Skip to main content

Tailor - New Stiches

‘What is it you want for your birthday my love? He asked.

She kept quiet,partly because she couldn’t breathe.

‘Don’t be afraid, tell me dear?’ He implored.

‘I want a sewing kit,I ‘d like to knit a sweater’ she whispered.

‘Ah is that it?.

He let go off her throat,and Chloe collapsed on the bed.

But I liked her fingers.Tender ,long,soft and caring.

Chloe was the perfect housewife.I loved her.

She cooked well,knit well and stiched well.

She kept me safe near her bed at all times.

But one day I realised she was using me.

Instead of cloth my blades were dipped in flesh.

Tender fingers can mislead you sometimes.

Gyanban Thoughts - this fiction short story is narrated in two different angles.One from the point of view of the wife and the other from the point of view of the scissor.I tried to keep both the versions to 55 words or thereabouts which was difficult.I keep trying to challenge myself to use usual ,everyday scenarios to write something plausible yet present it with a different angle.I hope the readers enjoyed this one.



  1. I really liked the idea. Very cool with the perspectives!

  2. Hmmmmm!! Could have been better.

  3. i can see a space for the third perspective too. The husband's or the situation in the middle

  4. Why did she have to die when he simply could have left her?

  5. @Falling Universe - Thank you for your kind words.

    @Sudeshna - will try my best.

    @MM - interesting.

    @Purba - maybe she was trapped.

  6. Maybe the flesh was of her husband n not Chloe.... Hhmmm.... I liked this post.

  7. Nice ... and with a twist too. Frankly, if you hadn't explained, I may not have understood it well enough :)

  8. Now that is intense and a rather odd twist :) Very well written...


Post a Comment

Say it only if you mean it -

Popular posts from this blog


‘I need some rest, else I’ll be late for school.’ she said blurring.
‘The doctors are on their way’ he said. She stood motionless, staring blankly at the cameras, Volcanic debris had trapped her legs.Hidden below the ground, gangrene ate into her calves, as she faded.13 year old Omayra’s death was captured live.

Gyanban Thoughts - Nevado Del Ruiz volcano erupted on November 13,1985 which killed nearly 25,000 people in Armero, Columbia. Omayra could have escaped, but stopped to save her sibling from the oncoming volcanic lava. Her legs got trapped in the deris of her own home.When rescue teams arrived they realized that she could not be extracted without amputating her legs. She died with gangrene and hypothermia.She began hallucinating in her last moments. World news covered this they say saw Omayra die a slow painful death.For 3 days her pain and agony was captured by television crews but one photograph went on to capture the imagination of the world. Frank Fournier captu…


Hunger and shelter kill people.

Finding a place in the prime Borough is like finding a diamond in a coal mine. Mum used to say, learn to adjust, and you will find what you want. After all, these little adjustments, are a part of the fucking parcel of life. Huh. 

It would be exactly nine months on the first of April since I moved into the plush Toccata penthouse. It had soft caramel undertones on the walls and the Renoir’s, one on each side, caught my gaze on the first day. Instinctively, I knew, it was the house I wanted. As the landlady walked ahead of me, notes of coffee, pink pepper, cedar, and cinnamon oozed from her swaying hips, sucking me into a deep hallucinogenic state. Fuck me. 

I couldn’t bungle this one up, unlike the previous eight houses. Terrible, they were. “No late-night partying or substances, pills, injections, powders, got it?” She said breaking my gaze. Yes, she had the vocabulary. I am the shy type, so I lowered my head and nodded gently but my head was still spinni…


It's 5AM and the clock is late,
the rush to dress up and change my fate,
but the wrinkle is annoying the mane,
and the greys are flaying the vein,
I carry the mirror in mind,
leave the resigned sigh behind.

The train is packed with eyes,
I stand under the strain of lights
the dark skin is brighter,
maybe they'll like me better,
their shampoos leave no clue,
only the fan comes to my rescue.

Waiting for the elevator,
a minty breath drifts over the shoulder,
the noose around my neck chokes
gasps for breath and the heart pokes
the lights are incandescent inside
empty faces on the outside.

The tube-light and the guard flickers
People wearing strange monikers
floating close to the floor
a door opens, the stupor
he sashays along leaving them behind,
my eyes lose him and hope to find.

Clocks go by and the hours shiver
the cardigan shrugs off and the  lips quiver
a sudden surge of reason, cold air ,
aimlessly slides off my ruffled hair
witness  to the porcelain teapot stare,
bits an…