It's That Easy, and That Hard

Write-Club. A club for writing. Right, Left, Democratic...Whatever. Some strangers, well, maybe not-so-strangers, coming together to write for writing's sake.

Topic: Write a story with each of the following words, in 144 characters.

Words: Change, Bottle, Flavour, Wheel, Master, Left



"No change!" he told the relentless beggar. The beggar promptly pulled out a bunch of ten-rupee notes.(Characters 102)

He gazed out helpless out of the taxi window, missing one turn after another. Unfortunately he had forgotten the local vernacular for left.
(Characters 143)

They leered towards her in the dark, she seemed to be asking for it. She just gripped the broken Budweiser bottle tighter.
(Characters 123)

Suddenly, all their toothpaste tubes were missing their caps. Later they were found as wheels on their little son's toy car.
(Characters 123)

Dark, inviting eyes. Soft, smooth lips. Her heart was still racing as she stepped out of the cabin of her grammar master, face flushed.
(Characters 134)

The menacing prison guard stepped forward with the hemlock. He looked up and smiled, "Are there more than one flavour?"
(Characters 118)

The Unveiling of Venus

A leather case.

Chisels.

Rules.

Mallets.

Pencil butts.

Plaster.

Knives.

Cases.

Sandpapers.

Clink. Clink. Clob. 

4.3 inches.

34 degrees inclination.

2.8 inches radius of curvature.

5 feet elevation.


And at last, Venus was unveiled.

To a New Beginning

Me and my special someone were having a bit of a dragging whiny fight over many apparent and non-apparent reasons. Now that they have been resolved, I have come up with this project  we do together where he suggests a word each day and I write a post on it, duration not yet known to either of us. I also don't know how this will work out, but I think the idea is pretty interesting; it should provoke my imagination and creativity. It will help us bridge the gap that has formed. So from tomorrow, one post on a new word each day.

Too Weird to Title

Specimen #92512

Traits:

Vision - Based on movement, rather weak.

Anger management level - Zero.

Roar - Deafening.

Social skills - Awkward.
Hmmmm, that's sounds like a T-Rex.

Oh, wait. That sounds like me too. Sigh.

Wish Upon A Star

It's been a long time since I stopped believing in wishing on a shooting star. I think it was when we learnt about comets, meteors and dying stars in school. That's not the point. I may have stopped believing in wishing upon a star, I've not stopped wishing. I wish for a lot of things. Every day. Every minute. 

For one thing, I wish had better teeth. And I wish people (random strangers even) stopped telling me to get them fixed.

I also wish I had a photographer friend who would take really artistic pictures of me and I could show them off and get a thousand compliments.

And for a puppy that never would grow into a dog.

That I could be a badass-vampire-hunting-pirate.

That my room never needed cleaning.

That I could eat without getting fat, earn without working and love without hurting.

That my bookshelf would have a hinge that revealed a secret passage to a curious place.

"And I wished for things that I don't need..."

Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscopes have always fascinated me. They are so simple, yet so beautiful. When I was a kid, I spent hours on end just rotating the cardboard tube and looking at all the myriad designs forming inside the cone. I think I still have one back at home. I wonder who invented these.

I like to think of my life as a kaleidoscope. It's made of a lot of ordinary simple things, but it's still beautiful.

The friends who are so weird that you can't live without them.

My family which is the reason I'm this crazy.

The roads I've walked, drove and passed.

The college that ground the brains out of me.

The skeezes who made me realize my own worth.

The poems I read but never understood, only my skin was left in goose-pimples.

The fairs I've been to and got lost.

The cats I cuddled on the road.

The last benches we carved our names on.

The wallets I lost, and lost more than money.

The best friend I found in my boyfriend.

The scars on my legs when I was learning to cycle.

The tears I wept that nobody knows about.

The burps that scandalize but also amuse my buds.

The flowers I picked from a far away hillside and pressed between books.

The autumn sky with clean white cotton clouds.

The smell of a brand new book in a musty store.

The vapours of a plate of warm khichdi on a rainy afternoon.

The old house with vines growing on its walls that I once called home.

The wind that blew tiny leaves in my face and hair.

The forks of lightning I viewed from an open terrace.

The make-believe stories I played out.

The reality which had once become make-belief.

The dates that went bad.

The movies that made me laugh and cry and swear.

The times I loved and lost, but learnt to love again.
  

To all those bits that make up my kaleidoscope every day -

Co-ordination

Clumsy. Klutz. Uncoordinated. That's me.

Sometimes I have trouble coordinating my left and right feet to go the same way. When I was younger, I frequently tripped over my own feet, without any apparent reason. I have a number of scars on my legs (and some also on my arms) to prove that.

At others, I have trouble coordinating my eyes and hands. My eyes are probably seeing that the object is coming towards me from my right, while my arms, with a mind completely of their own, make a grab either diametrically to the left, or on better occasions a little towards the center. No wonder I didn't make it any organized sports teams.

But I can live with that.

What really bothers me is that at times I cannot seem to coordinate my thoughts and my speech. I know what you're thinking. What a retard, right? Well let me explain briefly that it is not so. I have no problems getting my thoughts down on paper. But you ask me a question and I fumble. It's not that I don't know what to say. Usually I know exactly what I want to say. But my tongue too seems to have a separate brain from my thoughts-brain. And they just don't like each other. Often I get this feeling that even while I'm saying something, out loud that is, my brain has already thought twenty steps ahead, and I lose track of what I am currently saying. Which is definitely weird, I admit.

Talking too needs practice, like catching a ball and dancing to steps. I'm afraid I've never had much of that. Most of my conversations have been ones with myself. I know people who do not like IMs and texting. They would rather have a face to face encounter. I, on the other hand, feel comfortable with written words. Probably that's why I'm also a fast reader.

Not talking often enough might have made me an uncoordinated speaker, but that is also the reason I can write, the little whatever I can.