A shriek, followed by a scream, and then a furious clawing. Teeth biting into skin, nails raking through soft flesh, droplets of blood, streaking a rose path. The slither of sweat-stained bodies, fingers wriggling into soft, wet crevices. His face, pressed against her, her legs, splayed over him. A shudder, that ran up the length of their bodies, a cry and then - release.
They fell apart, panting. And there, sprawled across the gleaming white ceramic tiles, legs tangled near the porcelain basin, fingers clutching the towel rail, they watched each other warily.
She was the first to get up, pushing back the sweaty, strands of hair. She viewed herself in the mirror, hanging over the sink, straightening her dress, pain-stakingly wiping away the errant smears of lipstick and mascara. And then, carefully stepping over him, she left.
He watched her leave, hips sashaying under her tight dress, stilletoes click-clacking across the tiles. Then slowly, he rose, tucked in his shirt, pulled up his trousers, smoothened his hair.
Outside, the party was at it's peak - a crescendo of noise - gossip, flirtation, music blaring through the odd silences in the midst of loud, raucous conversations. A fat man, with heavy jowls, passed him as he entered the garden, clapping him loudly on the back. "Great party isn't it?"
He nodded, caught a whiff of alcohol from the man's breath, and made his way across. He saw her, by the pool, next to a elderly grey-haired old man, her head bent to catch his words. He saw her elderly companion look up, notice him, watched the old, grey eyes narrow in disdain, long, elegant fingers grip her arm in a possessive way. And even from where he stood, he saw the gleam of gold between her fingers, a marriage band.
His cellphone rang, he reached for it. A girl's voice poured out - soft and seductive, slightly accusing.
"Where are you?"
"At the party of course." He laughed.
"Really? I've been looking for you all over!"
"I'm right here, by the pool."
There was a short silence. "Stay right there. I'll be over in a second."
He smiled, put the phone away, and grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, as a beautiful young girl made her way to him, her black halter-neck dress swirling as she reached up to kiss him.
She frowned though, smelling an unfamiliar scent about him. Something was amiss; a slight crease formed between her delicate, arched eyebrows, her eyes watchful. But a moment later, they were overwhelmed in a press of people - uncles, aunts, cousins.
"Congratulations, both of you!" An elderly aunt reached up, to pat his cheek, and pressed a gift into her hands. "Such a lovely couple."
When they were free, he noticed the other woman, still by the pool, watching them. "Who is she?" He asked his bride-to-be.
"My sister." She smiled, and pulled him along. "Come, meet her."
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
She dropped from a height of forty storeys. And as she spun down, through the air, past glittering windows and flowerpots - she thought, This isn't the way it happens it movies. It should be quicker.
She had thought that she would ram head first into the pavement, and her body - would be smeared across the pavement, bones and flesh turned into jam. She had imagined, with meticulous detail, the startled faces of the pedestrians, stunned to find a body hurtling towards them. She had imagined a young child, bursting into tears, hiding her face in her mother's skirts, while the mother turned deadly pale.
She had enjoyed it.
But now, she was worried - the normally busy intersection was bereft of people. No one would witness her self-slaughter.
Maybe I should have waited, she thought, until more people came out onto the street.
She sighed.
It was a bit too late.
She had thought that she would ram head first into the pavement, and her body - would be smeared across the pavement, bones and flesh turned into jam. She had imagined, with meticulous detail, the startled faces of the pedestrians, stunned to find a body hurtling towards them. She had imagined a young child, bursting into tears, hiding her face in her mother's skirts, while the mother turned deadly pale.
She had enjoyed it.
But now, she was worried - the normally busy intersection was bereft of people. No one would witness her self-slaughter.
Maybe I should have waited, she thought, until more people came out onto the street.
She sighed.
It was a bit too late.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Random Bad Story I wrote
A few days ago, as I walked home, I noticed a child in the playground. Nowadays, even during the day it is dark - as if some enormous beast has swallowed the sun, and I only dare venture out during the hour of noon, when the darkness fades into a grey haze. But yesterday, as I neared the playground, I could see that the swings have rusted, and the slides have crumbled to the ground. But there was a little girl, forlornly staring at a broken see-saw. She started to scratch the paint with her fingers, and even as I watched, a black shape hurried across the street, to the playground, a torch in hand.
It was a young woman. I could see relief break across her face, as she spotted the little girl. "Come," she cried out to the child, "I've been worried about you. You shouldn't be out, not when it's this dark."
"But it's always dark, mummy," the child asserted. "Where have all the other children gone, mummy?" The child asked, her voice plaintive now. "Where do they play?"
The woman gathered the child into her arms. They sat together, huddled on the platform of a rusted merry-go-round.
"Once upon a time," the woman crooned, the ritual words that began a story, "there was a sun and a moon. The sun was a bright, beautiful, shining thing. The moon was weaker - just a delicate, wan, fragile light. And, so what do you think happened?"
"The moon was jealous of the sun, because the sun was so much brighter," the girl exclaimed.
