Monsters in my soup

They sat in a contributed silence. I read it somewhere and I remembered it sitting on the dinner table. Everyone was there; contributing to the silence. Everyone is very good at it. Me too. I might be the perfect one. So, everyone was doing that except me. I was expertly pointing out every smelly odd-looking monster that could be swimming in the soup bowl while others were silently swallowing them whole.
Why wasn’t I contributing? .This scares me.”

“Maybe you were more scared of choking on the silence than choking on the monsters in   your soup.”

What do you see?

This is not what I do, she thought and turned around.

One of the coolest and most enjoyable things about fiction is that it is perceived in different ways by different people. Long prose gives a direction to the perception of the reader. Even then the reader can see different things within a piece of writing.

Brevity; short prose, on the other hand has a different story. It has many faces and many meanings. It goes both ways. While writing I almost always have more than one scenarios in my mind. Sometimes I write with one thing in my mind, the written piece shows me a different side afterwards. This interests me a lot.

So tell me what do you see? When you read the above sentence. These are eleven words. What do they tell you?


Illusion of Death

I still see you sometimes, lurking behind the shadows. Observing me. Abandoning you wasn’t easy. You held me captive for so long I identified with you. What do they call it Stockholm syndrome? You had this bittersweet taste, which I started liking. But I always heard this voice inside my head telling me you weren’t real. Telling me, I am living in an illusion- illusion of death. Telling me there was life inside me. You are good at what you do. I have to give you credit for that. I started believing I was dead except that I wasn’t and that’s a different kind of death. It’s like being suspended in a vacuum; Numb.

I had to shatter all the mirrors adorning your walls. Mirrors that showed me my image- broken; slowly dissolving into dust. I had to gather little pieces of me, drag myself out of the despair you engulfed me with. I had to.

You were my demon. You were my fight, to fight.

I still see you sometimes in the broken shards of those mirrors which lay unceremoniously on the ground. The walls are gone now. I can see what wasn’t visible before. I breathe a different air now; air more alive.

A short account on dealing with depression.

I’m afraid of losing you

Alan O'Rourke via Flickr
Alan O’Rourke via Flickr

You don’t know how difficult it is for me. Losing you is inevitable.I know I have to learn it but, every time you begin to fade away, it causes my heart to flutter.

You don’t know how afraid I am of losing you, bit by bit, my 100% charged  phone battery.

Just some lame scribbling 😛 😀

But hey! a charged battery is precious! 😛

Dark & Twisty

Riccardo Romano via Flickr
Riccardo Romano via Flickr

“Do you smile a lot?”

“Do I?”

“It seems like you do.”

“Well, at this point that we are just acquaintances, I can be all smiley and save you from the trouble. If you stay long enough, you will see because eventually  it shows.

My twisted.”

My Neighbors


My neighbors.

Left, Right, Front, Back, and Upstairs. My neighbors are these set of feelings that live with me or with whom I live. Either way they surround me. They are such inevitable neighbors that I am just tired of them.

On the right side of my house, lives Horrible. Now, Mr. Horrible here is the kind of nosy neighbors. You know the kind who are always barging in, putting their nose in your business. He has even made a door in the wall that separates my house from his and he comes and goes whenever he wants, uninvited and unwanted, but he has this remarkable ability to do whatever he wants and not care what others might want.

On the left side of my house live Useless. Now, don’t go for his name. He is a clever boy who has no influence of his name on him. Yeah, I think he is very good at what he does. He is a chemist. All day long he is busy with his beakers and funnels and tons of pots with strange and smelly liquids. I am pretty sure he makes one of his weird potions and sends the fumes towards my house. Putting me in some kind of trance and making me feel just like his name. Guess what boy! that’s not what your parents named you useless for ! or well I don’t know maybe they did. I’ll never know.

Then my upstairs tenant is Miss Guilt. She is one hell of a noisy neighbor. I can always hear her footsteps overhead. I can hear her laughing and talking.I swear she makes noise even when she is sleeping.No matter how much I want to muffle her voices and her presence, she is there. I think I am also starting to hear her in my dreams. I am afraid she has made some holes in the floor which she uses to peek downstairs, that’s how she is always there. God forbid I also feel the floor will collapse someday and she will start living with me. huh*

I also have a quiet neighbor. Yeah, I have each type available. This one is Anxiety, an old wrinkly woman who lives in the house at the back of mine. She is really spooky I might add. Who knows she might be a witch and has voodoo dolls in her house.Yeah, that’s what she is, she uses magic and has my voodoo doll. She twists and pokes and crushes it whenever she wants. I am scared of that old lady.

I have one nice neighbor too. Yeah. Her name is Hope. My front door neighbor, this nice woman with a warm smile. But I think the 30 feet wide street distance between her house and mine feels more like 30,000 feet. Maybe the wicked witch is magically increasing the distance. huh. Getting hold of her is very difficult, but I still try. Well, on days when my other neighbors give me rest, which they hardly do!

I am sure they have a party at Sarcasm’s house every now and then, which is the seventh house at the left of mine.He is a party animal, he parties all the time.They all party together and laugh and joke around and say how I am so stupid living between them.

Is there any body out there?

A flash before my eyes, I see a figure in distress. Hair disheveled, clothes tattered, barefoot, she sat on the curb. Arms forming armor; protecting from the forces outside or maybe within. Eyes resounding; a hollow of loneliness, a weight of questions. Eyes asking for help from the fast-moving mass of robots around.

A flash before my eyes, I want to reach the tormented soul. I may not know how to ease your pain but I can say it is okay, I see you.

A flash before my eyes, I become part of the robots around.

For the many homeless people and addicts I see every day on streets.

That’s my Boy !

I have to take one hour ride to my university, during these rides I see different people. Some always manage to stimulate a thought process inside me, even for two minutes.These are little snippets of what I experience during my rides…


The bus turned the corner towards right and came to a halt at the first stop on this road. I saw a boy. He was dressed in his uniform; white shirt, khaki pants and a striped black tie. He was setting his hair with his chubby little hands and looking here and there, eye brows scrunched, deep in his own thoughts. Whether he did his homework right or is the test going to be difficult or what did his mama pack him for lunch or will he and his friends play basketball today.

Following his hand motion, I saw, he was wearing a hearing aid. I thought if his life was any bit different because of that. In that moment I heard a voice, I directed my gaze towards the voice and saw a man next to him, he was half sitting on his bike. I was observing his child and he was apparently observing me. He had called out for his son. I couldn’t make out his name. My bus started moving again and I saw a smile on the father’s face. He wanted his son to know that someone was admiring him. He would probably have told him to wave at me. The last I saw was the pride in that father’s eyes and the bus moved ahead, eradicating the sight In front of me.