Sid-O-Scope

He glanced at the ink pen sitting on the writing table, with immense pride he picked it up. Vyomkesh was happy today, he quickly glanced at the table calendar, the red mark on the date 1st Jan 2010 made him smirk. Finally the day was here. Finally the nine years of torment were over, his dear daughter turned 18 and the last of the palimony cheque.

Funny thing, I just realized I never wrote a funny short story, which was quite surprising as Story is what I like writing and humor is what I do best (atleast I think so), but for some reason I do not write a short story with a fun thing and I wanted to know why, I realized writing humorous stories is a challenge that even I cannot take. Well, below is not some of my best work, I tried to stay focused but apparently couldn’t. No characters in this story are real, any resemblances to real characters is coincidental, I just put some Blogger friends names so I might get inspired but well… you tell me how it is. Sreya was driving all the way to her friends house. As always Shruti was in trouble. ‘He has left again, Sreya,’ said Shruti between sob, ‘it was so obvious since beginning, he as just messing around. Its over girl, its over. I have nothing else to do now.’

Caution: The following story is not meant for weak and timid mind. Readers discretion advised. If you get disturbed on reading the story, please stop reading immediately. The day was nearly ending and I sat in the staff room closing my books for the day. Prof. Despande and Prof. Shantaram sat opposite to me discussing the latest evening news hitting the town. ‘Four victims in past two months, Mrs. Despande,’ said Prof. Shantaram. ‘I know, all girls. The serial killer is out there killing girls, we need to be careful,’ said Prof. Mrs. Despande, ‘I have asked my husband to pick our daughter from class and then me. No one leaves house alone.’ Prof. Shantaram exclaimed, ‘Tsk Tsk Tsk, the papers are saying that police has told every girl to stay indoors on a full moon night. The person seems to be killing the victims on a full moon night only.’ ‘Should be one of your subjects, Prof. Pandhari,’ said Prof. Shantaram looking at me. Obviously it was a physiologica...

Disclaimer: Readers please be wary, the story written below has textual description of violence. Not at all suitable for weak minds, pregnant woman and heart patient. If you choose to read it, please be sure you do it on your own risk. As I walked outside the clinic a cold and stark fear gripped me. A chill went down my spine. The positive reports in my hand showed a disaster. I did not want a baby, not now, not like this. All my life I had the incomplete desire. I had to fulfill it before the baby. How could this happen? Of course he was trying for a long time and I knew it would be sooner or later. But now, that this is happening, am I ready for this? The key in the ignition is now telling me something, yes, this has to be done. Shall I drive to my mothers? I am not sure, maybe I have to. I don't have anyone accept her in this world now. I think I should go there. What will my husband think, when I don't return in the evening? What will be my answer to him?...

A horrible combination of alcohol, Bollywood and Hollywood. He gulped the complete pint of whiskey in one gulp, ‘Come again? You… are the producer?’ he said. ‘Yeah man, I give you money,’ said the producer, ‘I want you to direct my film. Its actually remake of your Hollywood flick we have made a little modification’ ‘Ok, run me over the script once more,’ the director turned towards the writer. ‘So actually we have this wonderful script, never seen before on Indian theatres. It has all the shades of drama, action, Sci Fi, romance…’ ‘You said drama and action?’ the director asked taking one more pint of Whisky. ‘Yes sir, that is how we make the movies in India,’ the writer proudly boasted. ‘Interesting concept, run me through the script,’ the director said. ‘You know we have signed Superb Khan in this film,’ said the producer, ‘He has given us the dates for next two months.’ The director splat the mouthful of beer on the face, ‘Two months? that’s it?’ ‘Yes, gettin...

They never cared about me anymore. All of them forgot me, forgot their own father. I raised 4 children in a house of two rooms, all the four live in house of five rooms each, but can't they have one corner for their old father? I gave them everything they needed. Their school, colleges, tuitions, books everything came from my blood. They never asked me how a worker working in a furnace for 18 hours a day managed to feed those toddlers imported biscuits, they never asked me how come I walked five kilometers despite the fact that there was a bus service till the door step? But they asked me… they asked me, why am I ruining their life?  My elder son asked me why am I troubled his wife who comes home late, when I just asked for a cup of tea. I never learned how to make tea, but my wife left me halfway and I had to depend on others for my tea. My next daughter asked me what should did I do with all the silverware of the house belonging to her mother? When she did not learn, I had no pla...

He was never Learnardo, nor was he Michalango, but he called himself a artist. He sat on the garden selling his potraits for mere 5-10 bucks and earn his daily morsel. As the darkness krept he purchased the daily bread and three canvas sheets and went to his house in the slum. He kept a modest living, never earning more than a hundred per day. Every time he passed the stationary shop, he used to see the brushes on display, shiny golden brushes. Broad brushes, thin brushes, fresco brushes and many varieties. 'One day, I will become a big painter and purchase all of them. Then I will draw better paintings for Gudiya,' he though today. Gudiya was his latest and smallest customer who used to come and play in the garden, she liked his colorful paintings and always purchased everyday from him. "Get me a joker tommorrow, friend, I want a joker," the ten year old had asked today. He purchased only one costly canvases today, only one for his masterpiece, only one ...

Inspired by Shruti and Shilpa , this is my first attempt on writing a 55 fiction. No theme, just varied thoughts brought together in a 55 word story. Know more about 55-fiction here. Not sure if I used 55 words? Try the word counter. She walked towards the bedside table and glanced at the hot cuppa coffee and a card waiting for her. She smiled and read the card, 'To Ashwini, Lets start all over again- Love, Anup' 'Oh,' she exclaimed, sipping the coffee thinking of the dreadful deed and her bloodstained clothes... Thud. She fell dead. Oh well, how did I do? tell me, tell me na please...if you like it and have themed 55-fiction stuff, so inform me. I will write it. Images Courtesy:  Ant Creations Google Images.

====================================================================== If you missed it before: Cosmic Chronicle Part I: A Small Bug. ====================================================================== I barely recall when I started my journey, was it yesterday? or just last week? I have already lost the track of time and I do not see the sun any more. The skies are scarred by the dense smog to see anything beyond it. I have finally managed to find a car in this wreak and am driving without any directions. I have filled it with radioactive isotope I collected from the atmosphere. I am just exploring, waiting for my death. Well, yes I am going to die, I am the last species of Homo Sapiens who populated the planet we called earth. My planet was destroyed by a small human error and now I stand on the threshold at the end of Humanity. So far, my journey is fruitless and I have found no one else except for few rats, who have grown bigger than a human house due to radiation. I am d...