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Short Story: Parting ways

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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.’
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The moaning of life #2 Childhood Trauma

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The entire shark family is out for a hunt, and the little fish are running for their life. We get to cheer as the Baby Shark does Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo with his family, calling on the family - extended family and sometimes robots on the 'hunt' because your offspring decides that that is the one song they want you to play or a tantrum follows. Many of you will say it's not the content but the catchy tune that draws the babies towards the nonsequential song, but it's more than that. It's the sheer repeatedness that draws your angst towards the piece. And YouTube provides the music based on how much time you want your baby to be engaged to it. You have a 60+ minute version and a 120+ minute version. The same shark family going out on the same hunt. And it's not just the Shark family. Weirdly, baby JJ and his family sing random songs, go on a holiday and even increase the family. I am talking about Cocomelon, which has arrived in your child's life as he murmurs t...
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[Short Story] Return

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He walked the old dusty road again after so many years. He remembered the place very well, so many memories etched into his mind. The old forgotten dusty lane, which was never urbanized by any political agenda. The same old little house which stood the test of time for so many years. He remembered his last walk on this road. He was trying to prevent the flood flowing from his nose and running his sore bumps with his free hand. He knew this return was uncalled for, unexpected but it was the one he had to make. He did not know how she would react, would she still be happy on seeing him or will she even recognize him? The crumbled paper clutched in his hand was his identity for so many years. It was a his ticket to existence, his own. The bell was in his reach now, he was a few seconds away in uncovering the truth. If he wanted to turn back, this was the last threshold. Funny thing was, even after so many days, his hand shivered at this stage. Would he face ...
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