In the flattened top, she saw the bald bony forehead.
That little suzhi (loop) was the socket for the eye. The empty complimentary space invisibly completing itself to form the other eye place.
The curved bottom looked like the toothless lower jaw of a grinning face. She finished the upper jawline with her mind's ink.
The Tamil letter ஒ ("oh") always had reminded her of a skeleton head.
June 12, 2011
Short Story 25
The auto slowly crawls by the bus stop.
Enticing.
Slowly a metronome of its engines adds a beat.
My legs twitch.
The taillights wink at me. A ravishing red lights up the stagnant streak of water, still fresh from the evening's downpour. The beats turn into a hum. The tyres screech an operatic melody. The front tyre does a little jig inviting me for a dance.
My legs unconsciously begin to tap to its advances. The antennae of its radio nods and clicks its fingers, luring me.
I pause.
Resist one last time.
And then... succumb!
I jump into its plush arms. It takes me on a dizzying ride!
Enticing.
Slowly a metronome of its engines adds a beat.
My legs twitch.
The taillights wink at me. A ravishing red lights up the stagnant streak of water, still fresh from the evening's downpour. The beats turn into a hum. The tyres screech an operatic melody. The front tyre does a little jig inviting me for a dance.
My legs unconsciously begin to tap to its advances. The antennae of its radio nods and clicks its fingers, luring me.
I pause.
Resist one last time.
And then... succumb!
I jump into its plush arms. It takes me on a dizzying ride!
June 09, 2011
Short Story 24
“…Time goes by, people lie everything goes too fast.
Time went by, and then we died, and everything went too fast.”
Julie Delpy buzzed on in the background. She closed her music player and walked out to the balcony.
The clouds were painted gray. The kind of gray that hid rains in them for a long while, stalling so much, enough to make you decide not to take the umbrella, decide not to carry a Ziploc for your mobile or wear those all weather sandals.
The clouds seemed wistful. Like her.
She rewound those memories and played them again in her head. She wondered over how beautiful it was that dried flowers could be preserved. Just like her memories- fragile, but intact; almost crumbling but never quite; pale and mildly fragrant; and most of all intoxicating.
Intoxicating. When that word opened eyes in her head, the rain poured. At once in torrents. And in the patter she once again heard the song,
“You said our love was stronger than an ocean apart
Time goes by and people lie, and everything goes too fast.”
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