A Conversation

"Honey, I'm home..."

"What took you so long?"

"You know, the work, the traffic. They closed the Drake Avenue exit. It's a parking lot out there."

"I've been home for three hours. I left early today to pick up some groceries on the way. Can you believe it? They didn't have any chunky peanut butter. I had to buy the creamy one."

"Quite a misfortune. Really, what is the world coming to these days?"

"You don't have to be sarcastic. I was just saying..."

"Yes dear, I know you were just saying. How was your day?"

"It was okay. Nothing great. How was yours?"

"It was a blast. Mooned the boss and told him to go drown himself."

"Very funny. Did you call the phone company about the extra charges?"

"Yes, I did and the lady suggested it would help some if you spent less time on the phone with your mom."

"Sometimes I wonder why I even try talking sense with you."

"Yes, it is a pity, isn't it? Sometimes I wonder why you said yes when I was kneeling on one leg with a diamond ring in hand."

"The sparkle of the diamond must have blinded me from seeing your true self."

"Ah, some of my wit is finally rubbing off on you. So what did you cook for dinner?"

"Spinach lasagna with ricotta cheese."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"It was. Opening the packet, thawing the lasagna, heating it in the oven. That's tough, mister."

"Hah...I should have guessed."

"Well, you can crack wise all you want. I have an early presentation tomorrow, so I am off to sleep."

"No wait...listen, sit down for a minute...let's talk...it seems like such a long time since we just sat and talked. I mean talked about each other. Not about work or friends or the weather. Just about us."

"I would love to darling. But not today. It's so late and I just have to get up early for my presentation. We'll talk tomorrow, I promise. Now you just go and have a nice hot shower and enjoy your dinner. Good night, dear."

"Okay. Good night."

He looked at the clock. 7 pm. 10 pm in New York. How he hated the time difference. He sighed. And hung up.

The Departure

He was leaving. We sat nursing our beers at the bar of one of those typically expensive restaurants you would find at the airport. The silence was soothing, a silence that comes naturally to friends who have grown used to each other's company. There was nothing to be said, well, nothing that really mattered. I looked at him. He looked tired and haggard. He hadn't shaved. His eyes were bloodshot and it wasn't because of the booze. But then, a girlfriend breaking up a long term relationship could do that to a guy. If only things had worked out for him.

I watched as fresh information cascaded over the dot matrix departure display after an invisible hand had wiped it clean. Another ten minutes and he would have to proceed for security check, announced a sweet voice. Ten minutes. After years of beer outings and football games and cookouts and late-night parties, it had come down to ten minutes. He had heard it too as he was now unsuccessfully trying to gulp down his pint. I smiled. He would not finish it. He never could. But he always ordered a pint. Some things never change.

We walked to the security check area. He hated long drawn out goodbyes. No pithy sentimental speeches like the ones they gave in the movies. Besides, he had already heard all of it over the past few days. We reached the gate. He turned around and said goodbye. I wished him good luck with a hug and a pat on the back. Yes, he said, luck is something I could have used. And he walked in through the security gate.

I stood there thinking about the way things had turned out. It was a darn shame. The stupid visa quotas. It was a darn shame alright.

A Fairy Tale

The prince staggered over the final steps of the spiral staircase. Leaning against the door, he drank the last few drops from his vial of healing potion. Not enough. His sword broken at the hilt and the obscene looking wound in his chest were proof of the bloody battle he had fought against the bewitched guards of the bell-tower. Slaughtering the last guard with his trusted dagger he had reached the topmost room of the tower, confident that his quest would soon be over. Behind that door lay the fair princess in deep slumber, who had been cursed by the evil Queen many years ago.

The potion, although failing to heal his wounds, had given him renewed hope. He gave the door a strong kick and sent it flying off its hinges. The room was awash with sunlight, filtering through the pastel colored curtains that hung over the diamond casement windows. He could hear birds chirping on the eaves and felt a faint whiff of citrus blossoms in the air. He stepped closer to the four-poster bed and it felt like walking on clouds. He could see now that the stories he had heard did not do her justice. He had not seen anyone so beautiful, so delicate, so exquisite in his life. He sat down and carefully drew away a long ringlet of golden hair that was resting across her face. He looked at her for a long moment as if not wishing to disturb her peace, then bent down and kissed her for what seemed to him like eternity.

He drew away and waited. Moments slipped by, each passing one giving strength to the nagging doubt in his mind. For a moment he had felt that the princess was about to open her eyes, but he knew that it was his mind playing tricks on him. He looked away. For the first time since he had begun his journey, he did not know what to do. He had been confident that his love was true and pure, that it would break the curse, even the fortune teller had said so. But he was wrong. He felt the energy and hope drain away from him, his wound bleeding again as profusely as before, the miniscule effects of the potion having faded away. He knew he could not defeat the guards again. The guards, who thriving on the dark magic of the castle, would have regained their strength by now. But he was a prince and he would rather die fighting than hide in the tower. He drew his dagger again, took one last look at the princess and stumbled down the stairs.

"I ought to have told him about the magic shield. It's too bad he wasn't better looking. Oh well, I'll just wait for the next one. Besides, it's not so bad here."

The Death of A Blogger

A blogger died and reached the Pearly Gates to be interviewed by St. Peter...

St. Peter: Welcome to the Pearly Gates. The name is Peter, Saint Peter. (to himself) Great...another blogger...I am gonna need more coffee...

Blogger: Hey, this place is cool...nice gates...and I see you have a fog machine for the mythological touch...I could write a great post about this place...you wouldn't happen to have a camera, would you?...I like to include pictures along with my blog posts. (smiles annoyingly)

Peter (rolling his eyes): Why do I get all the screwballs on Monday?

