Posted in Prose, Stories

Death Sweet Death

Trigger Warning/Disclaimer: mentions of death and suicide; also note that these are just passive thoughts.

Valerie Scarlett Cassandra was found dead on 28th February at the crack of dawn in her room, the only place that was familiar with all her inner demons. She had slit her wrists the previous night, for reasons inexplicable to others and somewhat even to her. All she could fathom was that she had lost the will to carry forward in life. She had no energy to carry out the most basic chores, including braiding her hair, brushing her teeth or even making her bed, let alone indulging in her interests of baking treats for her beloved ones, picking up a children’s classic to unfold layers of her distorted life or summarizing her thoughts with all the fanciest words she could find. But, just before she chose to end her life, she somehow found just the right amount of strength to grant herself all her desires one last time. A few hours before she passed away, the 27-year-old treated herself to a full English breakfast with some tea to go with it, and spent the rest of her day writing poetry, and even dolled up a bit in a fluttered-sleeve top, which she paired with a half-circle skirt and pranced around like she lived on a prairie. Some would say she celebrated her end.
It wasn’t until late evening that she decided to wrap up her life, but not without finishing her tasks — she made her room look all pretty with gingham bedsheets and vintage-inspired curtains, cleared her desk of scattered notes, and removed all the cobwebs and specs of dust that somehow mocked her very being. On entering her heavenly abode, one would see some fresh yellow and peach blooms entangled with a few stems of baby’s breaths, a bookshelf full of intellect, a collection of cameras that captured both staged and mundane seconds, and on further inspection – her drained body and soul with her lower limbs akimbo.
Tears and regrets lasted only a day, and everyone carried on as usual. The birds still sang in chorus, the fruits of spring hit the newly-tarred roads, people moved on like they would after a movie ended, and that is exactly what she wanted too. What she did wasn’t a cry for help, but a sign of being able to let go of worldly things.
If only it was easy to comprehend the paradox in feeling numb, this obituary would not sound morbid.

Posted in Prose, Stories

Water Bodies (Part 1)

It was that time of the day again – night. The security guard’s whistling sessions were creeping me out more than I already was; the dogs were howling in chorus, allowing my heartbeat to synchronise with it; and finally, there was the ticking of the clock that was growing more and more prominent with each passing second.
I had come off to a place where no one could question me, no one could judge me and no one could dictate me. If my being alone is what everyone else wants, so be it! And as I said this, I pulled out all the elements from my body, one by one.
My shadow was the first one to leave, and honestly, this action didn’t even surprise me. I then lay my mind and heart on the ground, and they began quarrelling while walking hand in hand. Then, it was my soul’s turn. It acted a bit reluctant at first, but it gave up as I applied more force. It stretched out of my body and wandered around the stars, not knowing what to do next. My conscience tried to talk some sense into me, but I shushed it and let it dissolve in the atmosphere.
The street lights conked off, foreshadowing a series of events. A few bubbles appeared and danced around me as if I were the supreme light, but in reality, I was just a target of their crystal ball like properties. I knew they were teasers for my upcoming plight or rather additions to the current one.
I tried to prick the first bubble – the texture of which felt gooey – with my index finger, but it pulled me into a different world; one with an ideal starry night at a seaside, bearing just the right amount of darkness and the right amount of sparkle. But then again I knew, this scenery wasn’t as pristine as it looked. 

A quarter part of my body watched over the gentle sea that balanced both its soothing self and its rage admirably, while my soles attempted to prove their obstinacy by halting their movement. They started longing for an outrageous wish, of transforming the ever beautiful sand dunes into quicksand. And this desire, to my astonishment, crawled into my veins like an epidemic. I witnessed it come alive as the perfect blend of oatmeal and gold vanished and a swamp came into existence.
The adamant marshland tried to swallow me up, but a sudden downpour lent me assistance in standing back up. It transported me to a distant place and it occurred to me that the conniving droplets were saving me for themselves. Luckily, I was able to locate a safe spot, just enough to protect me from the merciless raindrops. I waited for the shower to subside and so it does. I extended my hand out in the form of a cup to be sure of its departure and subsequently pulled my limbs out of the shade and started walking towards nowhere. However, the coast remained clear only for a while as I met the torrent of water halfway with no place to run or to hide. I decided that I am not up for a battle and fled from the scene, letting the raindrops smack me as they pleased. Maybe giving in was showing cowardice on my part, but I did not feel like I was in a position to justify my actions, even to myself. And I did not need to either, with my conscience being gone.
I ran and ran only to be drenched by another water body again- my sweat. The muggy atmosphere caused it to stick to my skin. I paused for a moment to regain my breath, but all the sweat seemed to drain me. My mouth felt dry. I did not feel thirsty in particular, yet…

