Saturday, April 2, 2011

Crap story I wrote long time back

She didn’t want to go the party. Her mood was as jubilant as thunderous clouds and the last thing she wanted was to fake a smile and make polite talk when her very world was falling to pieces around her. But then, she didn’t want people to call her a coward, either. She wasn’t the one to hide, or the one to lick her wounds in private. Rather, she would rub salt on them, so as to keep the pain fresh. Pain made her more determined. He had hurt her. But she wouldn’t let him know that.

So she prepared to go. Clothes were never a hassle before but tonight she wanted to look perfect. Like nothing could touch her. Black was dispensed off as being the color of mourning, and red somehow seemed vampish enough to be worn by a C grade Bollywood starlet – and there will be plenty of them tonight.  Yellow would be faking it too much and white was too demure. And so she picked purple, the elegant, regal, purple...mysterious like inky nights and as enigmatic as the royals who preferred it. 

And when she arrived, one couldn’t help but notice her. She held her own among the glittering, titillating crowd. Her enchanting smile seemed even more enchanting tonight – if that was even possible...and the purple gown gave her a magical, ethereal aura...

He swallowed his scotch in one quick gulp and stole a glance at her. She looked even more invincible, still alive, enticing. After everything. Had he ever really known her? 

Their eyes met and her smile turned mocking for a second, so brief that only he could see it...and suddenly he felt uncomfortable...