = salt and (red) chili powder
(and IÂ’m talking about Mombasa)
Asserting My Rights
“Ehhhh Sridevi!” he yelled invoking the oft watched screen Goddesses name. “Nini?” My eyebrows arched in reply. “Unataka kuenda town?” He asked hanging dangerously out the door. “Twenty bob tu.” he added, sensing hesitation. “Ahh ahh. Unafikiri mimi ni tourist hapa? Nenda wewe. Pshh!****” I clicked my tongue watching as the flying coffin sped away.
* What? **Do you want to go to town? *Bob : shilling :: buck : dollar and Tu = only **Nooooo, You think IÂ’m a tourist here? You go away. Pshhh!