To be continued…

Washing emotions away
(Picture credits: Sara Herranz)
Posted in Prose, Stories

The bee, the butterfly and the blossom

Dawn had just begun sprinkling her fairy dust on our homeland, and it clearly meant another day of struggle for me. To others what I experienced was just another natural phenomena, but to me, it was something greater; something worth pondering over.
Being a flower meant I had certain responsibilities to fulfil, and catering to other’s needs was one of them or maybe all of them. Either way, I had to please everyone just by being present; be it for early morning strollers or for a canine’s claim for territory.
My usual contemplation was often interrupted by the butterfly’s noiseless arrival. The fluttering of her wings was as subtle as one’s blinking of eyes while the patterns on it were so detailed and symmetrical, that her body seemed like a fine piece of tapestry. Like a pair of scissors, she would fold her wings, with the exception of slicing the winds into a scented breeze. Using the word ‘scissors’ or any other pointed object for that matter and her name in the same sentence could have been morally incorrect and visually disturbing, but that’s what helped in creating a juxtaposition with her dainty self.
Young girls saw her as another ‘pretty thing’ nature had to offer and they frequently set out to chase her. They, however, remained oblivious to the fact that she was swift in her movements. Perhaps the human species used her as a metaphor not because she was a universal emblem of love but because this was the closest they could get to her. And honestly, who could have even guessed that she was once tightly wrapped in a silken covering and even before that was locked to the ground?
Just when I would attempt to give her a description better than that of ‘The Mill on the Floss,’ she would come and perch herself gently on one of my petals. As a reflex, my petals would stretch out further and form a curve in a manner that would allow her to fit snugly. Not to sound vain, but when she landed on me, it felt like she was adding to my beauty. The motifs on her front fell perfectly in sync with my artistic structure. Together we made a lovely pair of one charming being atop the other.
She was certainly one pleasant soul, and the nectar she collected appeared bland in front of her as it was I who would end up relishing on her sweet aftertaste once she made her departure.
It was only a matter of minutes before my busy afternoons were put to a halt by one busy creature herself. Her stinger was always upright like some high-headed noble and probably too sharp for others to notice her mellow and grounded side. One could say that she was the epitome of ‘Pride’ but at the same time subject to ‘Prejudice.’ She was, of course, impulsive and blatant in her conduct and in many cases, these traits overpowered her. For instance, if a passer-by would trace my ends out of affection, she would be quick to charge at him or her. In her defence, she was just being on the lookout for me. In fact, she was that one spirit who in spite of being reckless could induce the right notions in my mind.
Furthermore, her sipping on my nectar left me with a tingling sensation- something moderate yet extreme; something more balanced. Nothing could have been more proper and well in place than this.
Could I have been any luckier?
One let me experience unfamiliar senses, the other made me more sensible.
One followed the laws of nature, the other justified it as well.
One was magical, the other mystical.

But as soon as I would summarise a comparison between the two, dusk would make it dawn on me- that they were possibly an ideal match, and I was unknowingly providing them with a potion that would let their saga blossom.

One true pairing
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)
Posted in Short Stories, Stories

Just once more (Part 2)

