Tag Archives: short story

Like it’s Something She Does When She’s Bored

I walk down the narrow bus terminal, a tunnel through the smoke of the city, as vendors’ yellow light bulbs struggle against the enveloping darkness. A beggar shifts in his rags. Then a man and a woman walk toward me, and suddenly, the woman lifts the man’s hand and kisses it like it’s nothing. Like it’s something she does when she’s bored.

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Mr. Jackknife


Mr. Jackknife was a regular Jack, doing dirty jobs in a Japanese factory. Everybody who knew him knew him to be a jolly good fella. And Mr. Jackknife was–until his daughter, fair Jackie, came along.


See, Mr. Jackknife was indeed a jolly good fella even before he moved his family on a jet to Japan. He was a jeweler in his homeland, respected by every average Joe. For Mr. Jackknife was always giving, jovially giving his money to every average Joe. And so every average Joe was jam-packed in debt with Mr. Jackknife. But he didn’t mind as long as he pleased Jesus in his heart. And everything would have been all right until his daughter, fair Jackie, came along.

‘Cause Mr. Jackknife was a jack of all trades but he was best in giving and pleasing Jesus in his heart. Jolly as he was however, everyone would jump in fear whenever he’s jittery mad. For the truth was that no one could really jest at Jackknife since he could hire just about anybody to do what’s bloody just. And to this jack of all trades, only Jesus was the judge.


But there was Jackie.

Jackie used to be the joy of the family for she was the fairest among the babies. So baby Jackie turned into a lady, and, as was expected, became the fairest among the ladies. Oh, you’ll never guess how many John, Jacob and Jude fell in deep love for this gem of a woman named Jackie.

But fair Jackie had the heart of a free jay, always seeking the bluest skies for the most joyful of joys. And so it was that fair Jackie, quite amusingly, fell in love with no John, Jacob or Jude–but with a bottle of gin that we all know can be really, really, really good. Continue reading


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Like Regular Coffee

Karl is on the loose. He’s shooting everybody who annoys him with his dad’s Glock 17 fitted with a silencer. He doesn’t wince.

He passed by a guy who looked him up and down with his eyebrows knotted and his mouth in an impatient line. Karl sidestepped, pulled out his gun from his pocket, and before the surprised stranger could utter a word of surprise, he was down on the ground, leaking blood.

No one saw what happened until three minutes later when a car drove along the street. The woman driving went hysterical, almost had a heart attack.

Meanwhile, Karl walked on.

He passed by people with cold stares, square blank faces, dreamy eyelids. He wanted to shoot every one of them but that would catch too much attention. It’s important to get as many annoying people down as he can, and that won’t happen if the police gets to him too early this bright Saturday morning.

There was a need to smoke.

He went inside a store. Karl didn’t miss the guard’s head turning 180 degrees just to follow him with his vision. Needless to say, Karl didn’t like his suspicion and authoritative glare.

He turned around, revealing a pistol, shot the guard down with a bullet to the chest. He pulled him in a corner, beside the can of umbrellas designed with Pokemons. Continue reading


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Kyle almost jumped out of his seat. The private messenger’s window popped up on his screen.

“Please see me in my office immediately.” The CEO’s words.

“Ok, Sir. I’ll be there in a sec.” typed Kyle.

He’s had brushes with the CEO several times during his three-month stay in the company and he considers it a sign that he picked the right people to work for. Many employees today never see their CEOs face-to-face, he mused while rummaging for a pen and a piece of paper in his drawer. Their companies are so huge that they get fired before the year-end meet-and-greet party. iEventCentral makes it possible for your average clerk and security guard to chat with the CEO at least two times a month — kind of makes everyone feel special and appreciated, theoretically boosts their production. This guy is much more special, though. He’s known to randomly pick 9 employees in the building every April to celebrate his birthday with. He only picks guys and they go to a bar where he provides every single one of them with their own whore smack on their lap.

But he hasn’t tried that. Once, the CEO rode the elevator on the 43rd floor with a bunch of Israelis who scraped the elevator’s ceiling with their heads. Kyle was in a corner having gone to the ice-cold Finance Department on the same floor to manually submit some names. The CEO turned his head, noticed him gulping and looked at him for three seconds before smiling and nodding his head a fraction of a millimeter. Kyle heavily sighed and smiled and nodded, too. It was a fantastic experience being recognized like that.

As he pushed the up arrow alone in the white marble hallway, he can’t help but grin a cheshire grin. It’s the 26th of March and everyone knows the CEO’s birthday is on April 7. It’s about time for him to choose his next lucky pals for that special night. Kyle reviewed their encounters in the employees’ bathroom, their unexpected meeting at a showing of “Avatar,” and just recently at the building’s pantry. The bald bespectacled man in beige coat glanced at him once and told some skyscraper Italians, “See that over there at the condiments? One of our excellent employees here, Kyle.”

It’s coming.

