The label : Story 2

From @funny_swamy:

It was Neha's tenth birthday. They went at that expensive mall again. She chose a beautiful gown. Her eyes were twinkling. His eyes were searching the label. He saw it, and smiled. She knew that smile. "Another dress, please?" she asked the vendor. A tear broke out, he smiled again; the proud father.

The Label : Story 1

From @Marwaari:

It seemed to be a romantic night, filled with passion and lust, of vanishing loneliness. A night, remembering the time spent together. A night, when all the mistakes would be forgiven, He thought. Never knowing that women forgive but never forget. He had the last sip of his favorite label of scotch laced with poison.

Dear dad, yours loving step daughter

Dear Dad,

I was 9 when I first met you. Mom married again. And your ex-wife passed away. I didn’t know what it meant to be a step-daughter. Whenever I heard anyone say, “She is the step-daughter,” I felt it meant the child who learns to live on the steps of her father. I wanted to and I tried to live my life on your foot-steps. I hope I was able to.

When I was 15, you taught what high-school meant. While mom was teaching me about menopause and sex, I was learning you and your life. I differentiated each and every guy I met with you. Like Miranda, for me you were the only man I knew, even though there were lots of them around me then.

When I turned 18, we started moving far away. I used to hear you and mom discuss about your new daughter. I felt cheated, I felt jealous. I felt murderous. I knew I was growing up, I was going through a phase but I needed you, to help me tackle the inner evil that was drifting me away from you. I couldn’t bear the pain of slow separation.

As I entered my 21^st birthday, you were there, smiling at me, with me, happy, cheering me up. But yet you were not there. I could feel myself separated from you. Like a just born child, cut off from the umbilical cord of the mother, I felt so, cutting away from you.

And then things started falling apart. I learnt what step-daughter meant. I did everything you asked me not to. I felt broken, shattered, and even guilty while doing everything that I promised I wouldn’t but hoping that my mistakes will make you rescue me.

A year later, we were in the same house. I lived my own life. You your own. Your nice little world. You, my mom and you and my mom’s daughter.

That night, I came late. Something happened. I don’t even remember. I just knocked on your door. I saw your eyes. You were hurt but it wasn’t I who did it. You were hurt for other reasons. I wanted you to tell me. You didn’t.

It’s now going to be a year. I miss you. I can’t remember your face, I can’t remember what were the things that we promised to do. I can’t even remember your birthday.

All I remember is the last words. It’s 1:50 AM. You were never my father. I was never your daughter. But we shared a bond. Unspoken. Beyond heart, soul, mind and blood.

I didn’t lose you, a year back. We lost ourselves. I miss you but things would have remained the same, had you been alive today. And I wish you were alive today to see that even in mistakes you are the only one I think about. And I will still follow your steps. Coz I am your step-daughter and you are my step-father.

Lovingly,

Your step-daughter.

I still follow your foot-steps.

The hotel : Story 2

from @bedardi_baalam:

It was early morning. There were many guests out there. Some came from abroad and some from India itself. All staff was busy in serving guests. They all were ALIVE when they hear the sound of guns at TAJ HOTEL.

The Hotel : Story 1

From @AbhiAndNow:

A boy was celebrating his 10th birthday. 57-year-old man was marrying for the fourth time. The waiter was busy fornicating with the receptionist. The manager was pleading an industrialist’s daughter planning to sue them. The master chef prepared a dish containing the mistakenly chopped nail, when he entered the hotel with a suitcase-carrying time bomb.

The bed : Story 3

From @iamafairytale:

He was the only witness to the CM murder case. Court procedures were gonna happen early next week. That one night before, he was found dead in his room. Throat slit by the same murderer. He paid a heavy price for helping the justice. Now there was a silent witness, bed in room no. 701

The bed : story 2

From @ChhotaRecharge:

Our first “night”! I was changing in his parent’s room into the skimpy lingerie picked by him, when the doorbell rang…I heard attentively…“Mom…Dad…How? WHAT?” Picking the cue, I hastily grabbed my strewn clothes and slid under the bed just as the doorknob turned! Someone had sex that night…it wasn’t the boyfriend and me!

