Posts Tagged “Thriller”

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Forgiveness

Forgiveness

Let me see.  I have the croissants.  Nice and buttery, just how she likes them.

Such care has been taken.  How could she not forgive me?   It is the perfect setting for a reunion.

The tea is steeping.  Hmm, still a bit weak; perhaps another three or four minutes on that.  Sugar and cream.  Wait. I can’t remember if she takes sugar and cream.  It has been so long.  Better safe than sorry.  I’ll leave them out.

Oh yes…the final touch.  I must add plum blossoms.  Their fragrant aroma that filled the air at our first meeting, it will be a lovely touch.

Surely she will remember that day.  How lovely she looked.  Out walking, carefree, holding a blossom in her hand…so innocent.   I watched her from a distance.

Standing on tiptoe as she reached her slender arm into the trees, her dainty fingers dancing around the blossoms until she found the perfect bloom to pluck.

Perfect bloom in hand raising it to her nose to gently breathe in the wondrous scent.

Perfect blossom, perfect girl.  I knew I had to have her in my life.  No matter what.

Yes, a perfect plum blossom is just what this reunion needs.  This will remind her of all the joy.  How could she not forgive me?

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I heard him come in this morning.  At first I thought it was to watch me sleep.  He often does that. Watching me sleep peacefully makes him calm, somehow reassures him that all he has done is right.

Soon I heard the flap of fabric. The tablecloth. Then the clinking of saucers and cups.  Then the delightful smell of fresh croissants.

My stomach is churning from hunger.  How delightful it would be toss back the covers and enjoy a wonderful buttery croissant.

No, I keep my back to the preparations and feign sleep a bit longer.  I do not want to give him the satisfaction of leaping from bed and praising all this work.

I hear him fussing over the proper arrangement of the table.  Let him fuss.

I drift back to memories of how life used to be.  One of my favorite pastimes:  walking through the park in early spring.  Blossoms budding on trees, fresh fragrant smells drift through the air, the promise of newness dancing throughout the park.

It is beautiful.

It is peaceful.

I wanted to take some of the newness with me.  I found the perfect plum blossom to carry with me.  After breathing in the marvelous scent I looked up to see him watching me.

Handsome.

Intense.    A bit of chit chat and smiles and then…well, here I am, months later.  Not what I had planned on.  I loathe the plum blossom that I picked that day because it brought him into my life.

My memories end.  I notice there is no movement on the other side of the room.  I slowly roll and peek to see if he is watching or if I am alone.  Thank goodness, alone.

I hear him in the garden.  Picking a damn blossom I am sure.

Oh, the sight of the croissants is too much.  I must eat.  I slowly move from bed, don’t want him to know I am awake yet.  I reach, but it is of no use.  My chained ankle holds me back.  Bastard.

How could I ever forgive him?

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July 7, 2010 Post Under Flash Fiction - Read More
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One night in Paris

One night in Paris

Her skin was alabaster pale against the scarlet sheets. The air was redolent with the smell of sweat and sex.

He lay on his side without looking in her direction.

She took a cigar out of the holder and lit it. The pungent smell of the Cuban inflicted itself on the warm air in the bedroom.

She raised her hand and ran it across his lower back possessively, ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

He shook his head, the movement barely discernible with his glossy blonde hair shimmering in the half lit room.

She rose from the bed, the sheet falling off her body and headed towards the kitchen. Black coffee simmered hot and fresh. The cups and saucers had been left freshly washed for her. The maid always knew what to expect when she wore that lil red number, she smilingly thought to herself.

She poured out the coffee into two cups and took them out on a tray with the spoons entwined.

She stopped at the bedside and asked again, ‘Coffee cher?’ The boy looked up at her, his near black eyes glowing with dislike. ‘I said no, how many times should I say no to you? Last night was bad enough!’

She took a step back. She hadn’t expected this. Last night had started harmlessly enough. A one night stand – some fun, flirting, sex. Just a girl having some fun. Simple right?

Apparently not. The coffee tray fell as if in slow motion. Her fangs came out as she leapt on the boy.

July 2, 2010 Post Under Flash Fiction - Read More
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Tick Tock

Tick Tock

“Hey! Watch where are you going?”


