Football

The Dark City lays silent like a sleeping dragon. 

A man walks through the streets of the city. On closer inspection you might observe that the man is not walking on the ground, his feet just float an inch below the road and the ground melts around his feet to give him way. His dark coat trails his way behind him as he moves right and left through the city that slowly breathes in the darkness and breaths out fog and fear.

He feels the frigid fingers of fear ease their way into his soul and he stabs down a disconcerting feeling of fear in his heart. He moves on through the ground slowly, reaches the top of a sewer and slowly melts through the iron cover below the street.

"Hey honey, I am home." he speaks softly into the darkness of the sewer.

A meat cleaver shrieks through the air like a maddened eagle and buries itself in the man's head, chopping it into two neat semicircular halves.

"Aww, Baby!" his disembodied mouth speaks, "I got held down with the guys, we were watching football at the pub and I had just one more beer, that's why I got late!"

A kitchen knife spins and slices through the squalid sewer stench and chops the man's head clean off his neck. The head falls to the wet floor of the sewer like a small bag full of dog shit. A rat, as big as a small cat, immediately shooms out of the darkness to inspect the new addition to the filth on the ground.

"Gh-UCK, Gh-UCK, Gh-UCK." his face swears at the rat.

The rat turns to move away from the head when a steel fork impales the little creature's head to the moldy ground. The man tries to gulp but there is nothing to gulp from under his chin, without a throat his head rolls like an imperfect football on the uneven floor.

"Here she comes." the thought bleeds through his head.

Lying on the floor he only sees her high heel slam itself into the side of his head and as his head bounces off the walls of the sewer, his only thought is, "Seems like she's in the mood to play football."

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Football, Soccer, Whatever. November is here. I like November. Either the second or the third week will be a Seven Story Salad. Geez, I am such a genius.

Mermaids

The mermaids were swimming all around me. Laughing, cajoling and performing complex maneuvers in the pristine blue green waters of the lagoon. I watched their perfect half figured with a child-like fascination. The smooth curves of the breasts where the tiny nipples stood out like miniature mountains. Their hair halo-ed around their heads and their laughter ringing in my ears.

One mermaid brushed awfully close to me and licked my ear with her soft, wet tongue. 

"Ring, Ring, Ring" she sang in my ear.

I smiled at her.

She held my face in her hands and kissed me with a seaweed filled mouth, singing "Ring, Ring, Ring." all the while.

I puked in the water, turning it a shade of bad brown, filled with pizza toppings and pieces of chicken souls.

I opened my eyes for a second time and found my face sticking to the floor by the tenacity of my own (I hoped) drying vomit. And somewhere a phone was ringing.

Fuck.

I rummaged through the pockets of my jeans and brought out my old and trusted cellphone that had stood by me though soberness and drunken orgies.

It was The Boss on the other end.

I pressed answer and Boss said a name. And a price. Which was a lot. Enough to make my drunken body get up, get the bullets for the gun and go out and get a cab for the target's office. I would have taken my own car, but you know, drinking and driving do not mix and I was drunk as hell making my way to an earthquake of a hangover.

I handed the taxi driver a fistful of notes and left him to figure out the maths as I made my way for the doors of the target's office. The revolving doors of the lawyer's office blurred like the wings of a honeybee, and for a moment I was frozen on the door like puppy transfixed by something shiny. 

Then, something snapped inside me and I rushed through the doors. The whole world tiled at crazy angles and I wanted to be with the mermaids again. I told the receptionist that I had a meeting with her boss and she told me to wait for a few minutes. I stood there like a defiant jerk, checking her out. Thinking of her, in a tight leather suit, and long leather shoes. She looked hot in my imagination and then she said something. I leaned closer on her desk and she pointed one manicured finger in a direction left of her. I saluted her a mock saluted and walked in the direction of where she had pointed.

The realization hit me in the face like a wet towel as to why no job is worth doing when you are drunk as hell and have a deadline to clear.

There were six of the target sitting in the chairs and each one of them was buzzing around the edges that made if tough to focus on any single figure.

"Yes! How can I help you?" all six of them blurted out at once.

"By dying." I said and then I shot all six of them.

A mermaid floated by from the window and start swimming around me.

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Ha Ha Ha. I loved this one. The story was built around the one sentence "I shot all six of them". These six words have been troubling me for the past three weeks, screaming, shouting, cursing my attention and wanting to be written. The mermaid reference is taken from Snatch movie, where Pitt falls through the boxing ring floor and into water where mermaids swim around him.