She opened the door with the most spectacular smile pasted on her lovely face. Her wet ringlets nuzzled her shoulders, while her body-con dress hugged her supple skin. She wrapped me in her embrace, letting her perfume spray onto my shirt. She then took my hand and ushered me into her house.
“Why don’t you freshen up while I prepare dinner? You probably had a long day!” She suggested while readjusting her place.
I responded with a smile and headed towards the washroom with my clothes. The tiring day was worth the soothing shower. It took me quite a while to realise that I was putting in extra efforts to groom my body.
The aroma of all my favourite dishes hit me as soon as I stepped out.
“Oh! That was quick. Come sit down. I will serve you.”
She took the seat that was diagonal to me and then tried to engage me in small talk. She asked me about my day, the people I talked to and everything else she could think of.
Maybe she was just as nervous as I was. I dusted that thought at once and shifted my attention to the remaining portion on my plate.
‘Just one spoon left now. Then she’s all yours.’ The devil inside me was now lurking around. However, I managed to cover it with an overly sweet mask. I took charge of clearing the table and volunteered to help with the dishes as well.
Once everything was done, she suddenly got this urge to dance with me. I also gave into her odd request, owing to the fact that the music she had selected was pretty sensual.
‘Relax dude. You’ll get to lay your hands on her skin sooner this way,’ I assured myself while swaying her around the room. But amidst all of that movement, I found myself stuck there in the moment. I was enjoying it.
I let her spin again, but she didn’t return to me this time. Instead, she proceeded towards the bathroom, leaving me with wild guesses. Without giving it a second thought, I entered her bedroom and yanked my t-shirt.
I sprawled on her bed and awaited her presence next to me.
My waiting came to an abrupt halt as she climbed onto the bed and threw her arms around me.
But something felt odd. We weren’t skin to skin. Something was obstructing our friction.
It was her clothes- a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants; to be more accurate. While I was trying to process the reason as to why she had her clothes on, she buried her face beside my chest. I couldn’t tame my heartbeats, but her eyelids managed to catch up to its rhythm as if it were some sort of lullaby.
Now we were just lying. Lying together. In total darkness, but with kindling souls. Perhaps only God knew the science behind our blaring yet resting bodies.
All I could comprehend was that my days would always end with wanting to sleep with her again. And again.

“And folks, that’s how she turned into my ex-girlfriend,” I concluded while raising a toast with one hand and claiming her with the other.


(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)
Posted in Short Stories, Stories

Just once more (Part 1)

When it came to flirting with girls, I was never behind in the race. I would usually engage in healthy and casual chats. None of my previous girlfriends approved of this behaviour of mine and of course, it was reasonable from their perspective. It’s not like they were winter girlfriends to me. I pretty much felt that they would last. My intention was never to hurt them or appear disloyal, as I did put in efforts to maintain those relationships. However, all my attempts would go in vain. They all left me, but that didn’t put a stop to what I enjoyed doing. Not even when I met a gullible and feeble girl, who felt everything with depth, that the person in front of her would melt down completely. I was a somewhat exception to this aura of hers, and somewhere I felt that in the end, she would turn out to be another future ex-girlfriend of mine.
She was well acquainted with my playful nature and seldom complained about the same. From what I can recall, she did touch the topic once briefly, and after noticing that I brushed it off, she chose to stay quiet.
She had more or less realised that it was a part of who I was. We had lasted for about four years. But everything came to a stop when my folks felt that I should settle down, but not with that girl. It was her docile nature that was working against her.
I agreed to their wish, but what bothered me was breaking the news to her. Her heart was too delicate to listen to something of this sort. I loved her immensely, but I couldn’t put her above my family.
A week later I decided to update her with what was going on, on my side. She didn’t accept it at first, but when it finally sunk in her head, she started sobbing. I touched her shoulder as a gesture to pacify her, but she twitched, letting my hand hover in the air. After about five minutes of having a breakdown she wiped her face thoroughly and cleared her throat and proceeded to say something.
“Okay. I won’t force you to marry me, but can I ask one small thing from you?”
“Of course. What is it?” I replied with the most laid back tone.
“Umm, will you sleep with me just once?”
I was startled by her request, as it wasn’t something that she would want to get herself into. Maybe she just wasn’t in her senses due to my decision. So I decided to do a quick recheck.
“You mean like a one night stand?”
“Yeah.” She responded with an expressionless face.
I again asked her if she was sure, to which she simply nodded.
“Okay then. As you wish.”
We quickly planned out the day and timings and everything else that was required for us to be together for that one night. It was scheduled for the next evening at her place.
The day at the office seemed longer than usual, and when the clock finally struck 5, I didn’t waste even a second in any other errand. I grabbed my car keys, my laptop bag and another bag that contained the rest of my belongings while experiencing an adrenaline rush.
My heart resisted calming down even as I approached the porch. I rang the doorbell, and that alone was enough to increase my anxiousness.
The air felt scented; the sun smiled; the dried leaves added to the mysterious commotion- all in awe of her appearance.