I stopped to listen, even though it was growing dark. The woman went on, her voice soft and crooning, and she told the child that the moon plotted with the stars to steal the sun's light, and the conspiracy of stars approached the Grand Sorcerer, the most powerful magician in the world. In his lab, he developed a darkness injection, which a comet, the brave child of another star, bore on his back and flew into the sun. The sun, felt a prick, just like a mosquito bite, and watched with horror as darkness began to spread across his bright, shining body.
"But how do we make the sun better?" The child asked.
The woman shook her head and drew her child closer. I walked away, feeling a slight tinge of disappointment. What could I have expected, I asked myself, a reason, an answer? But the truth is - no one knows why these strange black clouds rolled across the sky, and blotted out the sun.
But that was days ago. The power stations have stopped working, bereft of sun light, and our cities have begun a slow, unstoppable, descent into anarchy. Batteries are prized now, and so are matches and lighters - but in a few days, perhaps even a few hours, they will run out.
I reached my apartment and paused. At the end of the street, I can see a few youth, knives flashing in the light of a dying noonday sun, surrounding an old, aged woman. She reaches into her pockets and hand a few things over. There's a quick flash, and the youth move swiftly away, black shadows racing through the dark. The woman, crumples to the ground. I watch, horrified, and run over. Blood spills through her sari. In a matter of seconds, she grows cold.
Another casuality.
It is dark now, and I am safely sequestered in my apartment. The darkness is too much to bear. It is maddening. I stumble over a pile of books in my living room. Sitting on the floor, I finger pages and spines in the darkness. But it is too dark to read.
Once, there were many of us in htis building. Now, there are fewer left. My neighbour has disappeared in the last two days.
It has been what - five, six days - since the darkness came. At first, it was a time of companionship, we all drew closer together. We had lit all our candles the first evening, to banish the darkness. I shudder to think of that waste - now that I savour each match, each candle, each battery. But on the second day, depression has begin to set in. I remember some one saying that - "It is a great step for humanity, this darkness. It is a great gift. It frees. It resets civilization - makes us begin once again." He had laughed then, a manic laugh.
I hear the same laugh now. And I wonder if it is my imagination. But no, I hear it a second time, and - I also hear a rhythmic thump, comming from above, as if some one is dancing in the flat above me.
I am curious now, and I grope my way upstairs. The door to the apartment above me is open, and I push through. I hear the thumping, louder now. A light burns in the distance - a strange, jumping, dancing light. I come closer, and I see a man, a mad grin twisting his face. A lamp burns still, and as he dances around it - it throws macabre, shifting shadows on the walls. The man holds something in his arms, and as I come closer - I see it is a dead body, the body of a woman.
He begins to dance faster and faster, oblivious to my presence, spinning around the light. Shadows and light leap across the wall, and the strangeness of it all clutches at my heart. I feel scared. And then, I leave, creep back downstairs.
Later that night - or is it day? - there is a bright gleam in the horizon. It spreads quickly, and I realize that the eastern part of the city is in flames. It is horrible - but it is also beautiful. In the fire, I can make out tiny black figures darting about. I wonder if they are sane or mad. Does it matter?
Today, it is darker still. I know it is dangerous, but I must go out. I can barely make anything out, and at the end of my street - I see a strange squatting shadow. I come closer, and I see two men, hunched over the body of a wounded dog. The dog is alive, his eyes watch me, but he is bleeding. And even as I watch, the men reach into his torn body, and pull his intestines. They begin to eat. The dog tries to stir, but he is wounded, and the light fades from his eyes.
I run back, towards home, and retch. Nothing comes out, just saliva, and for hte first time in days - I realize that I am hungry. I look back at the men, eating a live dog, and for a second - I am tempted.
I count my matches - here are just three left now. The batteries are dead. In the kitchen, there is a can of kerosene - and for a moment, madness tempts me - to see everything, the whole room, go up in a flash of light. To have light. I start to cry.
I sit in the darkness. I feel like I am waiting - but what am I waiting for?
Sometimes in the dark, I see phantoms. People from my past, long dead, rising from the floor, reaching their hands - dead hands, with grotesquely elongated fingers, like the hands of figures in El Greco paintings. The fingers reach towards me, wrap around my neck. I feel cold, clammy, a sweat breaks out on my forehead. And suddenly they disappear. Pinpoints of heat explode across my body.
It is cold now. I go upstairs, to the terrace - and watch the dark sky. I have not talked to anyone in two days, I have not heard a human voice - except for the queer laugh of my mad neighbour. I stack my books in a pile, and douse the pile with kerosene. i use my last match to set it alight. Brightness explodes, and the brightness fills my eyes, banishes the dark. At least, the darkness is gone.
It is beautiful. And it is then that I know what i must do, before the fire dies. I walk into the fire, and my body explodes in pain. THe flames dance over my skin. The pain is immense.
But there is light.
It was a young woman. I could see relief break across her face, as she spotted the little girl. "Come," she cried out to the child, "I've been worried about you. You shouldn't be out, not when it's this dark."
"But it's always dark, mummy," the child asserted. "Where have all the other children gone, mummy?" The child asked, her voice plaintive now. "Where do they play?"
The woman gathered the child into her arms. They sat together, huddled on the platform of a rusted merry-go-round.
