suriti
The people were filed in separate rows and columns. There was a controller at the helm of each column. He had a small whip attached to his belt.
The ship was burning. But surprisingly, there were no screams or screeches, not even a tiny yelp. It seemed that the women inside chose to be burned rather than suffer an injury to their honour.
The knee guards were a must in ice hockey. They were a safeguard against injuries. But what if you caused an injury with it to someone?
It was rare that dad ever wore the apron. He did all the chores, but somehow felt that wearing the apron would be beneath him.
I don't know why that was the first thought that came to my head. That she looked like a fish in that salmon-coloured dress. Here she was walking down the aisle and it was just minutes more that we would be taking our vows. And all I could think was that she looked like a piece of fish.
The parking area didn't look much unlike a shopping store, like all the cans packed together on a shelf.
A eulogy demanded nice and sanitized things to be read out in front of a fake crowd. But he couldn't stop it. Out came many abuses after trying to stay calm for long.
He was a painter, a painter of lies. He painted masterpieces of lies with a flourish.Every item in his painting was concocted.
It was always fish and chips. That was her favourite dish. I don't know how the latina girl ever came to like the very British dish.
And it was fish and chips again, the day we met to break up.
The prison door was locked. But had a lock ever stopped me. I was used to surpassing them, breaking them or just breaking the bolt instead. This will undergo the same fate.
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writing since 2011 · 66 entries · 64 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means suriti showed up.
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stepanothertinyfishhairnowbodyworeteacherplaidfavouritestopwordwearingbestapron