Doors opened on the 43rd floor and Kyle stepped out, his trousers hiding the tremors in his legs. The CEO’s glittering silver office came nearer and nearer as he walked toward it — he felt his eyes were like a hand-held camera and he’s about to witness something awesome. He watched as his hands grasped the golden doorknob.

He was in. Continue reading


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I Died on Valentine’s Day.

I died on Valentine’s Day.
Paramedics hauled my indifferent corpse
To an ambulance 10 minutes late.
A pretty girl had dropped her red roses,
Petals now blown by the cold wind
Onto my face with pale eyes wide open.
The police was questioning the woman,
“What happened to this guy, ma’am?
“Why is he dead on Valentine’s Day?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” she replied.
“But it is indeed the tragedy of all tragedies.”
“Some people are that unlucky,” said a banker
His tie bright red for Valentine’s Day.
“Some get robbed on Christmas,”
Some get burned on New Year’s Eve,
And some get death
on Valentine’s Day.”
And the girl nodded sighing,
The police shook their heads frowning,
As paramedics hauled my corpse
To an ambulance 10 minutes late. Continue reading


Filed under Love, Poems, Random Thoughts

Past is Past (A Sexist Story about a Non-sexist Reality)

The bride walks along the red carpet covered with the most fragrant flowers you can think of. Her head is bowed because she wants to hide the enormous amount of tears flowing down her face. But she’s smiling. Yes, she’s smiling. Pretty white pearls shining between her soft pink lips. If you take a peek at her face from under her bowed head, you’d see she’s almost mad with joy.

The groom waiting for her at the end of that aisle that takes forever to walk looks like a prince out of a Disney film. Licking his lips, he shook his head a little bit at the dazzling woman gliding toward him now.

He thinks, “Not bad. Not bad at all. It took 3 years of enduring her stone-cold fanatically religious parents, but I finally bagged this one home. Great cook. Pretty expert with her mouth and tongue. I could live with that. After spending 10 hours facing a computer and reading porn spam, yeah, I can come home to that. Not bad. We can do it in the kitchen. Just pull down my pants and she’d know what to do. Yeah, not bad at all.”

And bridesmaid one thinks, “This bitch must really be better than me. I still can’t believe it. I mean, come on. I sucked the hell out of Art ’til I freakin’ choked. And for hours I choked! That asshole didn’t care that I was already as blue as his father’s cancerous mole!”

And Art’s father thinks, “What would Art think if he’d known I jacked off to this lady’s Facebook profile? Those bikini pictures were too much for me. What would mom think?”

And Art’s mother thinks, “My son is a lucky boy ever since he was young. Good choice of crowd here, too. Very lovely people. Especially that Lindsay. My buttocks were as plump as those when I was 16.”

And Lindsay thinks, “God, that bridesmaid over there is makin’ my nipples itchy and hard. But Art’s sister doesn’t look bad, either. I like her jawline.”

And bridesmaid one thinks, “What’s up with this Lindsay bitch? She thinks she’s hotter than me, eh?”

And Art’s sister thinks, “Good luck, bridey. If you only knew what Art hides under the floor of his bedroom.”

And the best man thinks, “Arty my man, we have a new subject. Those cuffs will fit her wrists juuust fine. I would’ve tapped that a** myself if you weren’t so fast with that f*cked up speed dating game. I know she used to dig me.”

And the priest thinks, “Good heavens. The plunging neckline is too revealing! Bathroom immediately after this.” Continue reading


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The Telephone Tells A Love Story


Life is vicious, like a rabid mad dog, I can tell you that. Didn’t use to be that way but it definitely is now. I think the world might be getting too dense, too suffocating, like everyone out there is getting pounded real hard, so they’re only three-fourths of their original size and, well, humanity. The air must be too condensed and saturated with microscopic droplets of sweat and blood and spit and oil. And I guess the grounds can’t be walked anymore because they’ve risen up, swallowing trees, plants, and every crawling green that’s fresh to the eyes and to the brains. They’ve now turned into tentacles of a gigantic toxic monster egging people to go to places that lead to nowhere. So the people are lost; and the sky must not be too much of a comfort for them too, because in its untainted innocence, it only serves to push down guilt and shame and senselessness into their throats.

That is why you get people who whisper “I love yous” to each other in the morning and throw murderous curses to each other at night. Blame them for my unfit body and soul. I got this guy Ted who’s always on my left ear — he’s generally a nice guy. Talks about .NET and CSS and HTML and other goddamn strange jargon all the time with a guy with a funny accent on the other line on my right. Harry’s the name, if I remember correctly. I think they might be up to something heroic to save the perishing world ’cause they’re always exchanging smart incomprehensible stuff about “problems” and “solutions.” I never did get what they mean but whoever this “client” guy was, he isn’t gonna be better off once Ted and Harry figure out how to save the world. So Ted — as I said, ideal guy, if you ask me. He takes care of his grandma Lucy from Mondays ’til Fridays, making sure she takes her meds ’cause she’s got a whopping lump ’round her neck. Which reminds me, that’s also the problem they got out there today: everyone has a fatal disease. Continue reading

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