Week 4: Blur

Week 4: 27th July to 2nd August.
I’m really behind schedule, I know that. I’m really sorry and I’ll try my best to catch up 🙂

So, Blur –

On most days, Joe felt like a fucking walking contradiction. He had a dentist for a father but a chocolate tooth. He had a chef for a mother but was skinny as a skeleton. He loved punk music but hated electric guitars. He loved the sky but couldn’t stand the color blue. He loved pizza but couldn’t stand the base. He liked looking at the starry sky but their silly twinkling irritated the shit out of him. It went on and on.
Once, Joe got very drunk. He called his girlfriend Kia to drive him home. She drove him home but his parents were out. When she called them, it was their irate friend Maureen who replied. They had gotten drunk and called her to drive them home. Then they passed out as soon as they got into her car. But not before calling her a drunk bitch, hence her irritation. For some reason, this made Joe giggle in the backseat.
Kia realized that she would have to take her drunken boyfriend back to her place. She was a bit worried about her parents but as long as Joe slept on the couch in the living room, he would be safe. Her mom slept in the attic while her dad preferred the basement. Her mother was a legendary snorer. She was better off sleeping in the sound proofed attic.
The moment Kia drove into her driveway, Joe yelled for food. She fondly thought about cooking him a meal at 3 a.m. Maybe some pasta? She gently pulled him out of the car and dragged him to her living room and deposited on the couch. She opened the refrigerator for something that could be termed as edible and found coffee beans. Just coffee beans. Where had all those veggies gone? No bread, no milk, no eggs. How was she going to feed Joe?
Kia put her hand in the oven and found a packet of cookies. She looked into the spices drawer and found a piece of bread. She made a cookie-coffee bean sandwich for Joe. Joe said that it was the best sandwich he’d ever tasted.
Joe was feeling less and less drunk by the minute. He could focus on Kia’s pretty face now. Before she had been a blur of red. Maybe it was the coffee bean sandwich. It had been the best thing Joe had ever tasted! He was a lucky guy. Kia was such an innovative cook. He got to eat her innovations.
Kia was blushing prettily because of Joe’s compliments. Joe pulled her towards him and tucked her in a hug. They started watching the Discovery channel on the telly.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Joe got up and opened the door. He was a little upset. He had been having an amiable time with Kia. It was the Police. Not the earth police but the police from Mars accusing Joe of terrorist activity. Joe stood there with his mouth hanging open. Kia had heard it all. She grabbed her comb and attacked the policemen.
They overpowered her with the help of their toothbrushes. Then they arrested Joe and Kia and took them to their spaceship.
The spaceship was shaped like a giant pig. Joe and Kia were beamed up into the spaceship. They weren’t surprised to see that the rest of the crew comprised of assorted talking human-sized animals.
They were taken to the captain of the ship who was a cock wearing a baby’s bonnet.
” You sick dick! ” yelled Kia. “Why did you arrest us? Are you nuts? ”
“You were a threat to the peace of Mars. So you were arrested.” He replied in Spock tones.
“What did we do to disrupt your peace? And also, we are earth citizens. Not your division.”
“You ate cheese.”
“We just had a coffee bean and cookie sandwich each.” Said Joe. “There was no cheese.”
“You ate cheese.” Repeated Captain Cock.
“Yeah, we probably did eat cheese in this lifetime but almost everyone on earth eats cheese. So why us? ”
“It wasn’t that you ate cheese but they way you ate it.” Said the cook Sheep in a french accent. “You earth people should really be taught the correct way to eat cheese. Only the french do it correctly.”
“What?” Replied Joe and Kia with identical confused expressions.
Then entered the Wolf. He was a Very Important Person on the ship. He invited Joe and Kia to eat some mushrooms with him. Captain Cock had to let them go.
So they went to the Wolf’s quarters which were huge and Gothic. He had scented candles lit all over the room.
He gave them fluorescent mushrooms to eat. They tasted like lemon sherbets. Kia loved them. Joe puked all over the Wolf’s carpet. He found out that he was allergic to fluorescent mushrooms. That made Joe grumpy which made him rude. He ended up insulting the Wolf who had them kicked out of the ship.
Joe hit the gnome in Kia’s garden and fell unconscious. Kia curled up in his arms and fell asleep.
The next morning, they woke to the bright glare of the sun. Last night was a blur in their memory.

