You've got mail

Prologue

2030, aug 24th, 6:35 pm : I found this letter while cleaning my desk. The handwriting seemed very familiar. It is only after reading one whole page that I realised that it was mine.

Chapter

Eyes set on your closed eyes with those perfect eye-lashes which make my heart skip a beat every now and then, what I heard you say last night:

I told you that I am not the perfect man that you think I am. I told you that I can be a screwed up, clueless, selfish prick hidden behind a shimmering porcelain mask. You laughed your generous laugh and told me that I was absolutely mistaken; that I didn’t have it in me to hurt a single soul and even if I did hurt you, I'd hurt myself more in the process.

You’ve got to understand that the nice, carefree boy-next-door that you know isn’t the real (or atleast the entire) me. Instead I'm a complete wreck, an unappetizing mess oozing out insecurities and wracking addictions off multiple sores, which running down my legs are creating a filthy puddle near my feet.

And hey, you’re not helping me when you’re looking straight at me with those big eyes, and the goofy grin of yours and calling me awesome. Perfect. Gorgeous. Hot. There is nothing that I want to do more than to pull off these so-called perfect layers of skin and fancy clothes and show you the toxic beast that lies waiting underneath. I want to show you the scars that are skin deep, marking me as an outcast for life, making memories unforgettable. I want to show you the scars that were supposed to be but I escaped. I want to show you the cold block of ice that is where my heart should be. I want you to lay your ear on my chest so that you can hear the absence of anything that comes from within, the silence where there should be pulse.I want you to lay your ear on my chest and hear the sudden eruption of heart beats that you cause by your touch.

I want you to, finally, come to terms with the fact that I was broken a long time ago and that there isn’t anything that you can do to change or fix me. I just want you to meet the real me. Only then can I trust mysel with you.

Did I really hear it or was I dreaming, like always?

Epilogue

Eyes set on your closed eyes with those perfect eye-lashes which make my heart skip a beat every now and then, what I whispered into your ears last night:

I will dance with you with yellow soles in fancy shoes in vacant lots under broken streetlamps, immersing my sickening soul in the music of our beating hearts. I will sing along with the radio, even if I sing horribly off-key. I will read out my favourite poems even if I mess up the lines. I will bear with your anger and moods and maybe sometimes argue with you and harsh words will slip out, but I promise to make it up to you with sincere apologies and sweetest of kisses. I will hide in your arms and cry out my sorrow, drenching your shirt with my tears.

Did you say you are broken? Or did you just sigh? It doesn't matter for I will love you best even if it's with my broken heart and my crushed hopes.

The Masochist

“The only path to true happiness is: Never go through other people's personal things. You never know what you find in there. It may just ruin everything you have. Ignorance is bliss”, read the advice. It is then she picked up his phone, went through his inbox and cried herself to sleep. 

image: deviantart

We all want fridays to pass in a flash. If in your attempt to reach the weekends sooner you write a Friday Flash 55, share it with the G-Man

Happily ever after

Like any other muse she was a mystery.
Like any other beloved she was pedestaled.
Like any other masterpiece she was written in an unknown foreign language.

Like any other creator he was bemused.
Like any other beholder he was glued.
Like any other reader he was lost and content.

This is their eternal story.

mea máxima culpa

It rained today. A lot. I sat in my room and got to thinking about the things I've done and the things I plan to do in the years ahead. Suddenly my thoughts were clouded by a memory, which now seems very distant, almost as if it never happened.

I killed Nadia Joseph. Calling the authorities will be pointless. They won't find anything. I've spent years thinking over every detail.

I can still see it vividly-  breathing her last few, painful, breaths. Her eyes look so un-Nadia- like. Cold, dim, fixed on a distant vision of the forgotten past-on a regret.

We were seven when we first met- Nadia and I. I knew then that one day she would die and that it would be me who would kill her. Her family had moved in into the next apartment. I was on the swing trying to touch the leaves of the low branch hanging over the swing with my feet.  Nadia, wearing a yellow bib dress and flip flops runs down with her locks flowing like a cape behind her. Without a word, she grabs my arm, pulls me off the swing, sits on the swing and swings higher and higher in a mysterious bliss, which I was not a part of. I stared at her, dumbfounded. She tossed back her hair, flashed the first of many gorgeous smiles I’d learn to loathe, and went higher with her toes stretched to touch the wet leaves I had set my eyes on.

