A Thousand and One stories #19 Chocolate and Toes

1001 stories banner

Did you ever wonder how weird toes are? Much like some other parts of your body, you could totally live without them? But with it, life’s just a teensy bit easy. I think toes are like chocolates, minus the calories.

I see her eyes fixed on a wall before me and I’m wondering how no one can really tell even after knowing a person for too long, how many toes do they actually got. Unless you live in a traditional Japanese home and wear those weird samurai sandals showcasing your secret to the world.

I know what you’re thinking. I have some misconceptions about foreign lands and need to catch up on my reading because Samurais, like it ain’t the 7th century (again, just assuming). But it’s such a fascinating thought. Like did you not just look at your toes right now and wonder, what if there was one more finger on your foot, or maybe one less?

Do chocolates ever feel lonely? It’s like we only eat them when we are sad and they just absorb the sadness and suck the bad feelings out while they’re melting. It’s so effing crazy. What if the chocolate itself is sad because one of its mates was just devoured by a girl who was going through a breakup. Are those what you call Dark chocolate? And isn’t bitter chocolate just a chocolate that nobody ever picks and that is why it’s so bitter?

But I guess I don’t care about this, after all, it is just something to think about you know? To fill in those gaps, those times when you don’t really wanna do anything else. Like yesterday, I didn’t even wash my hair, or eat a cupcake or watch a movie with my best friend like I was supposed to but instead I stayed in my room picking out dirty laundry with these ideas in my head. And you know, I’m not usually the type to think such things, like, chocolate and toes, how absurd, right? But at that time it just kinda made perfect sense. Like an alien had just invaded my head and put those thoughts there, linking em together and telling me they must be conversated. Is that a word though? Or did I just make it up? Even if I did, it totally should be an official word, like in the Oxford dictionary. If they can add slangs, then why not conversated. I have made up many other words too. I’m not as dumb as everyone assumes.

“And we’re done, Stephanie.” She looked at her hair and let out a screech.

“What DID YOU DO TO MY HAIR?”

“You were the one who wanted to get it purple and chocolate.”

The shock on her face was imprinted but she did have a vague memory of saying that is what she wanted done, though now she could come up with no good reason why anyone would ever want this horrible combination on top of their head. The hair stylist wasn’t even looking at her. Her eyes were fixed on a wall. It was a conspiracy. Stephanie knew it and she looked down to see, the stylist wearing her open-toed heels. Six toes, her doubts were right.

It was her. She was going insane with every night. It all started from the day she took some hallucinogens for the heck of it. Most fun she had in all her life, apart from that one time she went skinny dipping with two hot guys, but still, ever since then, she had been doing things that were totally not herself, influenced by her surroundings. She made decisions from things she saw in dreams and ate nothing but chocolate and creams. Yeah, she was getting fat too. Near prom, that too. What could she do? See a doctor, and tell him the truth?

The only reason she even took the pill was that he was there, the skinny-dipping guy and she was just so afraid to catch feels, so she caught the next best thing, a junkie selling some good shit. Apparently having a beer after it and then washing it down with whiskey wasn’t the right thing. But sometimes she just got scared and avoiding things and being reckless was her best way. It didn’t really stop there. Next came the joint and maybe LSD and before the night was over, half her clothes were on the floor and she was on the table and the hot guy beside her. Plan failed. Feels caught.

Perhaps not. Because then the weirdness started and she fucked him and then fucked him over. He screwed her and then screwed her over. And after that, she had never really been sober. Even now she was high on marijuana, munching chocolates which were stuffed in her glittery gold purse.

Go on, have one, you know you wanna.

Untitled

Join me on Twitter| Facebook | Pinterest|Goodreads| Tumblr| Instagram

Meet the person who inspired these Vardhan Chronicles @SidharthVardhan

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s