Hi Guys,

I've been writing 69-word, theme-based stories for the digital lifestyle magazine, The Brown Scooter, every month.

Read off and let me know what you think/feel :)


Theme #1 : 5 Shades Of Santa

Story 1

“I have been waiting for you, dear Santa!”

 She pinned him to the mantelpiece and smooched him under the mistletoe.

“Ssshhhh… it’s time someone returned the favour. I’ll be YOUR Santa.”

She pulled up her stockings, kneeled down and freed his candy cane. He grabbed her baubles as she took him deep.

Bells over the fireplace rang loud as the head bobbing got crazier.

A snowy Christmas, it was.


Story 2

One was happy fighting with GI JOE action figures.
One was engrossed in combing Barbie’s silky hair.
One was busy spraying people with his water gun.
One had cooked up a tiny tea party in front of her.

He stood smiling at a distance. The doctor patted his back.

“You gave them the gift of parenthood, a new life.”

“Just my seeds.”

“For them, my son, you are Santa.”


Story 3

“He snubbed a cigarette on the back of my palm. All I did was use the mauve ribbon cause the violet ones were over.”
“She wanted a bear with a bow-tie. I packed one with a bow-tie and a hat. He whipped me 50 times.”

“Santa is a kind, sweet person with loads of love in his heart. He will definitely get you a Christmas gift this year, son."


Story 4

Shawls. Check.
Hoodies. Check.
Gloves. Check.
Caps. Check.
Mufflers. Check.
Sweaters. Check.
Food. Check.

Mutual fund account: NIL.
PPF account: NIL.
Savings account: NIL.

“Dude, you read about the guy who spends his yearly savings distributing gifts among the poor and homeless?”

“Yeah. World’s best Santa or what!”

*In a corner beside the printer, sat a lonely man with a smile on his face, typing away at his keyboard.*


Story 5

“What a well-lit, cheerful house! Let’s finish this.”


Dry, withered tree. Broken glass baubles.
Furiously torn-open presents. Rat-infested socks.
Nauseating odour from the fire place.

“What the…”

The chimney shuts with a thump as he stumbles over bodies on the floor.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” a half-broken LP starts playing.

“Why can’t we have any presents, Santa? Just 3 this year, look around you.”


1 comment:

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