Skip to main content

Quick Bytes: Here and there

Love story

‎"You see that dead puppy there," he asked pointing to a dead puppy.
"Yes."
"Do you feel sorry for it?" he asked engaging her.
"Yes, I do. It is a sad sight to see."
"I don't feel it. I told you I am a psychopath. Things like apathy, love, sad or hatred do not matter to me."
"That can't be true. I have not know anyone incapable of love. Surely you must love something or someone."
"Nope, I love only myself and my thoughts, that get crazy somethings."
"There can't be any proof for that. You could be feeling sad for the puppy but not showing it."
"No I don't," he said, simply, "I did not feel anything when I killed it."


Nightmares

The dreaded night is here. I have been dreading this moment the whole day. It happens, night after night. Every night my soul is tortured beyond comprehension. Why me? I ask for a thousand times, why me? I stare at the coldness ceiling, at the monotonus motion of the fan. Still I get to arousal, no feeling. No emotion. Emotion, is a very complex term, I cannot understand it. I cannot deal with it, why can't I? Why can't I? As my footsteps move towards him, I get goosebumps. Will it happen again tonight? Will it happen like every night? He calls me, invites me in his embrace.

He satisfies everyone but why not me? Why do I dread going into towards him? Pin drop silence in the room as I approach him. A little creak as I sit on him disturbs the peace of the bedroom. I law down on him, silently, waiting for sleep to come. My bed comforts me but I am not able to sleep on him.

I close my eyes and it begins again, nightmares.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Short Story: Parting ways

Funny thing, I just realized I never wrote a funny short story, which was quite surprising as Story is what I like writing and humor is what I do best (atleast I think so), but for some reason I do not write a short story with a fun thing and I wanted to know why, I realized writing humorous stories is a challenge that even I cannot take. Well, below is not some of my best work, I tried to stay focused but apparently couldn’t. No characters in this story are real, any resemblances to real characters is coincidental, I just put some Blogger friends names so I might get inspired but well… you tell me how it is. Sreya was driving all the way to her friends house. As always Shruti was in trouble. ‘He has left again, Sreya,’ said Shruti between sob, ‘it was so obvious since beginning, he as just messing around. Its over girl, its over. I have nothing else to do now.’

[Short Story] The Last Breath On Earth

A bug is a computer anomaly that is generated usually because of developer’s ignorance or environmental factors. The former is more prominent in computer programs. The term debugging means to find the cause for the bug and fixing it. The term debugging has a humorous origin. In 1947, Grace Murray Hopper was working on the Harvard University Mark II Aiken Relay Calculator. On the 9th of September, 1947, when the machine was experiencing problems, an investigation showed that there was a moth trapped between the points of Relay #70, in Panel F. The operators removed the moth and affixed it to the log. The word went out that they had "debugged" the machine and the term "debugging a computer program" was born. As the technology progresses it advances towards perfection and minimizes its flaws, unfortunately, this was not true for computers. The bugs and errors increased exponentially with the advancement of computers. What earlier was a mere moth trapped i...

Hidden

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 11 ; the eleventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . He stood there on the grave of his best friend, holding a piece of paper in his hands. The piece was paper was the echo of his friend last words on earth. A single tear rolled on his chin and went for a free fall onto the mud with a splash. Eighteen years ago, location: A walking path in an unknown forest They were teens, 18-19 year old and wore pure white robes and were arguing furiously.   'You know it,' the 18 year old, Dhuri was talking.   'I do not,' his friend, Aju said.   'You do...,' Dhuri said, 'I know guruji took you aside and taught you the way.'   Aju kept mum, the fact that Dhuri knew about his secret scared him. Guruji had warned him of the threats. ‘We are best friends Aju, tell me,'...