The Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes.

It was Ramzan. She walked through the illuminated stores, looking at the bangles and bindis and colourful dupattas, it all looked like a psychedelic dream. She wondered how she would look in a brightly coloured Salwar-Kameez. A bling sandal. Blue eye shadows, may be, like that girl in the TV. She wondered how it be to wear multi-coloured bangles. She tried on a few, but didn't buy any of them. That's when she noticed that I was watching her. She swiftly readjusted her purdah and walked away, but only after turning around and looking at me - all the colours of that shop were reflecting in her eyes.

...and 

Dream a little dream!

I dream nice dreams. Then I paint them for everyone. I then entice people to join me in my dream. I pull them closer, make them happier, then...I let the dream fade. I betray them, in a way. But I am not sorry about it; I will never be sorry for who, what I am. But I do feel bad. They must have believed that I could be amazing; and I know I could be. I am amazing, everyone is, aren't they? But I drift a lot, I don't paddle when I should, when I could. I leave them be. I tell them stories. I take them through adventures. And, I lead them into dungeons. I am a bad influence. I give hope; I show them light - only to take it all back from them. In a way I am a failure and I drag people down with me.
Well, Fuck off then; go on!

P.S.: Number of occurences of the word 'I' in this passage - 28.

Splendide Mendax!

Man at home, no power. Thunderstorm. People start shouting outside his door, telling him that they knew he was inside; and a door wasn't good enough to keep them out for long.

He slowly gets up and wears his shoes which were in the room. Then he goes to the next room, where he knew that a broken glass is on the window sill. He picks it up and takes it near the door and scatters it there. And he waits. Pounding began. The door breaks soon.

They run into the living room and are immediately scathed by the glass pieces. He takes advantage of the chaos and knocks one down; though it wasn't good enough to keep him down. Then he sees the guns and that was when he knew that he was done. But still he runs into the next room and waits. He grabs the first guy's hand, takes his gun and shoots him down. He had his flashlight; he flashes it, shoots one. He lies down on the ground and flashes again; shoot another down. Only one now. He foolishly walks into the room, aims and shoots - only to find that he is out of bullets. He runs into the remaining thug and in the scuffle gets shot in the shoulder. Yet, he manages to overpower him. He gets out, locks the door from outside; padlocks it. He gets into his car and drives away. It was still raining.

Epilogue:

Later when he came back home he finds no trace of the shooting. Everything is clean. No corpses, no blood stains. He goes and complains to the police. They find nothing. Tells him he is hallucinating. He asks about the wound he has on his shoulder. They find an answer for that too - they find the gun which was used to shoot him, under his bed; and it was licensed under his name, for the last four years.

To be or not to be!

Am I an artist? I never thought of me as an artist. But then, now I think, I maybe one. I could be one anyways. If I try harder with my photography or my writing or both, I can make good art. And if I could and I didn't, then that would be sacrilege!

Bug.

A bug bit me in the morning and I squashed it; and I forgot about it. Now it's midnight and I remember my past. Back in those days, I was a bug. I was despised and then I was squashed by a man. I turned into a man and the man turned into a bug. Now I can feel myself turning into a bug!

Existential crisis.

Existential crisis.
Again!
I am a dog with existential crisis.
In a cage. Born into domestication.
Even my younger dreams had me in cages.
I hadn't met a wild born stray dog yet, then.
Now I see them a lot. Some of their visions have swept into my dreams.
I can now dream things I haven't experienced yet.
I am a caged dog with existential crisis.

Happily ever after?

I saw a movie about love - and I loved it. It didn't have a happily ever after, unlike many love stories. 

I was asked a question, if I would die for love. My first response - why should someone die for love? I mean isn't it ironic that such a pure sweet emotion like love should evoke thoughts of death? But then I thought, it's a good reason to die for, isn't it? I wouldn't know, yet!