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Week 3: Hullabaloo

Week 3: 20th July to 26th July.

Hullabaloo

I had never been much of a dancer. I was that sort of girl who would be standing in the corner minding her own business. This girl always wore a leather jacket that was way too big for her. Yeah, she was a loner. And yeah, she was self-obsessed enough to refer to herself in the third person.

I did have friends-Tanya and Layla. They were the ones waving the lameass ‘Will you marry me, Luke Scott?’ banner. Bigamy was an offense punishable by law. Didn’t they know?

At least, it wasn’t polygamy. Luke was single and I was obsessed. A little.

Not like Luke Scott would notice them. I mean, why would he? He’s like a freaking God among us mortals. Don’t believe me? Trust me; you would if you were in my place. I was standing (Yeah, you guessed it correct) in an amazing corner. And why was this corner so amazing? I had a clear view of Luke’s dark blue eyes. They appeared black in the dim, hardly there lights.

I had goosebumps as my ears picked up his smoky voice blocking out all others.

This guy had unknowingly kept me sane after IT had happened. I became aware about an ache in my stomach. It was a constant companion but recently I had been successful in blocking it out. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself. It had ceased to provide the comfort it used to. Then again, it fit snugger than before.

I told my brain to shut the fuck up. My first Wanderlust concert wasn’t going to go down in tears. No way, Jose.

It was easy this time. I just concentrated on Luke. He probably thought I was a stalker or something. Well, he would, if he actually glanced in my direction.

My heart was soaring in the best way possible as ‘Trains’ came to an end. The band announced a five minute break.

Due the lack of Luke Scott themed awesome on stage, I snapped out of the trance of sorts I had put myself into.

Crowds. People. I couldn’t breathe. I had never really been a big fan of crowds. My claustrophobia had gotten way worse after …after it had happened. I couldn’t even step inside a supermarket. My shrink referred to it as a ’loss of security’. This concert had been a huge risk. But I couldn’t miss it.

I forced myself to take deep breaths. Deep, slow breaths.

My eyes were swimming in tears as Wanderlust came back up. Luke Scott had been wearing a simple black button down and blue jeans. Now the sleeves were pushed up and his ‘Dear Amelia’ tattoo was on show. I had always wondered who the hell Amelia was.

Luke grabbed the mike and flashed us his famous crooked grin. Every female in the room (and some males) shrieked at that. I swear I heard some of them meowl.

“Hey guys! Missed us?”

The noise level went up considerably at that. I was going to go deaf. I stood mute like a ghost, mesmerized by the sight of him. It was a dream fulfilled. I wish, I could tell him that his music had changed my life, that it had kept me alive.

“I see you did. Now we have a special treat for you guys…”

It got even louder. These people were going to go hoarse. And also deaf. But the energy and enthusiasm was undworldly.

“…Yeah, you got it right! We have a new song coming up. It’s called ‘Hullabaloo’ and is written by a fan-Emma McLaughlin. So let’s go!”

Hullabaloo? No! No! This can’t be happening! Not that goddamn song. Not now!

Blue, the guitarist, started playing the chords and I was assaulted by the familiarity of the melody. I could almost see dad playing it. My dad had been a shitty singer but a wonderful pianist. We had written ‘Hullabaloo’ together. And now he was gone.

The song engulfed me. I could not stand being in the room any longer. I needed some air. I needed something. I needed someone. I needed dad.

Relying solely on my instincts, I pushed myself through the throng of bodies leaning towards the stage. They were pulled towards the sound coming from the stage. The Wanderlust had taken up the song and made it into something so much more. I felt a little proud of myself. I was a part of ‘Hullabaloo’.

I could finally see the exit as I pushed the last people apart. I rushed towards it. The exit was pretty desolate. No one wanted to leave. Except me. I looked at the band one last time. There weren’t going to be any Wanderlust concerts for me in the near future.

After all this time, they were playing the damn song. Luke sexy, sexy voice suited the song just like I thought it would. That gave me a sense of satisfaction. At that kiddish part of me who used to hang posters of the great Luke Scott in her bedroom and who had mailed him the song begging him to play it.

Luke was a force to be reckoned with, especially when he sang.

For a split second, my conscious deceived me into thinking that I was staring into his eyes and he was staring right back into mine. I smiled, turned and left.