<To be continued...>

couple and love image
Sleep with me
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)
Posted in Short Stories, Stories

Jane and Alaska

Jane was busy doing a blog tour to find some inspiration from a fellow blogger. She had done such tours before, but always failed in finding a blog that was similar to her niche- a creative blog. And when she would succeed in doing so, the blog author would be on a hiatus or would’ve shifted from the blogosphere.
However, that day turned out to be her lucky day! She stumbled upon something really unique- an igloo on a beach! Her blog’s lucidity and breathtaking photographs got Jane hooked to it.
Jane instantly felt connected to its author and decided to initiate a chat with its owner; a trendy eskimo named Alaska.
Now any visitor of such a beautiful site would’ve found the owner easy to talk to and fairly approachable and Jane also concluded the same. After a few months of discovering that same blog, Jane attempted to strike a conversation with Alaska on of her blog posts.
Alaska seemed natural, but somewhere Jane felt that that she wasn’t that interested in speaking to her. Or maybe her trait of not being able to make friends came in the way of an almost blossoming friendship. Jane didn’t give up though. She still continued being her genuine self and made efforts to come in her notice.
Alaska would text her once in awhile and then disappear into her shell. She would say she’s busy, but deep down Jane felt that maybe she wasn’t worthy enough to be a friend to Alaska.
This exchange of messages went on for about ten months, and on one particular day their talks didn’t seem to end. It went on and on, and much to Jane’s surprise, Alaska gave her email address, so they could contact more frequently and conveniently. At that moment, Jane felt delighted that someone had put enough faith in her to give away such details.
Alaska was young and full of life, and some of her positivity rubbed off on her. It made Jane realise that someone younger could definitely be wiser, and provide one with a valuable lesson of life.
Their path of friendship sought quite a few phases like keeping in touch, building trust and eventually confiding in each other. They came across nearly every possible topic to discuss on, and even now they don’t run out of any!
With just a matter of time and a sincere struggle to create a bond, Jane had finally located her Alaska.


Happy birthday, Ragini!

Posted in Short Stories, Stories

Retold for Waliyha (Part 3)

“I…I…ran away. I am lost, betrayed,” she said peeping over the lady’s shoulder, “and hungry.” Waliyha fumbled as she started her explanation, but then blurted the rest out in a rush. After a few minutes, she realised that she had given away her dignity along with her story. The woman in front of her, in spite of being old and poor now had the power to label her.
However, when the lady grabbed her into a hug, every nerve of her brain remained perplexed. She took Waliyha inside and treated her as if she was her own child. She served her with whatever she had and made sure that she drank the whole glass of water.
Being from a small household, the lady had to seek permission from her man to let Waliyha stay in their house for some time. The man didn’t show any trace of objection, but when Waliyha stated that her parents had strong connections, the couple got a little worried, for the whole matter would definitely involve the police. And at the back of her mind, even Waliyha knew that her plan would have backfired and the police would be on the lookout for her.
Waliyha felt guilty seeing them tensed, and out of that guilt constructed another lie. She gave them a false address, and without questioning her much, they dropped her off there, not knowing that Waliyha was leading herself up the garden path!
Waliyha looked on, as the couple proceeded towards their home, and as soon as they were out of sight, she took an about turn, and made herself get lost in the town. She walked in circles, trying to find herself in all that chaos. Just then, a taxi driver pulled in front of her, assuming that she needed a ride. At first, she thought of asking him to drop her at the sea, but then she changed her mind by reviving some hope. By now the bunch of cash had turned into a few noisy coins. So, she asked him the directions to the nearest PCO.
He didn’t pick up.
‘Well that was obvious,’ She tried to reason with herself.
As she continued to walk, she felt someone follow her. She felt it was just her imagination, but when she felt a tap on her shoulder she began weeping, as a result of her reflexes going all haywire. She turned around and saw that it was a boy, but it wasn’t him.
“You’ve run away from home, right?” He asked exactly what was obvious to him.
“What’s it to you? Mind your own business!” Waliyha rebuked at him.
He didn’t take her bitter words too seriously, and said, “I have some work for you.”
Waliyha looked up with a spark in her eye, but swiftly looked down, realising his intentions.
She ran from that spot, and found herself in front of a school. She begged the guard to let her in.
He noted that she was about to pass out, and then agreed to keep her in. He took her to the servant’s quarter, gave her a glass of water and an apple that he had bought for himself, and told her that the principal would come and talk to her in a few minutes.
Later, a lady entered that room, leaving Waliyha surprised. It was her aunt, and only her aunt who had come to pick her up. She presumed that her parents had disowned her.
Waliyha and her aunt both cried a puddle of tears as they gazed at each other.
Her aunt accompanied her till her doorway, and then let her face the consequences by herself. Waliyha stared at her parent’s feet, while walking in with baby steps. But her dad ran towards her and held her in his arms, without speaking a word. Her mother also burst out in tears, with a billion emotions filling her heart.
They didn’t question her, but the police had to do their duty. They began their interrogation, but Waliyha didn’t have the heart to get the boy in trouble, even after knowing that she had been blamed for the whole matter. What bothered her was his motives. She just wanted an answer as to why he did what he did. But she couldn’t, as now her phone was being tracked every moment.
Today, all her parents want from her is that she should be able to stand on her feet, with her head held high.
A random stranger’s door had opened for her, the door she had locked, still welcomed her with open arms, and moreover, she had unlocked the door of her parent’s hearts.

