Jan 30, 2008

Who’s Sorry Now?

The old janitor watched silently as the couple walked into the building.

Everyone had left and he was about to close the doors but then he felt the comfortable weight of the bottle of Jack Daniels in his pocket. He saw the girl run inside and call to the boy who followed after her like an obedient student. He sighed, smiled and left the gate unlocked.

The schoolgirl ran into the darkness for she knew the place well. She knew the stairs would be just ahead and then left side on the first floor, the principal’s office.

“You have to catch me first, Alsendro.” she shouted from top of the stairs.

“You better run fast then!” the boy’s voice came closer as he climbed the stairs. He stopped at the top of the stairs and smelled the air, the scent of jasmine hung in the air like a guiding beacon, he turned left and started walking towards the closed door. The place reminded him of pencil sharpeners, erasers and the smell of new books.

Ahead, yellow light trickled from a door slightly open. A shadow moved through the sliver of light and Alsendro smiled. He reached that room and as he pushed the door open something fell on his head, startled for a second he realized that it was a piece of cloth. He turned it over in his hand. A skirt. A school girl’s skirt.

A movement caught his eye and he looked at the principal’s desk. The big chair slowly swiveled to face Alsendro. There she sat, with her hair pushed back into a tight bun, her eyes shielded by thick glasses, her shirt buttoned up to the collar and a wooden ruler in hand.

The rat of fear poked its head out of the hole in Alsendro’s head; it twitched its white whiskers, smelled the squalid stench of fear and quietly pissed itself.

“I…I’m…sorry.” Alsendro squeaked.

*SMACK* the ruler’s flat side hit the table.

“Sorry? Oh, you will be boy, you will be.” said the principal.


Only if we all had princi-pals like that. A principal with no principles. Ha.

Anyway a lot of changes are in store for the blog and in the next post we talk about google, SEO and Nothingman.

The job is going well just in case someone was wondering.


Jan 19, 2008

The Shaman's Call

*BUM BHUM BHUM BUM BHUM BUM BHUM* the crazy sound runs amok through the jungle.

The Shaman beats the drum of human skin like it was his enemy, which it was in an indirect sort of way. The beat resonates through the jungle calling to the blood of the whole tribe. Every hunter in the jungle tenses at the sound of the drum, it reverberates through their bodies like the sound of a thousand bees with their stingers poking in their brains. Every hunter knows the time is near and they must be as fast as possible now to hunt, kill and take back their prize to their homes.

In the next fifteen minutes the jungle is a frenzy of blood curdling yells and maniac shouts of the hunters. In their heads the pounding of the drums gets louder but now they know they can return, for each of them has had success in in the hunt and with the dead animals hung over their shoulders they return to their settlement.

The Shaman counts each man in, taking a portion of meat from each man's kill and ushers them into his small hut made of elephant skin.
The men sit on the ground, pushing and shoving each other to make space. The Shaman makes his entrance from the back of the hut and rolls a small trolley behind him. On the trolley sits a Sony Vaio Laptop. A collective sigh erupts from the men sitting on the ground.

The Shaman grins and presses Enter.

The men stare in an awed silence as the credits starts rolling, " In a galaxy far far away...."
I have decided that I'm not going to write with comments in mind, this is going to be  open sessions of whatever comes in my head. raw and unedited.
oh and in last post I said I'm dying, none of you fuckers noticed :[+]

Jan 16, 2008

Can Heaven?

The can of mountain dew sat silently on Krin's table. She tapped away on her laptop, ignoring the green black can filled with the  blood of the gods, salvation and eternal damnation wrapped in every gulp of that ichor waiting to be unleashed onto her soul and her body.

The can was getting impatient. It need attention. It need love. It needed to be opened, drunk and thrown in a bin for can heaven. Krin had more interest in facebooking her friends and sending messages on myspace. The can took it on itself to do something about it. So, it shook. The greenish-yellow liquid inside it sloshed against the walls of the can and it shook some more. Krin still ignored it. The shaking took form of an insistent vibration.

The can got Krin's attention this time, something flipped in her head and she screamed.

"Fuck." thought the can.

Krin picked up the can and threw it out of her window, it fell on the road outside, broke open and started to bleed on the road. Then Krin messaged all her friends on facebook and myspace that she has been assaulted by a demonic can of mountain dew from outer space.
She wrote about it on her blog and the post was dugg and made famous within 2 hours and 15 minutes.

The can sat in Can Heaven and muttered, "fuck."

Funny? I don't think so.
The laziness to write is not going away. *yawn*
I think I'm dying.

Jan 12, 2008

Love Like Satellites.

The sky wore a shade of pink too gay to be called cool.

The sun sat in the chair of horizon, lazily wetting his feet in the water of the shores. A boy and a girl walked hand in hand on the beach. In the wet sand, their footprints left a trail like the path of some hideous alien being from outer space, who arrived on this planet to make slaves of the rat population and give wings to monkeys.

The couple were very much in love. She wanted to marry him someday and have half of what he owned and he pictured her tied in silk handkerchiefs to the posts of his bed as he wore the leather costume and prepared the feathers.

But as we know they were in Love.

Across the beach a dog sat by the feet of his master, who busily tapped away on his laptop, hacking into satellites, while the dog lazily looked up at him , "take me for a walk please" etched in the dog's face. The boy's fingers danced a drunken tap-dance on the keyboard, sweat covered his face as he sipped from the can of Mountain Dew on this table [while typing with one hand].

A smile slowly crept on his tension streaked features, it mutated into a grin and the boy broke in a maniac laugh as he raised his finger like the hammer of Thor and brought it down on the key marked Enter.

