Please Let Me Pee! – Flash Fiction Story

A small wooden figurine standing in front of a flush in peeing posture Reading Time: 2 minutes

‘Please let me pee!’

My words elicited no response. My full bladder was squealing like a pig about to be slaughtered.

Five minutes are a lot when you’re controlling the urge to urinate. I should’ve just emptied myself on the train. But the lateral motion was a turn off. It’s tough for me to go when there’s a perpetual sway.

So, I waited like a fool. And now feared to be standing in a yellow pool if the women at the door didn’t let me through. They just looked at me and shrugged their shoulders.

‘No English.’

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Rocky XOXO the Cobra – Short Story

A black and white image of a cobra sitting on a tiled floor Reading Time: 5 minutes

Ah! Schitz! Dang Dammo!

The man’s thumb had been in overdrive since ten in the morning. A day off meant lazy mornings, pots of black coffee, and too much time to spare. It was never enough just doing nothing, so Mel submitted to his part-time addiction, browsing the internet and stalking people on social media.

Mel, a small man, barely five-two, was a silent observer of the virtual world. Only breaking the quiet in his five-by-eight-foot room to bark his disdain, swearing at the screen and its damaging blue light.

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A Die-Hard Opportunist – Flash Fiction Story

A young man wearing glasses and peeking out from between two tall piles of books Reading Time: 2 minutes

My suede pants are suffocating my buttocks.

The chair’s leather padding ensures that the sweat in the seat of my trousers fuses my skin to the uncomfortable fabric. I try to wriggle my cheeks free, but squirming is unbecoming of me right now.

The main culprit, the reason for my discomfort, is seated across from me behind a gigantic mahogany wood table. His name is Cal Murthy, and he is the dean of the university I have always dreamed of attending.

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The Face On My Leg – Flash Fiction Story

A black and white image of a pair of woman's slender legs Reading Time: 2 minutes

There’s a man’s face on my leg. I’ve tried figuring out if it’s someone I know, but I fail to place the handsome features, or assign a name to the beautiful stranger. But he can’t be unknown to me if he’s positioned two inches below my knee.

It began three weeks ago. A slight itch turned into violent scratching, and my fingernails showed no sympathy to the reddening skin upon my slender limb. Morning, noon, evening, the itch had a mind of its own, and the reddening patch grew with equal ferocity.

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The Vegetable Vendor – Flash Fiction Story

An old Indian man with whit hair sitting and looking tired Reading Time: 2 minutes

He stood at the street corner, the rays from the light pole bathed the vegetables on his handcart in a sickly, yellow color. But there was no other place the vegetable vendor could stand. This was his designated spot. He had paid the local authority a pretty sum to hawk his vegetables every evening. The people from the community were well acquainted with the man and his green produce, and after five pm, his vegetable cart was the place to be.

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Helen Of Forks – Flash Fiction Story

Four stainless steel spoons crisscrossing in a square pattern against a black background Reading Time: 2 minutes

She should have been called ‘Helen of Forks’.

Why?

Her name is Helen. And she is the queen of forks.

It began with a curiosity for pointed objects at the naïve age of five. A girl with tight curls kept an eye out for sharp items. Her mother’s kitchen became a playground for her fascination.

Knives, scissors, toothpicks, and the blades of the food processor. But Helen’s predilection for forks remained unbeaten. A fork had not one but four pointed tines. It was the mother of all sharp creatures.

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Yellow Eyes Still Haunt Me – Flash Fiction Story

The close up of a human eye with a yellow tinted eyeball Reading Time: 2 minutes

The hands that cradle me are confident, protective. They lay me down gently. I relish the soft extravagance.

My body is new, fours days old, but my soul has been around for a while.

Centuries have gone by, and every time I return with a new plan, a thought over agenda.

Reincarnation.

The body recycles itself, yet the soul remains constant.

And in this new body I must justify my return, accomplish my sole purpose.

Revenge.

There is no mild way to say this. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

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My Lack Of Understanding – Flash Fiction Story

A black and white close up of a woman's eye with a tear rolling out Reading Time: 2 minutes

My mother sits by the window. She’s been stationed there for almost three months now.

It seems as if she’s waiting for an unknown visitor. Her eyes, glazed, crawl upon the glass, their vision limited by her sorrow.

Her husband, my father, passed away in his sleep. It was a death many would die for. Silent. Unassuming.

I want to ask her what she’s thinking but am unsure of myself.

The way the days are passing, she appears less like a person, more like a corpse.

She eats, sleeps, and breathes, but really nothing more than that.

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Yogic Pursuits – Flash Fiction Story

A pair of brown feet in brown sandals Reading Time: 2 minutes

Mansukh stood at the base of the mountain.

It was now or never.

The brown feet in his brown sandals hesitated. His shapely toes dug into the soft leather. This was hardly recommended footwear for a self-proclaimed ascetic.

Men who renounced the world, discarded all its comforts and pleasures. But Mansukh’s flat footedness rendered him an exception to the rule.

He cradled in his arms a round bundle. A few odd necessities for the arduous journey. Climbing a mountain was new to him. So he could be excused a few items of convenience.

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A Master Of Reverse Psychology – Flash Fiction Story

An abstract view of a woman's upper face in black and white Reading Time: 2 minutes

The tea has come to a boil. So has my temper.

The air is electric, one spark and the entire kitchen – BOOM!

He’s waiting for his first cup of the morning. I set it down in front of him, though pouring it down his pants seems a better option.

His fingers pinch the edges of the newspaper as I slide into my chair.

The hair on his hands stands erect, they rightly react to the static between us.

I can’t let him speak first. It’ll defeat my very purpose.

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