The bed : Story 1

From @IndianIdle:

Two guys, miles apart, shared a same story. Two passionate souls playing out their heart ,football. They collapsed one day while playing. They didn't share the same fate. One got a bed in hospital with prayers of the world. The other went unnoticed and met his deathbed. Rest In peace Venkatesh.

The girl in red

by @ohteri_  :-

She was dancing and chirping all around. Few days, and she will be a bride. She blushed when they talked about him. And, hushed, when he called. They demanded something, which the girl's family couldn't provide.And, the marriage was over. That day everyone cried,when the GIRL in RED, was no more a BRIDE.

The Bottle

by Harshvardhan

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the story of a bottle. A bottle which was filled with Pepsi, opened, emptied, smashed on someone’s head, shoved into someone’s stomach, killed one person, cut a couple of hands, ended up in a dustbin, thereafter in a junk-yard, got scrapped, recycled and was born again as a Coke bottle. So much for Cola wars.

The Girl named Apple

by Harshvardhan

Once upon a time there was a girl named Apple who lived in the Big Apple. She didn’t have an Adam’s Apple. Neither did she have a boyfriend named Adam. Sadly, she wasn’t the apple of her father’s eyes either. Hence, she didn’t own any Apple product. She did have a lot of apps on her smartphone, though. No apple ever fell on her head from any tree. Yet she ate one apple daily. Naturally, the doctor stayed away. And she lived hAPPLEy ever after.

The Newspaper Boy

by Harshvardhan

 

The newspaper boy would do his rounds, climbing up and down the stairs of thirty four buildings of three floors each, plugged in cheerfully to the early morning radio show on his phone. He would fold and stuff the papers neatly into all sorts of door flaps, latches and door handles. Nobody knew the headlines better than him, as he would gaze down at every paper while folding it. Ask him the headlines of any newspaper and he would rattle it off without missing a beat.

 One morning, the headlines on the local daily caught his attention. “Senior Citizen Killed After Brutal Assault By Milkman.” As he read the entire article, he felt sick. The coroner had put the time of death between 06:00 am to 06:30 am of the previous day, due to excessive bleeding. The police put the motive down to robbery. The milkman had been arrested, as one of the neighbors had heard the old man moaning and had spotted the milkman escaping with a sack.

The newspaper boy took out his earphones and angrily threw them away as realization dawned upon him. He would meet the milkman everyday as they reached the building in which the old man stayed, at about the same time. The previous day he had happily folded and stuck the newspaper into the handle of the open door of the old man’s apartment, without thinking twice. If only he hadn’t been listening to his radio, he would have heard the old man’s cries for help.

Theme 1 - Dreams

Story 1:
                With pre-bookings reaching thousands he was already a literary icon. Yesterday at an event he was asked about his “dreams”. Baffled. Flabbergasted. He realized they weren’t there since quite a while. Scanning his soul-inventory through five minutes of utter silence he scribbled something on the paper & left after a polite thanks. “SOLD”, it read.

Story 2: 
               There at the corner of the street he used to put up his little stall. Everybody in the locality from the poor to the ultra-rich loved him. Magically, he had something for everyone in his stall. It turned into a landmark for college-goers and a playground for kids. He had perennial buyers. He hawked “Dreams”!


Story 3: 
                I had a Dream. next day, I was thinking "Dream was good, but I don't want that dream to be lived." because if that dream lives, someone else will have to die for it. And I don't want my dream to blamed for someone's death. I stopped dreaming. Now, I prefer Dreaming with eyes open.


Story 4: 
                The internet was always my best friend. That day, it had stopped on me for some reason. It was just around my bedtime. My father walked in to wish me good night. He was surprised, I was still awake. ‘What keeps you up, son?’ ‘I can’t sleep without downloading my dreams.’ He sighed. I cried.

2 minutes fiction

Hello everyone, I will post some short stories (50-60 words) based on a particular theme on daily basis. These stories based on emotions, comedy, enjoyment and whatever you want. You can also write your stories based on certain theme.