I began to plot her death.  I thought it noble and poetic to use my own bare hands, the very ones she grabbed that day and fixed the venue in the park by the swing. It was months later when I actually made an attempt. It was late evening and we were playing in the park. She was excitedly talking about the presents she got for her birthday last night. I could not bear the ring in her voice, the aura around her and that wretched incredible smile. 

Without much conscious efforts, I pushed her hard from the back. She fell, face down. I ran quickly and smothered her face harder into the soil. Her socked feet  flailing, and hands trying to grab on to something- maybe to life- encouraged me. A few moments passed, she went limp. I turned her around. She lay there with her dress muddy and her face smeared with dirt.  I cleaned her face. It was beautiful. Ran my fingers over her brows and kissed her forehead.

I could have sworn she smiled.

Unfolded

It was a  ritual. The first thing she would do on waking up was to check her phone for his absent texts/calls.  She had waited- ignored, unanswered, humiliated. At an uneventful moment ,she realized to her surprise,that the day had finally come when his name no longer brought a smile on her face.

Walking in Someone Else's Shoes

She's had a bad day since morning. Cold, fever and thousand tiny chores. She craved for a good meal.

Flips open the phone

*type type type*

'Lunch date? My treat. I know u r busy but don't say no to amazing food and a surprise date with a hot (quoting u) girl! ^_^'

*send*

*wait wait wait*

*no reply*

thinks-Now I know what it feels like to get ignored when you ask someone out.

Empathy for all the guys I've rejected in my lifetime. I like to walk in my heels better than their shoes. *sulk sulk*

*BEEP BEEP*

She opens the text which reads- 'Someone else found your text mysteriously. This is Chuck Norris inviting you to join him for dinner tonight.'

thinks- 'I definitely love walking in my shoes!!'

The (Happy) End

p.s: 1)the story isn't complete without the link attached.

2) I am not really a pro at coming up with PJs. I am trying nonetheless.

Absence of a father

There were times when Aryak felt he had chosen the wrong profession. 

All the glamour attached with the service was fine and the sense of pride that this made available not only to himself but his family and his country was something that always kept his spirits up.In spite of all the physical hardship and stress, it was moments like these that sometimes bring in the ever-so-little regret that he felt for not choosing a civilian life.

This had been a family tradition of sorts. Strangely, for three generations now the only son of the family would grow up to be a proud soldier- working, defending and living for the country. There was also one more thing. 'Your grandfather, like me, could not see his only child at birth. I hope things are different for you, son', his father had said, while rejoicing at the news of his son's upcoming parenthood. The first time his grandfather had seen his son was when the child was already 3 months old, only reading about it in letters. As for his father, things had been better, although he could only come back home after 8 months of the child's birth, he could hear his voice over the telephone. He could at least hear its breath and pure unadulterated laughter if not see the eyes which would, later , speak so much.

Aryak sat , seemingly quiet, with all these and more thoughts playing chaos in his head. It could be any moment now. He would be something more,much more than what he was right now- he would be a father. Then turning to his pc he answers the incoming call from the hospital. The image he sees leaves him speechless. It had been 'different' for him, like his father had hoped. He saw his daughter on the screen like she was there with him. All the distance vanished in a matter of seconds. All the regrets lost. All the emotions over powered him. It was at that moment he knew, life would never be the same for him again. 

p.s: this is a post for the 3G life blogger contest, powered by NTT DOCOMO. Kindly vote here if you liked it.

Reading between the lines - 'The Bird'

The Bird

You say you want to fly, looking for new horizons. I would fly with you too if I hadn't burnt my wings trying to protect your dreams when you were flying so close to the sun , unaware how the glaring sun seared me on the other side of the comfortable shade.

I have gone too high and fallen too hard to want to fly again.I am not- never was- the unearthly phoenix you always assumed I was. I am just an ordinary winged dreamer, now withered for your sake.

You've flown, and I sit here content by the shattered pieces of the opera glass refusing to see the spectacle of your flight.