Mar 25, 2008

The Face

Wark had seen many weird things in his life, so he was not shocked a bit when he saw the face. It hung in the air, parallel to his face as he slept. Wark opened his eyes to look into a pair of ghostly eyes staring back at him.

He let out a breath of irritation and then waved his hand through the face. The apparition shimmered and flickered like a bad hologram in a cheap sci-fi movie and became stable like ripple after effect in a pond. Wark got up and the face hovered with him, now hanging above his head like a heavy stone, waiting to fall and crush his brain to pulp. Sleepy eyes and irritated by the intrusion in his life, Wark stepped into his small bathroom and picked up his toothbrush, as he started brushing his teeth he gave a good look to the face now hovering above his head.

The face looked like it was made of blue smoke, barely hanging together in the mortal air. It waved with the little air currents and swung back in its original shape like a spring. Blades of sunlight cut through the dark curtains in Wark's flat, through the lines in the face's ghost skin and through its eyes deep and sunken. Wark slowly brushed his teeth, keeping an eye on the face which was now looking at Wark with the intensity of a hungry dog.

Wark finished brushing his teeth, washed his face and wet his hair. The face watched it all. Wark walked back in his room and sat down on his bed. He fished his shoes from under his bed and took out the rolled socks from them. He smelled them, the pair smelled as pungent as yesterday. He calmly put on the socks, and then the shoes as the face stared on. He warmed up a little by jumping on the spot, did a few stretching exercises, working from his legs to his arms and then his neck. The face hovered on and looked at Wark going thorough the motions.

Finally, Wark turned, took a deep breath, screamed a scream of absolute, mad terrifying terror and ran like hell.

Might as well have good breath and shoes on your feet if you are running away from the supernatural.


I have not been visiting blogs, don't miss me too much. I'll be there, soon. Till then enjoy reading.

Mar 17, 2008

Banana Soul

Jorwak worked the knife and carved a piece of flesh from the palm of his right hand.

The wound immediately filled with blackish blood, he didn't even mutter a sigh. He took the small square of flesh and placed it in the center of the pentagram enclosed in the circle. Then, he placed his bloodied palm on the edge of the circle and muttered an incantation. A small red lightening bolt flashed inside the circle and struck the piece of Jorwak's flesh.

The offering was accepted and the summoning was successful.

Then, Jorwak started screaming. He cursed the stars and stone and everything living and dead. The wound in his palm hurt like a motherfucker and the effort of bottling up the scream for the past 30 seconds had turned his face red. He should have been careful with that knife.

"Stop being such a pansy girl." a voice shook Jorwak from his rage filled screams. He looked at the circle and saw a small demon in a business suit pacing around the lines of the pentagram.

"let's get to business kid, I don't have all night to answer flesh summons." the demon said.

The fact that Jorwak looked on the worse side of a hundred and sported a snow-white beard, did nothing to dissuade the demon from giving Jorwak a look one keeps aside for irritating children.

Jorwak composed himself and stifled another scream in his throat.

"I...I want bananas." he said, surprised at what he had just said.

More surprise came his way when he spoke the next words. "I want six bananas and I'm willing to give my soul for it."

"Allright, starlight." said the demon as he grinned and produced a small blood tester from his pocket. The demon touched the needle to the blood in the circumference of the circle, smiled at Jorwak and vanished with a small poof.

Jorwak stared at the six bananas left in the magical circle. He picked one up, peeled it and took one bite.

It tasted good.

Fuck writing good, fuck writing bad, let's just write. Right?

Mar 9, 2008

You, Me And Tea

Siftir dipped the biscuit in a cup of hot tea.

In out, repeat.

Strapped in his electric chair, Urgum watched her silently. His eyes fixed on the biscuit in Siftir's hand. His stomach grumbled and a spoonful of saliva coated the insides of his dry mouth. He swallowed it and almost coughed in the effort.

A smile curled up the corner of Siftir's mouth. She picked up the cup of tea with one hand, as her biscuit hand hovered on the surface of the scalding liquid. She brought the biscuit to her lips. Steam curled from the soggy piece and a drop of tea plopped back in the cup. A second later the biscuit broke slowly in half and like a glacier falling into the sea, it dropped in the cup of tea.

"Oops'' a sound escaped Siftir's lips and she crunched the remaining half of the biscuit in her mouth.

She took another sip of the sweet tea, put her hand on the lever that would bring the electric chair to life, and asked Urgum, "Any last wishes Kiddo?"
No story in the world is complete, can a short story be any different?
I hope none of you ever have to stay hungry or thirsty :]
I'm going slightly mad.
La la.
Where my biscuits?!

Mar 7, 2008

No Angels

The headphones felt warm and comforting over my ears.

I reached into my pocked and turned the volume up in my mp3 player. Dido began to sing a little louder than one second ago.

'no white flag, above my door'

oh no baby, I thought, no white flag.

'...go down with the ship...'
indeed you will, and so will I.

I walked through the aisle, looking at the passengers on both sides. Scared, pale faces stared back at me. I felt my mouth move but I could not hear my own words, I knew I was talking a bit loud, like headphone-d people do.

Same can be said true for people with 2 Kg TNT trapped on their bodies. One my two brothers was done with the praying and he tapped me on the shoulder that it was my turn.

I walked into the pilot's cabin and sat in the co-pilot's chair. I smiled at the pilot, his blood streaked face radiated hate at me like a dying sun. I sat there looking at the clouds and the cities standing tall far away.

Not for long.

I did not pray, just skipped to my next favorite song. The clock at my belt slowly ticked to blasting point.

Just enough time to squeeze in 'No Angel'.
A little bit of stereotypes, some Dido and well, inside jokes if you can read that deep in this story.
As for me, well, life is fucking me, not at the speed I'd like it to but I guess as long as I can keep writing stories it will all be ok.
Hope life is not fucking you!