randomized

I stand in this chilly night outside one of the busiest, hippest club in West End. The fog shifts in shifts. A wave after a wave, mixed with aromas of spices and smell of charred meat from the numerous kitchens nearby. Often, it gets mixed with a familiar smoke of tobacco from someone's cigarette. Someone who is out to light in the fresh air, like me. A red haired girl, with clothes far from suitable for this kind of a weather, steps out from the heavy double doors of the bar. She takes a deep breath and looks around for something. 'Oh, this can't be possible', I mumble, as soon as I see her. Surely co-incidences don't happen to such a degree. But she spots me and before I can turn around or attempt to walk away, she is already at my side. "Hey, you got a fag?" "Umm, yeah sure!" I take out one from my pack and hand it to her. Then I light it up. "Thanks," she says smiling.

“Are you sure you did not come into my shed last night?” I asked my sister Dana again on the third morning it had happened. Somebody moved my lantern in the night, again. Which meant that someone had been using my lantern, again. Which meant that someone entered my shed during the night, again. “Why would I? No!” “Someone moved my lantern again last night.” I said fixing her with a gaze. Her expression changed from an incredulous one to a straight face. “I have no interest in your lantern, or getting into that fowl shed of yours, even during the day, let alone at night.” She added that I ask someone who I should be asking. That she had more important things to do at night than moving lanterns, like sleeping.

Welcome to the third day of blog 'weak'. I hope you liked the last two posts, they made my blog quite happy. If you haven't read them yet, they can be found here and here .  I had been thinking of writing some fiction lately since 1. It's been a long time and 2. I really miss writing fiction. So today, while having a chat with dear friend and fellow blogger Ashna , I asked if she had any suggestions for the blog 'weak' and fiction and she had to say this, Write a 'flash fiction' story in 300 words. It should have this phrase: 'The noise made me jump out of my skin...'    It can either have a horror theme or something based on dreams.  which I thought was a very interesting idea indeed. So here I am, choosing the horror theme. Hope you enjoy.

This is the third part of the story. Find the first two parts here and here . The first 'here' points to the first part. ;) Note: This part is narrated from a third-person's point of view. Doing this from Joy's POV was my initial resolve, but it wasn't coming along as good as I wanted to, so I decided against it. This is a loooooooooooooooooong post. *** 'Let me help you!' 'No, I 'm good!! I'll ...just...have to...jump a...little...higher...ahhh.' 'You'll get hurt. And what if someone sees you jumping like this?' 'What of it?' 'You're a Princess!' 'Oh, all the... better...Nobody...will say...anything..."oh fishes"...to the...Princess.' 'Here! Take my knife. It'll be easier with it.' She waited out of pride, contemplating whether to take the knife or not, thinking she was definitely capable to do it by herself, but then she took the knife and thi...

The incident happened with Mr Pankhawala, the accountant,  many years ago when he was in his early thirties. He was travelling from Patna to Calcutta in a modest carriage of a modest train. Mr Pankhawala, who always chose the side chair/berth on his journeys, being the quiet  adventurer that he was, had acquired one that day too. He had slipped into sleep while he sat, elbow perched on the window-pane, palm supporting his slightly egg-shaped, clean shaven, long eared face that rocked with the hum-drum of the train, looking into the darkness outside, watching the endless stream of dark trees and dark fields and sometimes an occasional hut or canal pass by. Somewhere later that night he had woken up, unconsciously aware that the train had stopped, as one often does during railway trips and looked out of the window. The platform was of a tiny halt named Chholapur . 'Curse you, modest trains!', he had said in his head, still half-asleep. Looking at the stati...

                ' a cross between fiction and reality, related to personal life and its happenings ' In response to this prompt, rather a meme by Ashna Banga , this post gives an account of a horrific event of my life. Trust me, its really horrifying. © Ashna Banga