"Once upon a time," the woman crooned, the ritual words that began a story, "there was a sun and a moon. The sun was a bright, beautiful, shining thing. The moon was weaker - just a delicate, wan, fragile light. And, so what do you think happened?"
"The moon was jealous of the sun, because the sun was so much brighter," the girl exclaimed.
I stopped to listen, even though it was growing dark. The woman went on, her voice soft and crooning, and she told the child that the moon plotted with the stars to steal the sun's light, and the conspiracy of stars approached the Grand Sorcerer, the most powerful magician in the world. In his lab, he developed a darkness injection, which a comet, the brave child of another star, bore on his back and flew into the sun. The sun, felt a prick, just like a mosquito bite, and watched with horror as darkness began to spread across his bright, shining body.
"But how do we make the sun better?" The child asked.
The woman shook her head and drew her child closer. I walked away, feeling a slight tinge of disappointment. What could I have expected, I asked myself, a reason, an answer? But the truth is - no one knows why these strange black clouds rolled across the sky, and blotted out the sun.
But that was days ago. The power stations have stopped working, bereft of sun light, and our cities have begun a slow, unstoppable, descent into anarchy. Batteries are prized now, and so are matches and lighters - but in a few days, perhaps even a few hours, they will run out.
I reached my apartment and paused. At the end of the street, I can see a few youth, knives flashing in the light of a dying noonday sun, surrounding an old, aged woman. She reaches into her pockets and hand a few things over. There's a quick flash, and the youth move swiftly away, black shadows racing through the dark. The woman, crumples to the ground. I watch, horrified, and run over. Blood spills through her sari. In a matter of seconds, she grows cold.
Another casuality.
It is dark now, and I am safely sequestered in my apartment. The darkness is too much to bear. It is maddening. I stumble over a pile of books in my living room. Sitting on the floor, I finger pages and spines in the darkness. But it is too dark to read.
Once, there were many of us in htis building. Now, there are fewer left. My neighbour has disappeared in the last two days.
It has been what - five, six days - since the darkness came. At first, it was a time of companionship, we all drew closer together. We had lit all our candles the first evening, to banish the darkness. I shudder to think of that waste - now that I savour each match, each candle, each battery. But on the second day, depression has begin to set in. I remember some one saying that - "It is a great step for humanity, this darkness. It is a great gift. It frees. It resets civilization - makes us begin once again." He had laughed then, a manic laugh.
I hear the same laugh now. And I wonder if it is my imagination. But no, I hear it a second time, and - I also hear a rhythmic thump, comming from above, as if some one is dancing in the flat above me.
I am curious now, and I grope my way upstairs. The door to the apartment above me is open, and I push through. I hear the thumping, louder now. A light burns in the distance - a strange, jumping, dancing light. I come closer, and I see a man, a mad grin twisting his face. A lamp burns still, and as he dances around it - it throws macabre, shifting shadows on the walls. The man holds something in his arms, and as I come closer - I see it is a dead body, the body of a woman.
He begins to dance faster and faster, oblivious to my presence, spinning around the light. Shadows and light leap across the wall, and the strangeness of it all clutches at my heart. I feel scared. And then, I leave, creep back downstairs.
Later that night - or is it day? - there is a bright gleam in the horizon. It spreads quickly, and I realize that the eastern part of the city is in flames. It is horrible - but it is also beautiful. In the fire, I can make out tiny black figures darting about. I wonder if they are sane or mad. Does it matter?
Today, it is darker still. I know it is dangerous, but I must go out. I can barely make anything out, and at the end of my street - I see a strange squatting shadow. I come closer, and I see two men, hunched over the body of a wounded dog. The dog is alive, his eyes watch me, but he is bleeding. And even as I watch, the men reach into his torn body, and pull his intestines. They begin to eat. The dog tries to stir, but he is wounded, and the light fades from his eyes.
I run back, towards home, and retch. Nothing comes out, just saliva, and for hte first time in days - I realize that I am hungry. I look back at the men, eating a live dog, and for a second - I am tempted.
I count my matches - here are just three left now. The batteries are dead. In the kitchen, there is a can of kerosene - and for a moment, madness tempts me - to see everything, the whole room, go up in a flash of light. To have light. I start to cry.
I sit in the darkness. I feel like I am waiting - but what am I waiting for?
Sometimes in the dark, I see phantoms. People from my past, long dead, rising from the floor, reaching their hands - dead hands, with grotesquely elongated fingers, like the hands of figures in El Greco paintings. The fingers reach towards me, wrap around my neck. I feel cold, clammy, a sweat breaks out on my forehead. And suddenly they disappear. Pinpoints of heat explode across my body.
It is cold now. I go upstairs, to the terrace - and watch the dark sky. I have not talked to anyone in two days, I have not heard a human voice - except for the queer laugh of my mad neighbour. I stack my books in a pile, and douse the pile with kerosene. i use my last match to set it alight. Brightness explodes, and the brightness fills my eyes, banishes the dark. At least, the darkness is gone.
It is beautiful. And it is then that I know what i must do, before the fire dies. I walk into the fire, and my body explodes in pain. THe flames dance over my skin. The pain is immense.
But there is light.
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