Lately I’ve barely had time to write a short story, right now I’m grappling with final year project and all the serenren that comes with try to clinch a Bsc. However, I’ve been getting smatterings of inspiration here and there and I’ve decided to string them together into a hotchpotch post for today.
You’re shouting
‘Oh, am I?’
‘Of course. You’re creating a scene. Let’s go home and resolve this amicably’
She stared at him with teary eyes and shook her head. He was talking about resolving things, about peace. All he cared about was the fact that her ranting was drawing attention towards them. all he ever cared about was how things seemed, not how they truly were.
She had so much to say, she wanted to launch into a yelling spree, to call his bluff and bare her heart. But she had no strength. Everything overwhelmed her. It felt like all the air left the parking lot and she couldn’t hold it together any longer.
She hated that she was dissolving into tears. That he was cradling her like she was a baby, like he was the golden husband. She hated the fact that she couldn’t exactly put what she felt into words, that each time she tried the words did to her what a catfish will do when it’s about to be caught. They slimed out of her grip, teasing her fingers, making her frantic. She hated that she was caught up in ineffable anger and everything she was angry about seemed so petty, so petulant, yet they weighed so heavy in her chest.
But they were there, right there in her, threatening to explode.
And there he was, hugging and stroking her hair. The hero.
She loathes him, but that changes when he whispers into her ears: ‘What you feel is valid. Valid enough to be acknowledged. Valid enough to be given an audience. Let’s go home and talk things over’
It’s chilled juice to her parched entrails.
I’m walking on the road. I see this array of purple flowers on the other side of the gutter lining either side of the road. Some insects, which look to me like flies, perch on one flower after the other, suck nectar and take off. Unto the next.
Somehow I’m reminded that Valentine is here. Flies will perch, suck nectar and take their flight.
You can’t really stop ‘em flies from being flies, but darling safeguard your nectar from fleeting flitting flies.
Their union was magic:
The confluence of glistening torrents.
They shouldn’t have allowed anything between them,
But they let nothing come between them.
‘You look worried, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’ He will mumble, taking off his shoes.
‘What did I do to upset you?’
She’d look out the window and the shaking of her head will say ‘Nothing’
‘What exactly do you want me to do?’ frustration will lace her words
Tired, he will raise and drop his shoulders,
A shrug that says nothing.
And so…
THE- nothing– M
….Nothing came between them.


  1. Wow
    Gosh, you’re so talented. I particularly enjoyed the second and third. Especially the third.

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