In othe places, Poetry blog is getting lot of drinking related poems. If you love drinking, or do not, please head over to The Poem Blog for some kick ass psychedelic poems.

And we are ranting like never before at The Fucked Up blog which is not meant for kiddies under 18 and also not for lazy buggers who read this blog at work.

And, we are having another 7 day story run somewhere in November. Go me~!

Monday Morning

The gun hangs from his fingers like a lover's hand, too afraid to let go and too shy to hold on for dear life.

He kicks the door in, the gun arm rises and two sizzling shots turn the first two men to brain stew. He finishes off the tall one, who got shot in the chest, with his khukri. The jugular spills ruby red blood like a fountain of death. He wipes the large knife off on the man's jacket and fills two more slugs in the ancient gun's chamber.

In the next room, three men are sitting and playing cards, he calmly opens the door and before they can reach for their gun, three silenced shots paint the walls with their brains. 

He walks on through the place, silently going about his work, killing people and saying hi. He shoots a few computers as well, and feels more satisfaction in it than he ever did in killing all people. Bodies are strewn across the hall now, he took his time with them, shooting them in the legs and later finishing them off with the blade; the blade that somehow seemed to call him to feed it, like a crazed animal, it called for blood and it called for death.

He finishes off the floor and then takes one more look around to see if he had missed somebody. He had not.

He reaches the elevator and presses the button to call the it to his floor. Once inside, he presses the button for top floor, to the office of the head Pig.

And his cellphone rings It is the head Pig. He answers it.

The stream of profanities from the pig's side ends in the 45 seconds, with pig screaming "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU???" at him.

He answers that he is in the lift and coming up to meet him.

"Good," says the pig,"can't wait to see you."
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No relation of this story to past, present of future circumstances. Office shootings are somewhat a rosier version on the TV and radios, and newspapers. But it is very much a reality and it exists within our system.

Meanwhile for the fans of drinking, there is a new poem up at Poetry, check it out by clicking this link or don't bother.

Thanks!

The Wrap Up

There.

Seven stories, seven days, and lot of madness. Heck, I loved doing this. Made a lot of new friends here, yes, I mean You. We are friends now. You brought this upon yourself, and now this blog will hound you, you will check here multiple times a day to look for new stories and you will exult (woo! what does THAT word mean?) when you find a new story and you will ..umm not exult (again!) when there are no updates. And you will tell all your friends that you have found a cool and superawesome blog, and you will link to this blog and leave a note so that the blog can keep track of what naughty things you have been up to on your blogs.

Right. Enough quasi-subliminal messages in one post.

But, girls and guys, it's been a wonderful one week of getting in front of the laptop every night and writing something new, and then getting your awesome feedback during the day, it's been wonderful,really.

I might even start doing weekly writing runs every month based on the feedback that I got. Not every week, because, frankly the medium of blogging is its own enemy. Every time a new post is up, the old posts are pushed down and then they are a part of the history that has less and less chance of getting read. While some might dig the archives, but how many?

Anyway, I write, and I hope there will always be someone to read!

Ok, I am digressing here.

Now I forgot what I wanted to write here, yeah, first thanks to all for reading, and double thanks for leaving comments. Regular, slightly longer stories will continue after I take a breather of a day, or two.

Yeah, well that's about it. If you got a question for me, then now is as good a time as any to ask it. Any suggestions, comments, offers for publication, death threats, poo parcels, books, comics, money are also welcome.

If you are looking for more of the my writing, you can check out my poems at Poetry, and you can check out rancid wrong and fucked up opinions at The Fucked Up ( This blog is adults only and NSFW[that is Not Safe For Work], if you do not have an open mind and you comment there, I will be as rude as possible and tell you the things you can do to your body openings with a chainsaw and a flamethrower)

And with that, we say goodnight, godbless and may the sun shine brighter for you today (:

N

00:00 Hours

It's the spirit hour folks!

Yes Sir! Yes Mam! This is at the ungodly hour in the morning when the losers of the world sit online waiting for someone, anyone, everyone to come online. They put spirits inside them and blow out sweet smoke and get ready to pour their guts out in streams of zeros and ones. 

Bits, bytes and datastreams of emotions flying all over the internet and everyone loves it. 'We are communicating,' they say, 'thou shalt not disturb us!'

They spend their day for these moments, these rabid desires that make them want to 'communicate'. The rope of their life held together by this fucked up desire to be alone and yet, be wanted, be missed, be kissed, be fucked.

By someone. By anyone. By everyone.

They love it.

