Posts Tagged ‘short story’

Sirus and Orion

Like a dozen other starts, this is also one.

Is that even a Muslim name?’ asks Farida, in a matter of fact way. Like it is normal to ask such questions to complete strangers.
‘Yes, I was named after the brightest sky in the night sky and the great Iranian King’ answers Sirus, with an implied sense of exhaustion, like a he has been asked this question one too many times.
He looks up to the night sky, scanning it, until finally his neck finally twisting and he smiles. Like meeting an old friend, and picking up where you last left off, he winks at Sirus – the star.
‘There, you see that? Those three stars in a line? That’s Orion’s belt. Orion was a hunter, the Great Hunter. Now follow through Orion’s belt. There, thats the brightest star in the night sky, Sirus. Thats who I am named after’ he finishes, lowering his hand.
A cold December breeze blows, gently. He is suddenly very aware of the cold soft skin pressing against his arm, realizing he moved too close in the glee of the moment. He is very aware of his own outline.  Farida, seemingly unaware of their proximity, stares at the star for  a while, then looses interest and starts gazing at other immortals mapped on the night sky.

Every fiber of his being told him not to move an inch, but he did. ‘Doesnt feel right’, he said to himself, repeatedly. Slowly, as not to offend her, he moved away, just an inch. The warmth radiating from her skin beating gently on his. Or maybe it was his mind playing ticks on him again.

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Over Cooked Eggs.

His fingers are tapping on the hard walnut table. Its brown. Dark brown. So dark almost looks black, if it wasn’t for the ripples of light breaking across the grain, pouring down from the lamp on the table. He doesn’t really need to light a lamp. The writing process takes place on the laptop, the glow from the screen enough to spot and strike the right keys. But he likes how the smoke swirls and disappears against the light. How he can see the green grey smoke rising from the smoldering tip of his cigarette.

Over Cooked Eggs.

He takes a drag. Leans back into his chair. Smoke billowing from his nostrills, he stares at the title. What deeper meaning does it convey? None. Is it even possible to over cook eggs? Dont you simply burn and char them?

He decided to keep the title. Maybe it will invoke a readers curiosity.

Now for the plot, he tells himself. In a quiet voice inside his own head.

Over Cooked Eggs

Why are you staring at the bottom of your coffee mug?’

‘I read somewhere you can predict the future by infering from the pattern at the bottom’

‘Dont fill your head with mumbo jumbo bull. Ofcourse you cant. The future’s a mystery and yesterday is history. Snap out of it.’

He looks around. Dazed. His eye’s lock with the person across the table. The eyes can tell you alot about a person. And these were soft and kind. Maybe even a hint of concern.

‘You should talk about it’

‘But I dont want to.’

‘I am not saying talk to me about it, just talk to someone about it. Its not healthy to keep it all locked up inside and let it brew.’ Eyes boring into his forehead, with the intention of drilling a hole through his skull.

‘But time makes the flavour come out.’ He smirks and looks away. Turning his head towards the door.

‘No your not leaving like this. You have to promise me that you’ll talk to someone about it. I am worried about you. This is not healthy.’

‘Yeah fruits and vegetables are.’

‘What the hell was that about?’

‘Fine I’ll go see a shrink. Or  better yet get a prostitute and have her listen my woes. Maybe I’ll get a pity lay out of it for free.’

‘Your impossible!!’

‘Thats what they said.’ Pushing his chair away from the table and and motioning to get up. ‘I am heading for the loo. You care to join me?’

‘ Don’t be absurd. Your not my prisoner.’

‘Sure as hell feels like it. Catch you in another life.’



He leans back on his chair,staring at his screen. He takes a last drag and snubs out his cigarette. His index finger hovers over the ‘Delete’ button. Taking a deep breath he watches as the words he just wrote disappear off the screen and he’s left with a blank canvas to start all over again.

‘The night is still young’  he tells himself.

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