Breakfast

                                            written  by F.K Blaze

The Sehgull family stood in the kitchen.One girl—in her late teens,braided hair and a dupatta over her shoulders.One mother—small and too plump and irritable.One father—big-eyed and long-nosed.

The kitchen was not ideal;the boxes of spices were on the counter;a pile of dishes in the sink;an overflowing trashcan by the door and beside it,a stepped-on eggshell.They weren't the neatest folks.

Breakfast was in the making.Mirium—the girl—was flattening flour dough to make rotis* on the counter.The mother—Rasheda—was opening and closing drawers,peering inside and snorting loudly at the clutter.Tapping his left foot,the father—Daniyal—was watching Mirium slide the rolling pin over the dough.He had woken up today and had announced,"I'm hungry".He did that often ever since he retired from the bank.Mirium,who was awaiting her exam results, hadn't anticipated his retirement.

"I think we need to get this removed,"Rasheda said,pointing at the exhaust above the cooking range.It was an American-style exhaust system which had blackened gradually and stopped working altogether last summer.One of the benefits of living in an upscale suburb in Islamabad was the modern houses.One of the downsides,your parents were rich enough to live on interest and not work.

Mirium slapped the flattened roti on the tava*.It was starting.

Daniyal turned,patting his wrinkled qammeez* and when he saw what she was pointing at,his eyes bulged.

A heart beat of a minute passed.

"Has your brain gone STALE?,"he asked,towering over Rasheda who shrunk back.

"It doesn't look good,"she said.Still defiant.

"Are you crazy?"

"It looks ugly.Just see for— "

"By any chance,''he said,"are you insane?"

Mirium ,who was turning the roti upside down,muttered to herself,"Stale,crazy,insane...what's left?"There they go again.Oh,God.Oh,God.I'm losing my mind.Please get me into med-school.And she stirred the tea in the kettle,humming.This was something she was getting increasingly good at.

Behind her,the wifely eyes filled with loathing met husbandly eyes glazed with irritability.Something was passing between them,a practised duel.

Rasheda cocked her head and walked out of the kitchen into the lawn,her nose turned upwards.As usual,he followed.Like a duckling follows its mother.On Sundays, the street looked deserted.People slept in.

"What d'you want from me?,"he said."The entire house is filthy,the roof leaks,my toilet doesn't flush..."

"You broke it,"she said,so low he didn't hear it.

Rasheda was near the flowerbeds."Oh,look! New flowers,the intoxicating aroma..C'm on.How pretty they are.When I was five,my father,you know he was really rich,he planted—"

There was a spark in his eyes.Then,shaking his head,he pulled at the jasmine plant(it did have white flowers) and lifted it out of the ground,roots and all.A big chunk of clotted sand landed on the patio.

Horrified,Rasheda shrieked,her mouth a wide O.And then she was yanking at the plant like it was a tug-o'war contest.It snapped into two.She shrieked as a pig does."YOU!,"she said.

Unable to help himself,he tore his half of the plant until they were standing on the jasmine leaves.

"You did this,"he said bluntly and shrugged.

At this,she acquired a mad look and chased him.

"YOU CRAZY PSYCHO!,"he howled as he circled the car,an old Toyota.

Ten seconds later,she was panting,hands on her knees."Dog"

He fumbled with the car door and slid inside and locked all doors.Gazing at his wife,he broke into hysterical laughter.

Mirium came out."Breakfast is,'she began,looking from her father to her mother,"ready" She looked at the clear blue sky.God,yeah,Im talking to you.Her father had pulled his face into a scowl but you could see he was amused.Rasheda trudged to the house,pausing only to kick at the mess of leaves.

The car started.Daniyal leaned out of the window."I'm leaving you,Rasheda!,"and he reversed out of the driveway.Rasheda watched him go.

One hour later,Mirium heard a car's engine.The Toyota was back.

At the dining table,Rasheda was eyeing the untouched Sunday paper uneasily as if it were unfinished homework and Mirium was sipping her third cup of tea(It's tea,not hashish,she'd told herself).

He burst in."So who wants halwa puri*?"

Mirium sighed.

*tava: a flat pan.

*qammeez: an Indian/Pakistani upper body attire that's so long it touches the knees.

*halwa puri: an Indian/Pakistani morning feast that includes a dessert,puri(like a flatbread drenched in oil), a black or brown chana gravy.

Sally(short,short story)

  So, I was lazy,practically a slob.I liked to sleep on the couch.My favorite treat was chocolate.I was a street thug until she came by.Sally.Years went,drifting like sand in the wind.

  Then,she came home one night and popped a bottle of Champagne.She was leaving,she said.I assured her I'd be different; I'd clean up,not lick her spoon so much,not want too many cuddles and caresses--but she wouldn't listen.
She went.Two months later.Into a hole in the earth.They dug it for her,I know because I was there.At times I kinda wish she had stayed,you know.You see,she didn't speak my language.So it was probably too much to ask.
  A wish is not like money;it doesn't get you what you want.Money does all that.I wish it wouldn't bother me but it does.I'm a dog and I'm not supposed to have soul and all that crap.A golden retriever only gets one wish that's granted...to be loved and left behind.

Delayed

Sorry for the delay.That story needs more work--it's making me crazy too,I know. *eye rolls*.Here's something in the meanwhile.
F.K Blaze