Tag: flash fiction

It Goes On

They hadn’t seen each other in years.

Life had taken a sharp turn from college into reality. They were both salaried employees at different multinational corporations. Their income and expenses tallied on most months, while payday loans saved some days. They’d wake every day and make mental to-dos with the morning coffee. They turned on autopilot to greet colleagues with a “good morning” a “hi there” and a “nice seeing you” — without even seeing who they’re saying it to. Headphones had become the lover that never disappointed. Caffeine was the impetus as the day waned. Free dinner at work with colleagues compensated the lack of company. Home had become an empty room with a vacant chair and a mug with morning’s coffee dregs. They took Facebook to bed and woke up next to a harmless-looking space grey metal block.

And then came the acquisition.

Life took a sharp turn from reality into a harsher reality. They had become salaried employees at the same multinational corporation. Their income and expenses tallied on most months, while payday loans saved some days. They’d wake every day and make mental to-dos with the morning coffee. They turned on autopilot to greet colleagues with a “good morning” a “hi there” and a “nice seeing you” — without even seeing who they’re saying it to. Headphones had become the lover that never disappointed. Caffeine was the impetus as the day waned. Free dinner at work with colleagues compensated the lack of company. Home had become an empty room with a vacant chair and a mug with morning’s coffee dregs. They took Facebook to bed and woke up next to a harmless-looking space grey metal block.

But they’d sometimes smile at each other over the vending machine. They weren’t in love anymore, just in denial.

Coffee and a Story

coffe-and-story

If we were having coffee right now, I’d tell you a story.
A story of my life about someone I met.
I met someone years ago, and she was like me.
Like me in the sense that she loved her coffee.
Her coffee was always black, and her heart otherwise.
Otherwise, we had nothing much common between us.
Between us, though, we throve in our friendship.
Our friendship lasted longer than any coffee
Any coffee could get us talking about any and everything.
And everything would fade away when we began a conversation.
A conversation, that would transcend borders of territory and time.
And time, though, in time, caught up with our friendship too.
Friendship, too, I realised, would grow cold if left alone.
Left alone coffee would wither, and so did our relationship.
Our relationship that started from a coffee, ended the same way.
Same way we went, but we no longer looked at the same horizons.

The Midnight Snack

When she walked into the threshold, she stepped into the unlit “World of Clink Clanks”. She looked down and could make out the outline of what she knew were her hands. She flexed them and gasped as her gold ring glittered suspended in mid-air.

The room was silent except for the occasional throat clearing and the clackety of ceramic on ceramic, which seemed to come from somewhere beyond her vision.

On one corner stood a man behind a counter with a light bulb over his head. He seemed out of place, shuffling with his foot, wringing his hands nervous to get away. She wouldn’t have noticed him if it hadn’t been for the light, but she could see his look. It was a familiar, the look of a man on his first day in a job. He flashed her a warm smile as she approached him, and she returned it without hesitation.

She felt none of the warmth herself, though. It bothered her that the inside mimicked the darkness that enveloped the outdoors. And it didn’t help that the street lights had died.
She steadied herself long enough to walk into the range of light coming from the counter. The employee seemed confident and asked what he could get her. She looked around the counter at all her favourites: mustard, ketchup, parmesan, salami, sausages, and on the other side, five kinds of bread.

“I’ll have a hot dog with parmesan and extra mustard, please.” He nodded and asked her to wait. And as he gestured towards his right, she noticed a small table lit with a single candle. It was just enough for her to figure the outline of a round table draped with a red cloth. She took her place at the edge of the seat. The next moment, the young man at the counter came over with her hot dog, placed it in front of her, and left to man his station.

A chilly breeze grazed her ear, making her shiver. She should’ve stayed home and made instant ramen. Her stomach growled again. As she signed, reaching for her meal, blinding lights flooded the entire restaurant, and Sinatra began singing “The way you look tonight” in the background. By the time her eyes adjusted to the lights, her best friend had come from nowhere and stood before her. She now saw the restaurant was empty and much larger than she had imagined. About thirty round tables lay vacant, expecting to groan with food. She raised her eyebrows at him. He was her best friend and her longest friend. He smiled, his blue eyes glittering with joy.

“I don’t want you to eat alone ever again.”

And he went down on a knee.

A Lesson From a Friend

“So? She must’ve liked it.”

I sat chatting with my friend, A when another girl informed us that J had worn multi-coloured sneakers to school that day.

A brushed it off with a shrug and an uninterested statement. J was the class weirdo. She had moved in from another state and had a different way of doing things than we did. And it bothered most of us in class. All except A.

A would never comment on how J wore her pinafore, her hair, or how she’d crack her knuckles hard enough to crack them.

Even when the rest of the class huddled in a corner making crude jokes at J or sneering at her walk, one scathing look from A shut them up at once. She was the only person who didn’t join in. But she never told anyone to stop tormenting J either. I was her best friend, and I’d laugh at J too. She had even seen me a few times at it.

Still, she never advised me to stop or threatened to break my nose if I didn’t. Even when we hung out together — just A and I — she’d never mention J.

Though A made no violent gestures, she was always on J’s side, a silent supporter, watching her back.

As primary school went by, I got accustomed to A’s nonconforming behaviour. All the teasing made her uneasy and hated to disappoint A. I grew less thrilled about the “J’s a fool” club.

We moved through middle school, and then on to high school, but the name-calling didn’t change. I had, though. I couldn’t tolerate it. We weren’t friends or even lab partners, but J no longer was a weirdo to me. She was just J, my classmate.

And one day, just before the summer holidays began, A and I sat in class making plans for our vacation.

“Hey guys, we’re planning to dump mud on J’s head. Wanna come watch?”

Before I knew it, I had stood up with my hands clenched. I was ready to defend J even if it came to a fistfight.

She deserved respect, and I had grown up at last.

A Wrong Move

Chain store queues,

mid-afternoon blues

“Regular or Diet?”

Make a wrong order

and the wife panics.