The man who had pushed his way through him didn’t bother to turn back. He just flicked him a finger as he kept running.


A hand rested on Will’s shoulder and he turned to acknowledge the person it belonged to.


“Now what the fuck do you want?” said Will as he shrugged the strangers hand off his shoulder.

“You manage to piss off people quite easily, don’t you?”


“Look. Whoever you are, I don’t want to buy anything. I just want to quietly wait for my train.”


“Trust me, you do want to hear me out…”


“Look I’m trying to be polite here. I seriously don’t have the time for this.”


The stranger chuckled, “Funny you should say that. For I have all the time in the world. But you’re right. There is no point in talking. You would’ve never believed me in any case. Its better if I just showed you. Look at that clock” He snapped open his umbrella and grabbed Will’s shoulder.


In a flash of a second, they were standing on the road amidst heavy rain.


“What the hell just happened? How did… how did we…get here? You.. you did that? Who are you?”


“You sure want to talk now, don’t you?” Will could tell that the stranger sported an evil grin under the hood of the umbrella as he continued, “As for who I am, the answer is that I am a time lord. In simple terms I control time. And as for how do I do that, well there is no way I can put it that your bean-brain would understand.”


“Where are we?” Will stammered.


“Oh, come on you know this place. You do recognize that watch tower don’t you? The correct question would be when are we? The answer to that is the watch tower there. We haven’t traveled much. In fact, its the same day. Just nine hours after I met you at the station.”


“Why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?”


“Can you see a man lying near those steps? Thats you.”


Will choked on his each word as he uttered, “Me? Why am I lying on the ground? What happened to me?”


“Well, you’re dead of course. Otherwise I would have been to all this trouble for nothing.”


Will was drenched in rain but one could still identify his tears. “How did this happen? How…?”


“You get murdered this day at 8:44 pm”

“So that’s why you came to meet me? So that you can prevent my death?” he looked at the time lord with hopeful eyes. “You can take me to the time I get murdered right? And stop it?”


“Umm. Yes I CAN. Of course. But then, what would be the fun in that?” Will stared at him, open-mouthed in horror. “You see, being a time lord, I am an immortal with an eternity to live for. And when you’ve got all the time in the world, the world gets, well – boring! So here I am to add a little spice to it.”


He snapped the umbrella shut and placed a hand on his shoulder again. They snapped back to the station, will still soaked in water.


The time lord spoke softly this time, “You have till 8:44 in the evening to save yourself, if you can. I’ll be watching.”


“Wait. Who kills me?” Will pleaded.


The time lord snapped his fingers and was gone. His words still lingering behind him, “If not sooner, you’ll find out in another nine hours”


June 25, 2010 Post Under Flash Fiction - Read More
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Chor Bizarre

Chor Bizarre

“Antique English Clock. Made in England. Very old, very antique…. Le Lo Le lo…”

Mark was always enchanted with that centuries old looking wall clock. No matter how many times he came to Chor Bazaar he always made it a point to go to that lane with the shop selling stolen antiques.

It surprised him that no one ever took interest in that clock which looked like the ones you could see on a station in London.

It would go so well with the theme of his newly renovated plush flat at Marine Drive.

Mark had been in India for almost 6 years now, and had made quite a successful living with his art galleries. He could buy any Vintage furniture he wanted, but his heart always wavered to that antique English Clock.

Concentrate Mark, you don’t require this; you are here for Nike shoes, and a Leather jacket for Loraine.

He quickly found the shop he was looking for, bought a pair of Nike sneakers which the shopkeeper claimed were fresh maal (Meaning just stolen from someone who paid four thousand Rupees for) and a brown leather jacket for his sister back home.

He left the narrow lanes of Chor Bazaar in a hurry lest his heart flutter back to that stupid clock.

“You know Mark I love your new house, you’ve done it so well” Jacob his partner told him the same night when they were chilling over a couple of drinks.

“Thanks Jake, Cheers to that”

“But you know what is missing from this? You need a nice Antique looking wall clock in this corner here. Wouldn’t it look grand, don’t u think? “

“You know what I’ll do, I’ll talk to my antique furniture guy at Bandra tomorrow and get you a good deal on one of those Victorian style Clocks that he has. Or even better I’ll give it to you as a house warming gift. How’s that huh?”