============

This might be about me, this might be about you, this might be about anyone or everyone of us.

Tomorrow, we sum up the sum of past seven days. Hope I will see you here tomorrow.

Thanks!

Angels

The two boys stood outside the barred gates and smoked cigarettes with their backs to the big castle wall slowly cooling in the evening sun. One boy kicked at the gate, and the chains holding it rattled like iron snakes. 

"They had an angel in there once." said the elder boy.

"What happened to her?"

"They freed her into the world."

"Why?"

"Cuz' she was going to have babies."

"Ha, kidding me again, are you?"

"Nah, mum told me herself"

"Oh."

"…"

"Hey guess what? Last one to reach home is a fuddu."

The boy ran, spreading his wings, and took a mighty leap into the evening sky. 

"Oi, not fair, you got a head start!" complained the other boy as he spread his own wings and chased after his brother.

==============

When you reach the last word and still don't get it, well, read it again from the beginning. :) If still there is confusion, then I guess the title should make it clear. Oh, what am I saying, you all are intel enough to figure it out on your own, aren't you? ;)

For tomorrow, and the last of these seven (unrelated) tales, is not quite a story, more like a monologue, but I can assure you, it's interesting :)

Thanks for the comments everyone, really makes it worth checking my email 60 times a day!

The Sinners

"Honey, this is not good, this is diabolic." she said.

"Chill love, no one will know." he comforted her.

"Yes, but it is still... so wrong."

"Only if we get caught."

She smiled.

"You sure we won't get caught?"

"As sure as I was yesterday."

"You are one horny bugger."

"And what about you?"

She laughed shyly and slithered down his body somewhere in the darkness below.

He gasped as a knock on the wall startled him.

Yes, he managed to squeak out.

A voice followed.

"Father, I have a confession to make…"
===============

The confession booths [?] are so comfy and cozy. There have been some interesting comments on some of the past stories. There are the questions that I feel need answering in a proper manner, so there will be a post after Sunday's story, where I will try to answer all these questions/comments the best or the worst I can. Thanks for the comments everyone, I really look forward to your feedback, to take names, Sakshi, Jadis, Queen Bean, Kris, Kartik, Impressionist, AJ and everyone else who read but are too lazy to leave a comment :)

Thanks!

Love Car

The band kicked the show into high gear with the fourth song, "In Your Love Car We'll Ride To Hell".

The crowd sang along and just as the song reached its crescendo, a pink limousine crashed from nowhere bang into pentagram drawn into the center of the stage.

Bewildered, the band looked on as the door of the big car opened, swirling black smoke dispersing from the inside of the car to reveal a thick set man in a black overcoat, a hat shadowed his eyes, and a sliver of light shone on his sharp teeth that shone like blades.

The driver of the car smiled at the band members and said, "Let's go kids. The Darklord sent his Love Car to receive you guys."

The crowd went wild.

=========

This was written with the idea of keeping it under 100 words and still reaching some kind of conclusion. Indeed, a conclusion it is, the crowd just wants a show, even if the performers are getting fucked by a psycho demon on the stage. Ah, another day, another story. Tomorrow, two people, making lov...no, having sex.

]:)

The Fuck

He looked at her and thought of all the things that he wanted to do with her.

He wanted to create a perfect life with her at the center of his universe and him, all around her.

He wanted to do all the Bollywood things with her. A dance in the park, around trees, with multicolored extra dancers. He wanted to walk with her in the rain, holding the umbrella for her while he got drenched to the skin. He wanted to act like a clown for her and make her laugh. He wanted to carry her in his arms through the potholed streets of his village somewhere in the vicinity of New Delhi. He wanted to present her to his parents and beg his mother to take this girl as her daughter in law. He wanted to wake up next to her for the rest of his life and watch her face the first thing in the morning. He wanted to make babies with her and make her the happiest girl in the world.

She looked at him and thought, "Fuck, I have to fuck him."

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Note- What you just read above has been polished, and edited and redone in more ways than one. Can't argue with the fingers and the mind controlling them. Anyway, below this note is the story as it was written originally. I am too fuckin good to you people! Onwards Alexander! 

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He looked at her and he knew he wanted to make 'sexy time' with her. His over-imaginative mind drew up a vivid image with her at the center of his universe and him wrapped all around her.

The image in his mind was decorated, among other things, with a jar of honey, a pair of garden shears, candles, matches, cigarettes, a feather, a full chicken, a bottle of sauce and rope that would have gently held her. Tied up and ready for some sweet love treatment.

