Friday, 10 August 2012

Twisters 26 - 50

He looks at his watch. Two O'clock. Why am I not sleepy, he mumbles. He has to get up early. I don't like the concept of time, he said.

The bar played a song. They both used to sing this together. Been 3 years, the song's not off the charts. He couldn't finish the drink.

She made him steak. From behind her, he whispered, you looking gorgeous. She took it as a sign. Removed her shirt. He gobbled up the steak.

He refused to eat the pie she made. Too bland, he said. She turned down the wine he got. Too cheap for my tastes, she said. They made love.

His book is still kept among the bestsellers. He can see people waiting in queue for that. He smiles. His breakup is getting him money now.

Once, an apple of eye, she turned into a lemon. Squirting the sour juice of jealousy in his eyes. I once loved her, he thought. Not anymore.

I don't look good in this", she said. "You look gorgeous, as always", he said. She was happy. His love had replaced her anti depressants.

He took a bite. The burger was stale. He saw a beggar. "Nah! I'll rather give it to those starving Africans." On the way, he ate it all.

Everytime she clicked a poor man in torn clothes, the old man smiled for the camera. The photgrapher won accolades. The old man, his bidi.

The burnt part of steak was always fed by him to his dog. It was a ritual. Every night, the dog writes in his blog, "Asshole burnt it again"

No missed call. No mail either. The door bell didn't ring the whole day. He looked at his dog. "Looks like, it's you & me again for dinner"

The kid had his eyes on a small car. He wanted his dad to buy that. The rich dad bought a Phantom. Kid still has his eyes on that cheap car.

He got her a bouquet of flowers. She threw them out of the window. A kid picked them up. 50 flowers, for 50 girls, he thought, smiling.

He had this fantasy of trying girls' clothes. Got a chance one day. Came out traumatised. Her bra fit him properly. He signed up for gym.

The money bought him the bouquet, not the acceptance from her. The flowers are still there, in a gold vase, mocking the poor rich.

All he needed was a pen, a diary, and the memories of their past. With every word, every tear, someone was making money.

She picked the bestseller from the stand. Halfway through the book, the story sounded familiar. She won't need to read any further now.

Falling in love with his muse for the novel, was his biggest mistake. Little did he know, she was writing her own story. He was the muse now

Among the many words that made some sense to him, he found a page full of gibberish words. He knew, his glass was empty, and needed a refill

With every sip of scotch, the words made more meaning to him. But it was a love story. Dark. Bitter. He knew he should have chosen a beer.

He looks at the photo she posted, with her new partner. "Still strikes the same pose", he said. And then he sees the guy's hand on her waist

He broke the glass in his hand. There was scotch on the floor. There was blood too. And some glass pieces, shining in glory, bright red.

In the middle of the night, he wakes up. He wakes up again and again, every night. "Why can't they invent a log out button for memories?"

His book had an incomplete ending. Readers were trying to figure out the possible end. The torn page from the manuscript was in his pocket.

The fat cat was being hunted, for she spilled the milk. "They think they can kill me!", she said, while feasting on those poisoned rats.

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