A satellite up in space begin its journey down to Earth's atmosphere. Its destination co-ordinates [recently hacked into it], a couple walking hand in hand on a beach.
I've been lazy.

Not anymore.

Jan 8, 2008

The King And His Men--2

Zakhwaaz fell in the muddy water with a mighty splash. The sword slipped out of his hand and he scrambled in the wet dark pit looking for it. His hands came out full of mud and slime. A slow growl behind him gently knocked on the door of his perception for attention. Unwillingly he turned. One shining eye stared at him from the darkness, it pulsed red and golden, a wicked Z of a pupil seemed to eat away at the light the eye as it shone with its own weird light.

Zakhwaaz sighed and said, "Look, anyway we can settle this peacefully?"

An unfriendly growl tore through the darkness.

"Oh come on now," he hefted the weight of the club in his hand, "I don't want to kill you anymore than you want to eat me."

The beast came forward and a sliver of moonlight shone on the sword dug in its back, the blood shone a phosphorescent green as the moonlight touched the wound. The animal looked as if made by a confused God on a Monday morning and in a terribly bad mood.
Sharp spikes stuck out of its spine, its hide dirty by the mud and the slime of the pit, the teeth on its lower jaw protruded through its upper lip making a permanent gash there. It coughed once and spat out a skull polished clean of all traces of flesh.

"Guess I'll have to take my words back, eh." Zaakhwaaz smiled. The beast growled and jumped. Zaakhwaaz closed his eyes swung the club with all his might. He hit the thing and simply repeated the motion till the body being assaulted by his bat was just chunks of phosphorescent flesh. He looked at his hands and they shone in the dark, he looked at the rest of himself, he shone a walking light stick. He walked forward into the darkness into the cave of the animal. His own body showed him the path. He sidestepped the traps and the poisoned spears stuck at random in the walls of the cave and reached the far end, a door loomed back at him.

He knocked, once, twice and once. The Chief opened the door from the other side and grinned at Zaakwaaz who punched him in the face, knocking out four of his yellow teeth. He then went up to the top of the mountain through a stair dug into the side of the mountain. He reached the top where a throne awaited him. He settled comfortably into the big chair. The moon hung like a scythe's blade over his head. The crowd had gone home. The ground was littered with broken bottles and discarded eatables.

Zaakhwaaz tore a cloth from the back of his throne and started to clean his hands.

I was listening to a song by Marilyn Manson, a line went, "They love you when you are on the covers, when they're not then they love another." One thing led to another and there is this story. I wanted to finish it in one line with the dude falling in the pit and dying, but making beasts out of imagination is too fun an exercise not to do.

Hope you all had fun reading.

Next, I need to ask things from my readers, that is You in case you were wondering. Tomorrow then!

Jan 7, 2008

The King And His Men--1

Zakhwaaz stared into the pit, a tinkle of moonlight played on the bones of the fallen in the pit. He sighed and stared at the chief.

"Baagh baak Baa brsts braa bet [#] ?" [# Are you sure the Great Book says I have to go in there?] he asked
[*For reader ease, the further story shall be translated from the language of the BaakBaaks in readable English]

The chief grinned a yellow toothed smile which said that there was no other way for Zakhwaaz than to go in the pit. "Fuck It" said Zakhwaaz and reached for his leather bag on the lip of the pit. The tribe of BaakBaaks had gathered at the foot of the mountain to see the holy spectacle, the old women carried the young ones while the nubile women of the tribe dressed up in their best in case Zaakwaaz managed to get out alive. Few of the girls were dressed optimistically rest of them just came for the bloodbath. They all cheered in a wave of fake delight as Zaakwaaz turned to face them all from the top of the pit. He held a long heavy blade in one hand and a club made of stone in the other. He raised them both above his head in shape of a cross and yelled, "Fuck you all! Fuck you for coming here to watch this stupid entertainment, Fuck you for taking part in this archaic ritual, Fuck you for being assholes of the worst kinds that I might rule in the future shall I come out alive tonight."

The crowd erupted in a bout of merriment, few drunken men attempted a Mexican wave but fell all over themselves in the failed effort. The chief poked Zaakwaaz in the small of his back, he grinned his grin again and a wave of bad breath assaulted his face. He raised a finger to the chief and jumped in the pit.
Good Enough for today, next and last part tomorrow.

Jan 4, 2008

The Hook Of Love

A teardrop of blood dropped from the severed head. A thin wire of blood trailed it, like a baby with an umbilical cord not wanting to be razored off and brought into the cruel world. The hook from which it dropped looked down and smiled a hooked smile.

He was happy. The reason for hook's happiness was the head of a pretty girl that hung on it today. With the almost zen expression on her face, a little bit spoiled by the other end of hook sticking out of the top of her skull, she looked animated, well, almost.

The stale wind that blew in the meat-house fanned a strand from hair of the head and it wrapped itself on the cold steel of the hook. The hook shivered and sighed like a boy on his first date with a girl in a dark theater. The anticipation of things to come sent a shivers of delight up and down his spine like electric yoyos. His molecules spun faster and faster in their orbits as the protons collected their charges together to give the hook some more positive vibes and courage.

He wanted to be as positive about the whole scenario as he could. Whatever guts that had hung on the hook for the past few months, hook tried to remember them all and looked at the pretty blue eyes of the girl, one eye in fact, an empty hole stared back at hook where the other eye was supposed to be.

Finally, he took a deep breath, looked in the single deep blue eye and said, "Hi there, nice weather no?"

The head never replied.

Now don't say I don't write love stories!

Carrying on the mood :)

Old timers, keep yer pieholes shut :D