“Dad!”
He rushed to his childhood hero. Relief spread through him as he held his father’s firm shoulders under his palms.
“Thank goodness,” he wheezed. “Weird dream! We were in an accident.”
Raised eyebrows.
He gulped, “A truck ran us over.”
“That was no dream.”
A mild horror story for my Flash Fiction collection. Also, National Blog Posting Month – #Day13
“That’s it — we’re done.”
“No, we’re not,” — Defiance, the only solace of the weak.
“Yes we are. I’m leaving and I’m taking her. Goodbye.” She turned to leave.
“No — wait. Please, give me another chance. Please?”
“You do this every day — I can’t take it anymore.” She folded her hands across her chest, waiting to hear the apology again.
“I won’t do it again!” — The hysterical plea. “I promise, don’t go.”
Heaving dramatically, she sternly added, “Alright. But if you pull out my doll’s hairs again, I’m taking her away, and we’ll never be friends again.”
Dialogues are fun; you hardly know where you’re going until you’ve read it whole. Just over a year ago, there was a Weekly Writing Challenge for dialogue. I liked the idea but couldn’t think of anything to write then — I suddenly remembered it and took it up for today.
Ninety eight, ninety nine, hundred… “Phew!” Setting the dumbbells on the floor, he rested his hands on his hips seeing himself on the mirror. Unsatisfied, he shook his head and picked up the dumbbells again.
Sipping on his protein shake, his movements attuned to Akon’s latest single, he past an old woman carrying her monthly grocery. She struggled with the heavy packages, and he whistled past without a backward glance.
A little boy stopped on his way to school and offered to help the old woman. She beamed. “Thank you, young man!”
Another short story for my Flash Fiction collection. Also, National Blog Posting Month – #Day6
She walked down the aisle.
Alone.
Just realized what an ambiguous 6 word story this would be in my Flash Fiction collection. Any thoughts?
“We’re using last year’s left overs.”
“Left overs!” Prem snorted, “At least my kids are luckier than yours! They wanted crackers for 2000 and I got them for 3000 rupees! Besides, It’s just one day.”
“Sir?”
The trash collector had come for his festive bonus. Prem groaned as he rummaged in his wallet. He peeled out a few notes, picked the oldest looking 20 rupee, and handed it to the shabby man.
He left, crestfallen.
“Maybe you should have given him more,” his wife suggested.
“Salary’s a few weeks away, why waste the money?”
October 22nd was Deepawali/Diwali here in India, and fire crackers are a major part of the expenses. This is another story for my Flash Fiction collection, based on what I’d like to call The Festival of Darkness.
The Chaos Within 