She looked at him and thought, "Fuck, I have to fuck him."

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There, we are done for Wednesday. Weekend is almost upon us. Tomorrow, we rock with a band :)

Death of a Coffee Machine

Friends! Fellows! Enemies! and Office Assholes!

With great regret the management informs you that our beloved coffee machine passed away on the night of October 6, 2008.

What a great run it has been, for 5 years, 6 months and 7 days the great coffee machine served us with coffee that was lighter and sweeter than the water from office cooler.

And for years, we have cursed and tried to enjoyed the taste of the 'brilliant' coffee from the machine. While some say the coffee machine was murdered, or by natural causes it died, while a great number maintain that it was

suicide.

But guess what? After examining the corpse of the machine, the Doctor Mechanic informed us that all this time, the coffee bags in the machine

were

plugged into

the tea powder.

======

I wonder, why does the coffee at my office taste funny. Like something died inside the coffee machine and I am drinking brown machine piss thickened and filtered through a dead thing's corpse. Maybe, today the coffee in your mug will taste a bit different.

And, for people in or out of love, tomorrow's story--"The Fuck"

Shadow-Walkers

We walk in the shadows. The world around us shrouded in the dark from aeons of sin that mankind has committed on Mother Earth. And in the darkness, we rip at the seams of the world that once used to be our hunting ground. Few souls remain now. And just two of us. Just me and Jodie are enough for killing all the humans and these worthless shits don't have a chance in heaven of getting us like they got the rest of our kind.

Right Jodie?

"…"

"Jodie?"

"Jo…"

-----------

Short and deadly. That's how we roll. Tomorrow, a coffee machine dies.

One down, six to go.

A Simple Announcement

This week, 6th to 12th October, we put the blog's name to test. It says A Story A Day. Everyday? Maybe not. But, let's do it for this one week. For old time's sake.

So, bring your friends, tell all you care to tell about, grab the RSS feed, bookmark us, just don't miss it. 

Right...as I realise I suck at making any kind of announcement, so I will put it down in simple terms. I am going to write seven stories, unrelated to each other, everyday on this blog for the next week. There. That is simple. First story in less than 24 hours. Be here or be the equal sided rectangular thigie.

See ya!

N

Fuck The Dog

The politician sucked on the big cigar with deep concern in his eyes. His brain involved in rapid calculations of how he could use the present Fucked up situation to his advantage. He looked out of the window and saw that his bull dog Fuck was still hunting the neighbor's rabbits and rabbit corpses were strewn across the lawn like a hurricane had mowed through them. 

Blood and white fur decorated the grass like a message of violent graffiti. Fuck was currently licking the brains of another dead rabbit whose skull it had crushed between its steel tipped teeth. From the rampage in the garden in was evident that the neighbors were going to be pissed as hell when they came back to see their herd of rabbits dead and fucked beyond any repair. 

The politician thought about various ramifications of Fuck's debauchery on the rabbits, the media were going to lap this up like hungry sharks in blood filled waters.

"Politician's Dog Mauls Innocent Rabbits"

One picture of dead rabbits with it and the cute factor was going to turn the tide of public support against him. He might lose the elections and he might have to put Fuck down as a casualty of war. He looked from his window at the little dog happily munching on the rabbits and his heart was filled with such a great emotions that his throat choked for a moment and tears made their way into his eyes from some woe-begotten place in his cold dark heart.

He remembered when he was just a child and he had let Fuck loose on a group of teenagers who had been teasing him at school. The doctors had to chop off the gangleader's leg* because Fuck wouldn't let go of it. And the time when Fuck had won him the election by chomping off the jugular of his opposing candidate. The memories were too many, the gratitude too much and the politician just could not think any harm coming to Fuck. He made a decision in his mind. It would take a bigger tragedy to avert any harm coming to Fuck. 

He got up, opened the secret compartment in the wall and took out the sniper rifle from its hiding position. This was the latest model with disintegrating bullets that left no trace.
He positioned the rifle by the window and waited for the neighbors to arrive. 

Down in the garden, Fuck chased another rabbit and chomped home on its head.

*After Fuck had already devoured his balls.

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That was Fuck-ed.

You can read a vodka fueled rant about Mohandas's Birthday at The Fucked Up blog. F-bombs rain in this post.

For those sensitive at heart and dealing with depressive, manaical state of mind, a Poem about being fucked up but alive. Not cuz life can fuck you more in that case, just happy to be alive types, click here to read.

Ah there, entertainment for deranged minds }:) Enjoy, tomorrow you might die.