“Hey now c’mon Jake, you don’t have to gift me anything, and besides I think I know the perfect clock that will fit in to this corner” This had to be a good sign, a sign that he should just go and buy that Antique Clock.

“Its fifteen thousand rupees saab” said the guy at the crammed antique store.

“You think I’m crazy to pay that much for this, go call Raja I want to talk him, not you”

Raja walked in from the inner room. “You plan to make me bankrupt Raja?

Saab he’s quoting very less for you, this is classic 18th century clock stolen from England, it’s priceless Raja said in his heavy accented English.

“Oh ya? So you mean to say you have this watch from the 18th century in this little shop of yours? And that no one has ever tried to show interest in it?”

“Well saab, I no lie to you, this watch has been in our family since generations. My Great Grandfather got it from this English guy with hat and umbrella, and he said it was a very special clock, and you should only give it to right person”

“What is so special about it?”

“The Englishman claims that if you listen carefully you can here many voices from the Clock which would reveal your future. I tell you saab we have been hearing from generations but not a single word. I give it to you because you from England and you look like noble man. The watch must want to come to you”

“Yeah well whatever, here’s 12 thousand, get it delivered to my address here by noon today”

Although Mark pooh-poohed the story that Raja had told him, but deep down he felt a certain connection to the Clock too, or else why would he keep coming back to it?

That night Mark dozed off on his comfy leather sofa, when at midnight the clocked chimed 12 times, and he woke up with a start. Realizing that it was only his newest possession he got up to go to his bedroom, when suddenly there was this buzzing noise.

It was like hundreds of people were talking at the same time, like it was a railway station. Mark put both his hands on his ears and the voices stopped. He carefully removed his hands again, and he could still hear them.

He frantically checked all his rooms for any TV or stereo that must have been left running, but there was nothing. The voices were getting louder. Mark ran to his bedroom locked the door put two pillows on his head and went off to sleep.

The next morning he went on with his usual chores forgetting all that had happened the last night.

The voices came again the next night. Mark thought he was going crazy. He could not sleep for a week, when he decided to go back to Raja and ask for an explanation.

“You say you here voices saab? You must come inside and meet my grandfather; he will be able to explain”

Raja’s grandfather looked like he was a 100 years old, with a long beard, and a wrinkly frail body. Raja quickly explained him the situation in Hindi when his grandfather opened his eyes wide and looked at Mark

Jo kehete hai karo. Suno

“He means you should listen carefully to the voices, they are your ancestors, and you should do what they say”

Mark went home confused and scared. That night he made himself a huge mug of black coffee and decided to get this madness over with.

Promptly at midnight the voices came back. Mark strained his ears and tried to single out one voice. There was one which was the loudest.

From what mark could here, it just kept on saying, “Silver Chalice at Cindy Mason’s grave”

The next day mark called his dad and enquired about his ancestors and whether there was any Cindy Mason in their family. It turned out that there was, and surprisingly she was buried in India, in Mumbai for that matter.

Mark was shocked. How could this watch be anywhere related to his family, his ancestors? Nevertheless he took Raja’s grandfathers’ advice and started looking up all the cemeteries around the city.

Finally he found the one, and found Cindy Mason’s Tombstone which said, Cindy Mason January 1878 to October 1935. So she died during the English regime in India. That was interesting.

The next day Mark bought two huge silver chalices, bought off from Jakes Antique dealer in Bandra, since he thought that would make her happy, and hid them in the mud near the Tombstone.

The voices stopped troubling him from the same night.

“Antique English Clock. Made in England. Very old, very antique…. Le Lo Le lo…” Raja was shouting at the top of his voice.

“Psst Raja, these Chalices are awesome we could easily get 15 thousand for them. But next time you ask for something more expensive ok?”

“Yeah yeah”

Chote the assistant chuckled heartily, and continued with his usual work.

“Antique English Clock. Made in England. Very old, very antique…. Le Lo Le lo…”

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June 17, 2010 Post Under Flash Fiction - Read More
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