*This was based on a true story. Names and other information were altered for privacy reasons.

Now an open book
(Picture credits: Unknown; found on We heart it)
Posted in Short Stories, Stories

Retold for Waliyha (Part 2)

The note

Waliyha waited, waited and simply waited. She was certain that he would come to receive her. But, what toggled with her mind was the fact that her mother would panic on not finding her and would subsequently begin searching for her.
Her brain was quick to come up with a plan to stop that from happening. She fished out a pen from her bag while clutching onto her mobile with her free hand and then shoved her bag behind the bushes, taking care to make it as undetectable as possible. Then, she sprinted through several dark alleys that happened to be a shortcut to her home. Her mother was still oblivious of her whereabouts, as the lights were still off. The only thing that surprised her was her Dad’s car parked in the driveway. Maybe he had arrived just to go back to another foreign trip. She swiftly bolted the door, and then looked around for a scrap of paper. Once she found a doable piece, she scribbled down a message that read out her not wanting to be found or contacted.
She took a long sigh, tossed the note through the window of the dining area and made a beeline for the park. She kept a slow pace while going back, as her mind was at ease. In fact she was so relaxed that when she reached, her upper lashes fell gently over lower ones, lulling her to sleep. Her body was exhausted from all the inner commotion, but felt light like a feather. Soon enough, Waliyha was in a dream world, full of flowers, meadows and hearts.
Meanwhile, Waliyha’s mother got a typical womanly intuition that something was wrong. She got off her bed, and proceeded to check on her daughter for a change.
Little did she know that this move of hers would have a negative outcome. Waliyha’s absence shattered her completely. Her heart sunk, and so did the lower part of her body. She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to control a vomit of tears. Panicking wasn’t the solution, and it took Waliyha’s mother quite a few minutes to realise that. She alerted Waliyha’s father about the same. Contrary to her reaction, Waliyha’s father chose to maintain his calm. He thought she would have been at a friend’s place. But then his eyes caught the crumpled up note left by Waliyha. He tried his best to keep his calm even at this point and look for solutions. However, when they headed to do the needful, they realised that they had been locked in.
It was five in the morning, when Waliyha’s parents had received some help. At the same time, the morning rays stroke Waliyha’s cheeks and she woke up only to find no sign of the boy. She checked her phone again and again, even though it wasn’t on silent mode. Her battery was dying and so were her hopes for a happier and better future. But she still continued to dial his number, while walking towards nowhere. She had no idea where she was going. Her legs were shaking, but she still stuck to the path of being lost, till a bus had come to her rescue. She requested the driver to drop her at a chapel, where she could stay safely. The driver agreed very kindly, and drove her down in a matter of few minutes. Several people ogled at her as she entered the home of God.
Now that Waliyha’s parents were free, they began searching for her in nearby places, but failed miserably. They then decided to report this matter in the police station. They tried to trace her sim, and instantly got suspicious of the number that was dialled repeatedly. The police officials called him up and interrogated him about the matter. But, he denied even knowing her! And when they threatened him further, he finally revealed everything, except for the truth. His version of the story turned Waliyha into the culprit.
The assigned policemen had managed to find a social media profile of Waliyha, and before they could gain access to her account, the boy crept into it and deleted every possible evidence.
Just as Waliyha had made peace with her safe zone, the caretakers of the chapel asked her to leave as they had to clean the place. Waliyha moved at once, thinking that if she didn’t they would inform the police. Her eyes were shielded with tears, as she walked towards a playground that was being used by a bunch of carefree children. Returning home wasn’t an option for her, as she felt that her parents would never forgive her, and staying outside meant a struggle for survival.
She perched on the stairway and noticed an old lady cleaning her front yard. Waliyha held her stomach, wishing that her hunger and thirst would miraculously disappear. She walked up to the lady and asked her for a glass of water. The lady stared at Waliyha and then her suitcase alternatively with a look of scepticism.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?!” She questioned Waliyha sternly. Waliyha was tensed. For a moment she forgot who she was and what was going on with her. The woman preserved her firm look while a thousand and one thoughts crossed Waliyha’s mind.
She gulped down the little saliva that circulated around her mouth, and finally uttered, “I…”

