Despicable me – Self Reflecting.

The true alchemist do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words”                                                                                                                                                    – William H. Gass
Some are born writers, they start to scribble in the walls of the house as soon as they learn to walk, they draw and scrawl in their parents or bigger siblings books writing in the secret words that originate from the corners of their mind. Though not all of them continue sharpening the inborn quill, some goes on to pursue art.
While some others get inspired from their parents or some one who was close to them like their favorite teacher or their favorite uncle. They listens in classes and are interested in the art of spinning tales, they hone their skills and grows up to go to colleges to pursue education in literature and history.
The third group are the ones who got inspired by the books written by their favorite writers and they were also probably in their teens when the comet of inspiration stuck them in the form of a book. I was one of them. But the thing that separated me from the other inspired teen book heads were that I lacked passion for the writing at least in the beginning of my life.
Do not get me wrong, I was and am a reader. A book worm . But the thing that attracted me to writing was the money. I had looked up about the writers whose book I have read which also happened to be famous ones and apparently all of them had ended up rich after getting their books published and that decided it for me. Woe me for my shallow and flippant heart. I overlooked the fact that all of them were famous, that they were all passionate, hard workers with a million following and almost all of those writers had not started rich and a larger number of writers had never been able to enter the spot light either, which had left me with a bad taste.

But now I had matured a lil bit or thinks I have and as a result and have kinda changed…. and the writing that I began as a pursuit for money kinda became my hobby…. I don;t think you will find any moral from my life or at-least from this production of my writing. I am trying to refer to this post and can’t find an apt name …. I do not know whether to name it article or an autobiography snippet.
So here I am getting all the typos from my mistypes due to lack of practice in typing, trying to make a better writer out of myself. 

The inspiration hunter – Terrible minds Challenge

A flash fiction challenge – 100 words only


I wish the day would come soon when I could stop killing people in my mind for just 100 words –  

” Why “, sobbed the woman.

” A challenge was issued “, I said.
“What “, she quavered.
“A challenge.. can’t you hear me… a challenge.. need hundred words”
” But…Why “. Tears flowed from her eyes.
” Needed the experience.. want to better myself…. keep talking “
” Please…”
“Yes”
“Save me…”
” Yes…. keep talking”
“Please “, she whimpered and a shudder went through her and she stopped moving.
I looked at the stab wound, looked terrible but the concept was terrible minded, a hundred words of fiction. A drabble. It is hard enough to write short fictions. 

Editors are hard to find – A conversation

ME: hey check this out … I wrote this . it’s one of the chapters of the story am working on
FRIEND: ah well I will check it out later
ME : nope you have got to do it now.
FRIEND : dude I don’t want to read it. Am not in the mood to read
ME : wat da fuck….. read it fucking write now…. You should be honored that am allowing you to read it
My friend obediently sits down to read with a grim look on his face which said everything that was prolly running through his mind

Lullaby To A Vampire

Sweet dreams little one, for the dawn comes                                                                                                                      
The moon is here to say goodnight to you
Get in your little coffin, for the night is at an end                                                                                                                
Lie down my little sucker, in your little blankets                                            
Close your eyes, for the sun is here                                                                                                                                
To dream of breathing down a mortals neck
Sleep my child, for its time to rest                                                                                                                                      
for night is life and day is death
Hush my little midnight daughter                                                                                                                                                
and close your red ruby eyes        
May the call of night hum lullabies                                                                                                                                
sweet as blood in your ears my little love                                                    
Sweep into crimson dreams little one                                                                                                                                
for the days are longer than nights              

Zombies Do Not Have Brains

Look into my head, Look at the body dead
Where the hell is my brain?
Is that my brain?
The one lying on the ground
Oh no it’s bigger than mine
Call me, call me a zombie
For I am as dead as my friend walking next to me
For that’s what we call one without a brain
I see people everywhere, people screaming everywhere
I like people I love people I eat people
I see them running ahead of me
I like people I love people I eat people
I see them even without a brain
Yesterday was when it happened
I was taking a shortcut home
That’s when they grabbed me
That’s when they got me
All my friends were there
And so were some girls
It felt like as if it was a rave party
I got bitten, I feel my body broken
And I feel like dead, but that’s what I am
I like people I love people I eat people
I see them running ahead of me
I like people I love people I eat people
I see them even without a brain
Where the hell is my brain?
Is that my brain?
The one lying on the ground
Oh no it’s not as big as mine
Walking like the dead, with intestinal trouble
Looking for a doctor, for I feel super sick
For I am dead, for I have no brain
I like people I love people I eat people
I see them running ahead of me
I like people I love people I eat people
Are they running away with my brain?