1001 stories: Pebble

Capture

He never got noticed, but she did. He got trampled upon by the voyeurs who came for a glance of her.

He was quite down-to-earth, standing amidst sand and dirt, rolling around with the kicks of the people who occasionally did bend down to touch him, as if giving him hope- hope that one day he would be worth something too.

She was magnificent in her vastness, flowing with the wind and dancing to its tunes making a melody of her own that enticed people, enchanted them and wanderers looked with awe in their eyes at something quite beyond their embrace.

He would sit amidst thousands like him, noticing the one scratch, one shade, one shape that made him stand out from the crowd of all those worthless, shapeless sturdy fighters who were also struggling in the sand.

And yet, on days like these, he would feel like there is no difference at all, for the fate of them all was the same. Beginning and ending with the same handful of dust that it had emerged from.

She was stretched beyond imaginations to the places as far as eyes could see and often beyond that as well. She stood noisly alone, yet calm and composed with her worth imprinted on the faces of those who came from far and wide just to touch her.

There may be others like her, but none dared to step into the domain that was solely and unabashedly hers. When she was around, there was no way any entity could even come close to stealing away her spotlight. Her charm wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen.

Things changed after a while though and he grew more and more restless. She shrunk more and more into her shell. He wanted a way out. She was being reduced to a mere nothing.

And then there is today

She awoke to the spark of first sunlight that danced on her skin like a thousand diamonds. He felt it burn his skin as it got reflected off from her.

A girl came and sat next to this enchanting beauty with him right next to her feet. But her focus wasn’t on her but on him as she picked him up in her palms and touched it ever so lightly. She pulled her hand back and allowed him to fly for the first time in his life, rising high above all others, if only for a moment before he drowned inside her, falling deep and deeper.

And that’s how a pebble on a sandstone beach met the salty sea.

Untitled

Join me on TwitterFacebook | Pinterest|GoodreadsTumblrInstagram|Youtube

1001 Stories: Holes

1001 stories banner

That belt you are wearing has holes to hold it in place. There is a tiny hole in the lock in which the key turns to unlock it. The fabric of the clothes that you are wearing also has millions of minuscule holes that allow what exists, to exist in comfort. You don’t keep birds in a metal box, you keep them in a cage to allow them to breathe. The pores in your skin are nothing but holes and empty spaces for moisture to be stored in. Continue reading

A thousand and one stories #30 French Fries

There’s a bed I share with only me. The pillows that stay pay rent by soaking my tears and inhaling the curses and sobs I exhale onto it.
The quilt pays taxes to my body, hiding it from the world, it’s a good place to escape in. This bedsheet and mattress hold me together.. each piece of me that breaks, they take care of it proper till I’m ready to pick it back up and glue the stuff back to my skin again.
What I wouldn’t do to be thin again!
But the food I eat, delivered to me on this bed got spilt and scattered but that never mattered to me. Continue reading

A thousand and one stories #28 Everybody knows

attractive-beautiful-beauty-179734.jpg

There’s an unspoken pact amongst all individuals to never say a word when there’s an established fact roaming around. Everybody knows but find it better to not say a word
Like if you see two long lines on my wrist, you will be amongst hundreds who see them. And among hundreds who never said a word.
If you see a mother struggling to keep her son sit silently in the corner after twenty protests and threats, you’ll be among all the other witnesses who avoided eye contact and thought ‘what a mess’.
There are some things that just become routine. Like how I comb my hair every day in the morning and no one says a word. It’s an established fact.
Like how I come with my mascara running one day and no one says a word. My father died. It’s not to be talked about.
I see the silent stares and hear the unspoken words being shouted in my subconscious but on the surface, it’s calm.
“Hi, Betty. Another coffee, please? No sugar this time.”
This isn’t silence. It’s much worse. It’s enforced silence that comes as a result of ‘Not getting into this mess’.
Everybody knows.
But it’s not everybody’s shit to deal with.
So I put LSD in her coffee. And I tattooed my arm. I started wearing waterproof mascara and then jumped on a bus to nowhere.
I talked my head off to a hippie who had his earphones on the whole time. I told him every secret dark thought I’d had and how I tried to kill myself in perfect detail.
I yelled when the bus stopped and walked in the hottest temperature my skin had felt for what seemed like miles.
But the enforced silence just wouldn’t leave my side when the cars passed by staring at the same old hitchhiker.
When the biker turned his head to eye her over, same old thought. Not one word. Everybody knows what to do in this situation. Never trust strangers. But well, she was defying what everybody was so sure about.
So she jumped on the bike and started singing. The shittiest and saddest songs she had heard of. And he dropped her off at the next gas station.
She fell, miserably into a bad mood from where it was always hard to revive her soul back. But revive it she must, right?
There was a lot more to defy. Nah, everyone knows you should fight the darkness in those times so she succumbed to it and bought a cigarette
Lit it right there
Let the burning lighter fall to the ground. Let the smoke fill her lungs, and the fire her skin.
There was a psycho chick who blew up a gas station. No one came to claim her body.

Everybody knows.

It was such a tragedy.

Yet no one really talks about it.

Untitled

Join me on TwitterFacebook | Pinterest|GoodreadsTumblrInstagram|Youtube

A thousand and one stories #27 Door

1001 stories banner

I don’t stretch out my legs and arms and neck to get ready for the day to come anymore. I lay on my sofa bed, with a packet of chips and eat when I don’t even feel like it. There’s a door to my house that’s always opening and closing but my eyes are mostly closed, I don’t even realise who does it. But every once in a while when I do get up to avoid being soaked in my own piss and shit, I see my legs shivering. They’re not used to it. My head still spins at the thought of getting up and up it goes mostly when I’m high. Tired, and sleepy and mostly half awake, I think it’s gotten used to viewing part-reality. Continue reading