Somewhere, but nowhere
(Picture credits: Eleanor Hardwick; found on Google)
Posted in Short Stories, Stories

Retold for Waliyha (Part 1)

We all have secrets; some we bury, some we burn, some we confide and some just linger on until we find an antidote for the venom it spreads. And so was the case with Waliyha. She was a regular girl, like you and me. But fate couldn’t disagree more.
Waliyha belonged to a well-off family, and with that being said, time was a major factor in her life. Well, her time waited unlike that of her kin. Her mother would go to work and her dad focused on his trips abroad, while she would stay at a daycare centre. She didn’t realise that she was “promptly dumped” till her friends pointed it out.
“Hey, Waliyha! How come your parents never pay a visit?”
“Don’t they love you?”
“Are they really your family?”
These questions would haunt her even in broad daylight. However, this series of having to bear such uncomfortable questions came to a halt once she found her love. Yes, of course, there was a catch. It wasn’t the love she was craving for, but it indeed succeeded as an alternative.
It was a charming boy she had stumbled upon while roaming about the mall with her friends. And it was he who had made the first move. They exchanged numbers in no time and soon drove along the lane of a relationship.
Even though Waliyha had turned eighteen, she had been pulled into the hits and trials of life again. The lad was a radio jockey and a newscaster. And in spite of belonging to an upper-class family, Waliyha still had to live up to his fancies. He wanted money, and Waliyha took it as his need. Nobody knew for what. She didn’t bother to question him either. She simply opened her mother’s safe, grabbed her jewellery and sold it off, to meet his supposed needs.
Her friends would suggest her to pamper him with gifts and treats, and she readily borrowed the idea.
That wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more entertainment in his life. He began asking for inappropriate pictures of her, to which she gave in.
And when it came to eloping with him, she didn’t have a second thought about it.
“Would you run away for me?” He asked one night, making sure that he serenaded her while asking.
“Just say it once, and you’ll see.”
Mr Radio Jockey took the hint and replied by saying, “Now. Do it now.”
That’s all it took to convince Waliyha. She packed her belongings in a jiffy and held her cell phone and a bunch of cash in her clammy hands.
It was past midnight when Waliyha was all set to leave. She ran out and headed for the park where they would have their usual meetups.
Her running awoke the spirit of the stray dogs. They chased her down till a few cars diverted their attention.
It had been an hour by this time. All the commotion had drained her completely, so she decided to sit on a bench and wait for her love.
Tring Tring. Tring Tring. Tring Tring.
The phone sang while her heart got drenched with sweat from the inside. There was no answer. And after another try, his phone wasn’t reachable.
She thought of it as a network problem. The naive Waliyha remained heedless of the fact that she was asked to run for him, and not with him.

Finding home
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: Tumblr)
Posted in Prose, Stories


But you didn’t wave like an idiot to the wayfarer on the opposite lane or even the curious and notorious kid in the adjacent vehicle.
Neither did you act a bit paranoid, when you failed to locate your mate as you peeked behind the pole of a moving coach.
You barely look forward to being stuffed by your grandma.
Your fruity chapstick rolls off the table. You pick it up, inhale the scent, apply it, yet you don’t taste it, in spite of the temptation.
The first few pages of your slam book haven’t been filled by you.
Your bucket list doesn’t include an item from the vintage era.
Even the cat wonders why you didn’t challenge it to a stare down.
Random stationery products don’t fascinate you.
A broken crayon that belonged to a brand new set, didn’t leave you disheartened.
What are you, if you couldn’t relate to the above?
And since you seem too busy taking a selfie…
It’s time I classified you as A (as pronounced while reciting the alphabet)-
You are a vegetable
(Picture credits: Vanessa Mckeown)