It was raining outside. I didn’t mind. The freshness of the rain took away the saltiness of my tears. By the time I reached my car, I was completely drenched. I got in and turned on the heater. I couldn’t leave yet. Tanya and Layla would stumble out after the concert was over, drunk as drunk girls. I was their ride back home.

I took of my jacket and dumped it at the back. The comfort I used to get from it was lost. My walls crumbled. I hurt all over. I missed him so much. Every damn moment. The tears flowed freely. Fortunately I had tissues to blow my nose. I was experienced at tears.

I was experienced at handling myself. Soon, I had no more tears to let out. My water intake for the day had been low, I suppose. I wasn’t okay, not by a long shot. But at least, I wasn’t crying anymore.

Instead I was glaring out of the window. Anger, I could handle.

I heard a car door open and shut and I felt a presence next to me. I hadn’t locked the doors. Wow. Talk about stupid. There was probably an axe-murderer in my car now.

I turned to look at the intruder’s profile. I was looking into blue eyes lit by the parking lot lights. They were familiar and strange all at once.

“Drive! Drive! Drive!” He yelled. His voice was hoarse because of all the singing he had been doing. I could hear some kind of commotion behind us but all I could think about were my swollen, red eyes and the unattractive way in which my mouth was hanging open.

He smelt of wet leather and sweat. He was still wearing the button down over which he wore a jacket. His long black hair was plastered over his forehead. He looked at me as if I was dumb.

It was bloody unbelievable.

Week 2: I go to sleep

Week 2: 13th July to 19th July

Prompt: Lullaby with creepy undertones

I go to sleep

The flat still smelt faintly musky despite of all the dusting I had put it through. I thought it would take some time before it got the lived in feel.
  It was a decent place to live in. It was situated in a good locality; my neighbors didn’t seem to be creepy and the flat wasn’t rat-infested like my previous hellhole. And it had barely cost me anything. Overall, a great bargain!
  I couldn’t help but feel a little alien living here. I had lived in the same hellhole for seven years. Then my insomnia got worse. I would spend my nights pacing relentlessly. My flat mates tolerated for a while but they had jobs too which were being affected due to their lack of sleep which was a result of my pacing.
  So I moved out.
  I figured maybe I would be able to sleep better in a new environment. I would be all alone with no one to disturb. Living with people felt like an intrusion of my thoughts. Both my flat mates read my mind.
  I snuggled up in my old bed in my new room and tried to lose myself in the world of dreams.
  The new flat theory? It worked! I could feel myself drifting off. 
  The world of dreams brought my mum singing ‘Raindrops and Roses’ from Sound of Music. She used to sing every night before I slept. The song was a talisman against the monsters under my bed.
  Mum was patting my back so that I would sleep better. She was affectionately running her hands in my hair and crooning in that sweet voice of hers.  For once, I felt at peace.
  The moment I thought that her fingernails grew into talons which stroked threateningly against my back.
Why do good dreams like these get distorted so?
  I could feel sleep slipping away from my clutches. Soon, I was completely aware of my surroundings. But my eyes were closed.
  The lullaby hadn’t stopped. The talons dug deep into my skin and brought out blood. I yelled and sat up. There was nothing around. The pain in my back was reduced to a ghost ache. The singing had stopped. There was silence all around.
  I breathed a sigh of relief. Just a bad dream. Nothing else.
  My accelerated breathing slowly  returned to normal.
  Suddenly something grabbed my face and slammed it into the pillow. The palm pressed against my nose and lips, smothering me.
A voice like fingernails on a blackboard whispered.
“This is what happens to bad children who don’t sleep. Everything is okay now. Go to sleep.”
So I did.