Blogger: And hey, you've got a cool pc and everything...did you upgrade recently?...if not, you should really consider it...you know, Microsoft just released this great new operating system called...

P (exasperated): Would you just sit down and be quiet already? Now, the reason you are here is that we have to decide whether to send you to Heaven or to Hell...

B: Sheesh! What a grouch...I wonder how Mrs. Peter puts up with Mr. Sunshine here...

P (with an oily smug I-knew-it look): Ah, it says here that I have to send you to Hell.

B: WHAT? No...there must be some mistake...I have led a good honest life...I did not commit any sins...

P: Well...it looks like you plagiarized one post too many without giving credit to the rightful bloggers...

B (sheepishly): Uhhh...heh heh heh...ok, maybe I was "inspired" while writing a couple of posts...but I wrote a lot of genuine ones too...you know, thoughts for the day, movie reviews, poems, jokes...

P: Jokes, eh? Well, guess who's laughing now? (breaks into guffaws of laughter)

B: Uh, you are.

(Awkward silence)

P: You weren't supposed to answer that. It was a rhetorical question. I was just saying - That the "joke" is on you, buster. (laughing hard while beating the desk with fists)

B: Uh, what joke?

(Silence again)

P: You know what, Mr. Smartypants? I am too old and too rich to put up with this. Off you go...(presses a button...hidden trapdoor under B's chair opens and B falls with a rapidly fading yell)

(B lands in front of Satan)

Satan: Ah, another one of you...it's surprising how many of you bloggers turn up here. Welcome to Hell. Let me be frank...I don't know what Peter Parker up there told you but the reason you were sent here is that you are a smartass. Oh and in case you haven't guessed already, I am Satan...

B: I thought you said your name was Frank...

S: I am gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Now, if you follow me I'll show you the Blogger's Room.

B follows, trying to stomp on S's tail. S leads him into a huge air-conditioned room with row after row of shiny new workstations.

S: In here, we have the latest computer technology ever conceived, entirely for use by you bloggers. You can sit in here for as much time as you want and create blog posts unrivalled to anything you might have composed before.

B: Wow...this is unbelievable...just look at all the cool stuff in here...the templates, the formatting tools, the photo albums...oh I must be dreaming...or I must have died and gone to heav...Hey, wait a minute...I thought you said this place was Hell...so how come you give us bloggers the best possible tools and facilities for blogging?

S: Ah, you see, that's the best part...none of our systems have a "Submit Post" button...

B: NOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo...

The Wedding

The wedding day. He watched her as she walked down the aisle towards him. She looked radiantly beautiful in her white gossamer gown. She looked at him and smiled. That enchanting, infectious smile. He wished he could lift her in his arms and carry her away at that very moment. He smiled back. So far, everything had gone according to plan.

For the past two months, they had meticulously planned the wedding. No detail was small enough to be neglected. She was a stickler for detail. One of the many things he loved about her. She had dragged him through a countless number of bridal shops before selecting the gown and he had accompanied her with a smile. The guest lists, the invitations, the cake, the floral arrangements, the limo, the rehearsal - she had intricate plans for each. And he had agreed, never saying a word in protest. It had paid off. So far, everything was perfect.

And now she was near. The minister read the vows but he had zoned out. All his thoughts were focussed on her. And then, almost in a flash, it was over. She was all smiles now. She tossed the bouquet and there was a momentary rush of hands to grab it. The guests swarmed around to offer their congratulations. It was time for the final part of the plan. They wanted to rush off to the honeymoon immediately and the getaway limo was standing ready outside. She winked at him and they were off. Everyone shouted and cheered as they ran towards the exit. Yes, it had been perfect. Just as she wanted.

She and the lucky bloke she had married, were going on a month long cruise of the Bahamas. He, was going back to his apartment in Queens.

Tracer Spade - Private Eye

It was a dark night in a city that knew how to keep its secrets. I lowered my hat and turned up my overcoat as I walked through the bitter cold that had frozen the city's heart. I had a .38 in my holster, fifty greenbacks in my pocket and a case to investigate. Tracer Spade - Private Eye, that's what they called me.

It was two days ago that she had shown up at my office. Business was dull, the fridge was empty and so was my bank account. The door swung open and trouble walked in. Tall, blonde, beautiful and dangerous. She looked familiar, but then, most did. I listened to her yarn and reviewed the facts. There wasn't much to go on but she was a pushy dame and I was a sucker for tall blondes so I offered to do it for fifty bucks a day plus expenses.

And now, it was time. I had shadowed her to the building. She hadn't noticed me because I hadn't let her. I leaned against a lamp-post in the shadows smoking a Laramie slim while I watched her fumble with the keys. I knew where she lived. Apartment 5B. It was going to be easy. The locks put up a fight but I had the upper edge. I had been quiet. And I meant to stay quiet. The .38 would do the talking. She was humming softly with her eyes closed as she clasped her necklace. I placed the .38 on the nape of her neck. She stiffened. Click!

"Oh, knock if off darling. Have you been out rehearsing again? You do know that we still have two weeks to practice till the play opens..."

The Wait

"Come back young man when you can afford to give her all of life's luxuries."

And he had vowed that he would. She had promised that she would wait for him.

The day had come. He rang the doorbell. The butler let him in.

"Madam will see you in the study."

Few minutes passed. He paced about nervously. Then noticed a pair of eyes peeking from behind the curtains.

A little girl. The same blue eyes. And the same smile. His heart sank.

"Are those flowers for me?"

"Yes, my little angel, just for you."

It was time to leave. He did not wish to see her anymore.
.
.
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"Who was it dear, that wanted to see me?"

"I don't know Aunt Mary, but look, he brought me these pretty roses."