San(')s Sanity

I have an exam tomorrow. A pass-fail one. Short Story Classics. Brilliant, right? Wait, there's more. On top of this, we are already given the only two questions which are going to come in the exam. More or less. Yes, and out went the enthu to read anything for the exam. But then, no other avenue to vent my otherwise inherent boredom meant that I finally did make it to reading something for the exam. We had to do an analysis of any one of the many authors we had discussed in class. On the style of writing of the author. Naturally, as any other self-respecting person with self-diagnosed Incurable Lethargy of Body and Mind, I googled one of the authors, whose work (and more so, name) kind of appealed to me. He somehow reminded me of Somerset Maugham with his elaborate descriptions and the beautiful use of adjectives, ever so perfectly, ever so aptly. Alas, his actual works were not in English and I have but read translations. Moreover, his stories were hardly the gripping suspense or

A 55 word story is such a daunting but at the same time alluring task. Having failed to convey a complete story in 1000 words, here I am trying to pen one which is 20 times smaller. Hopeless. That too exactly 55 words... Initially I thought about writing a title too but then was unsure if I should include the title in the word count, for you see the title plays a vital role for any story. The title is the primary tool which grabs people's attention much like the essential beautiful model in any advertisement. They are there to merely attract people, much like the title of the story. But in the end, why bother myself with the controversy of adding one. So the stories are titleless. Modelless. 4 x 55 = 220. “ Germany ’s most sensational serial killer strikes again… “ (A few hours earlier) “Guten Morgen, my name is Roger”, said the man dressed in an Armani suit, as he approached a gorgeous woman dressed in black. “Hi, my name is Lisa”, she replied, as she r

Personally I dont like this story but for want of time and the creativity to come up with an idea to write a post, I decided to use a short story which we had to submit as an assignment. Bear in mind the stringent 1000 word limit which clearly sucked the life out of my otherwise decent storyline. Come to think of it, it really wasn't even a decent storyline in the first place. Heck, you be the judge of this crap. If you're still here even after the warning I just gave you, I can but pity you. And yes, feel free to attack me with sticks, stones and words. I will definitely join in. To have loved and lost Priya was growing more and more beautiful. I was only thinking of her these days and it didn’t help that every class I attended she was there. Her long enticing florid black flowing hair. Her mysterious dark brown eyes. Her irresistible innocent smile which brought forth her perfect cherubic dimples. But then every time I thought of telling her how I felt, I went spee

I had just finished seeing the movie, Y Tu Mama Tambien when I decided to visit my erstwhile favourite spot in the hostel, the top of the mess. The moon was unusually bright today like one which can be visualized in most romantic stories, underneath which two faithful lovers propose their undying affection for each other. From a purple haze just above the trees canopying our extensive campus, the sky changed colour rather slowly as it mellowed into a more somber blue. Blue or a bluish black. It was quite a clear night. Alas, I couldn’t see too many stars in the sky. Rather contradicts my earlier observation about it being a clear sky. In any case, there was just this ominously white lunar disk accompanied by some solitary twinkling stars. The world is rather silent at around two in the morning. Most of the birds and animals seem to be asleep while the nocturnal ones are remaining awake albeit very quiet. A distant laugh can be heard and I presume it’s a group of students

This is a tag from Monsieur Cock. Basically its a story coauthored by like a million people which will hopefully get a decent ending in our lifetime. The rules to the "game" are listed at the end of the post. Initially I thought this was going to be quite trivial. But hey, conveying your ideas in just 90-100 words isn't that easy. Anyways, I like the way this story is going... ----- He thought it would be an ordinary journey. Standing behind the pillar he watched the train snort arrogantly into the station. With each snort he was reminded of his grandfather's words "You will fail in the city and return penniless"; with every heavenward whistle, he heard his cousin, "Don't worry. Come here and I will get you a job at the construction site." Now he had a 34-hour journey to prove one of them wrong, and he expected the excitement at the end of the journey. He looked at his ticket once again: compartment S9 berth 23. Pushing his luggage under the se

I was recently tagged by my dear friend Dasan to write 20 points about myself. A simple task, you say? Hahah, I say. But then that's probably because I can't too anything just as simple as it sounds. It has to be unique. It has to have the Helmet touch! (0) I talk too much. Clearly I am quite egotistic and I know it. As if I care. Onwards then. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dave was waiting for fifteen minutes now. "I have something important to tell you, come to the beach immedaitely".He heard her voice as he replayed the message over and over in his head. He was growing more and more anxious since the minute hand was nearing 12. "Hi". He turned around only to see a friendly face but not the one he was waiting for. "Richard, Hi. What are you doing here?" (1)"Well, I absolutely love the sunrise and the sunset. Sunsets more actually. It somehow makes me feel so peaceful." "Oh I see."

I couldn't sleep. Like always. But that didn't bother me. Because neither could she. You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be , and I don't want to go home right now... She was thinking. Lost in thought. Staring straight into my eyes, she frowned. Ah, she did look oh-so-beautiful when angry. Her smooth skin making gentle ripples on the calm sea of her forehead. Her inquisitive light brown eyes moving ever so slightly as her eyelids fluttered as if they were in slow motion. Her jet black hair flowing lusciouly onto her shoulders, neither too short, nor too long. It was just perfect. She was just perfect. She asked, "What would you do if all this was only a dream? If I was nothing more than a figment of your imagination and all this a cruel drama of your subconscious? What would you do?" I was speechless. I didn't know what to say. I asked " You really want to know?", fully knowing she did. Perhaps I was just buying time. Thinking of the