Week 1: Numb

Week 1- 6th July 2014 to 12th July 2014

Numb

The champagne must have tasted good but I don’t remember tasting it. That tended to happen when I became like this. Numb.
Our last few dates had been disastrous. He had begun to follow the pattern too. They met the happy, normal me. Then I grew comfortable in their presence and begun to let my guard down. I started taking off the mask I hid under, little by little. And they began to see the part of me that wasn’t quite so optimistic, not quite “normal”. What was normally really? Then began all that bloody criticism. They were soon rendered unable to look past my flaws and I was rendered unfeeling to their awful rants.
So here I was, in a posh restaurant I didn’t really notice, eating food I didn’t really taste and drinking champagne that I didn’t really feel.
And there was he, talking about my pessimism, my walls, and my issues. This one could really hit the mark. He had the perfect ability to grab onto my insecurity of the moment and then pull, squeeze and hurt. I had really hoped him to be different. When I first met him, I had been crying. So, he knew. HE KNEW.
But he refused to believe.
I stared at him with the straightest poker face. He was speaking; I could see his lips move but the sound had been blocked. I was quite bored actually except that I was too numb to actually feel the boredom.
It was stupid to try to inform me about my so called “issues”. I was anal about analyzing myself. So, really, I knew how screwed up I was. I knew every single one of my faults. Reminding me was a waste of time. I was excellent at tuning out bullshit.
Not that he-they ever noticed. Self-important bastards. Every last one of them. They misunderstood my silence for acceptance and attention. A tiny pinprick of amusement crept in through my wall. It didn’t have the power to break out my trance. Though, it was successful in pushing an idea.
I had better things to do. I’m sure he did too.
I took a sip of the tasteless champagne. It was wasted on me. I grabbed my purse. I had actually dressed up for the occasion. I got up from my seat walked towards the entrance and walked out of the restaurant. And his life.
It had begun to rain. I didn’t have an umbrella. I wore a red dress. The wet thing clung to my body. My Louboutins were probably dying due to the puddles. My makeup was probably flowing down my face with the rivulets of rain.
I didn’t care.
Slowly, I got some emotion back. Not enough to start grieving another dead relationship. But enough to become aware about the half-destroyed, soaking Louboutins on my feet.
I took them off and carried them in my hands. I could feel pebbles and slush below my feet. But I didn’t care.
I was roaming listlessly. Was this how breaking down was like? How did it matter? I would find my way back home eventually. I would be fine once I broke out of this daze.
Now, I was starting to become aware of my surroundings. I recognized the area I was walking in. I knew my way back home.
I was in the elevator when it hit me. It was over. I had left my blanket of unfeelingness behind somewhere. I had hoped. I couldn’t stop the tears from escaping my eyes. It didn’t matter. I’m sure I resembled a zombie enough as it was. Tea would make me feel better, I hoped.
The ding of the lift made me aware that I had reached my floor. I exited and took out my keys.
He was sitting on the staircase. As soon as he saw me, he got up, strode towards me and grabbed my hands. They looked so tiny and feminine next to his. Worry and panic was etched clearly all over his. A few more tears slid down my cheeks. I actually found myself wondering about the state of my Mascara.
I noticed that he was wet all through too. The rain messed up his longish hair in a way that had become familiar. It brought back memories. It had been raining the first time we met. I cried harder.
“What the hell were you thinking? You had me worried sick! Never do that again! Never, got it?”
I nodded with the start of a smile on my face and a tear welling up in my eye,
“And I’m sorry. You are a mess. You go zombielike. But you are my mess. And you have my heart and my brain and my soul. You are my zombie and I love you. Okay?”
“Okay.” I said as he bent down and kissed my forehead.

The 52 Project

So it is two days before my birthday and yeah, I’m bloody excited!

Whispers of not one but two surprises have reached me! I have such awesome friends! Seriously! I am so freaking curious! I am like a drunk grasshopper.

Except not drunk. Two days till I’m eighteen and three years till I’m of the legal age to drink.

Meanwhile, I’ll indulge in sprite. No other soft drink is as amazing as sprite (for me). I normally don’t drink coke or Pepsi. No no, it’s sprite for me.

Anyway. What I actually want to write about (and is long due) is a challenge that I’ve taken up.

So I raise the curtain to –

“The 52 Project”

A big round of applause please!

(Don’t I sound self-obsessed XD )

So the thing is that I’ve been working on this blog which is basically nonfiction. To be frank, as much as I love blogging, I miss writing fiction.

Recently I made a whatsapp group of all my bookoholic friends and friend’s of friends. An idea for which I can pat myself on the back.

One of my new friends has taken up this challenge and he invited us to join him. So I did.

I have to write 52 short stories in 52 weeks.

They can be on anything and of any length. I’ll be posting them here every Saturday.

The first week was last week. I am yet to edit the story I wrote. Hopefully, I will be able to post it tomorrow.

I am super excited! Wish me luck!