365Fiction

The End

Elvis D'Silva — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 01:15:34 +0000

He approached her with all the finesse of a man trying to ice a cake with a forklift. She noticed the double take, the awkward easing onto the barstool and the ignorant flourish with which he attempted to get the bartender’s attention. Naturally the man behind the bar wasn’t used to being summoned with a snap of another man’s fingers so he did little to show any acknowledgement for her latest suitor’s need for lubrication. Apparently, an unresponsive bartender was as good an ice breaker as any for Mr. Smooth so he said, “What’s a guy got to do to get a drink around here hunh?”

Because he was still snapping his fingers she sighed and said, “Does your dog come when you do that?”

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Letting Go

Elvis D'Silva — Thu, 29 Nov 2007 02:08:45 +0000

After years of fighting the good fight he finally decided to let go. It hadn’t been easy. He had tried everything in his power. He had done the exercises, he had worn the right clothes, chewed various roots and seeds, chanted a few mantras and even made several aborted attempts at eating the right food. He had tried abstaining from sexual self-satisfaction and even went through periods of not seeking mutual pleasure with another. He had done it all and spent a substantial portion of his life trying to keep the inevitable at bay. Today was the day he let go. It was the day he finally said enough. No more would he hold his stomach in. It put tremendous pressure on his spine to try and stay ‘chest ahead of belly’.

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Street Beat

Elvis D'Silva — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 00:35:33 +0000

She was walking down the street thinking [I can’t believe what I’m hearing!]. It wasn’t just her, there were several other people sharing the same pavement space who didn’t look too thrilled about the foul language polluting their air because of the two men walking past them.

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Home Invasion

Elvis D'Silva — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 01:40:07 +0000

The patter of footsteps was soft enough to have been mistaken for any number of things that wouldn’t be considered foul play. Unfortunately for the bearer of said pittering and pattering feet, Amadeus Duck was not a homeowner who took sudden unexpected noises in his stride. He didn’t say, “it’s probably mice or a stray candlestand.” No Amadeus Duck cocked the hammer on his always-loaded shotgun and stepped onto the creaking floorboards of the first floor landing in his house and said, “This is your only warning to step out into the open with your hands in the air. Any further conversation will be conducted between my shotgun and any body parts of yours that happen to be within range. I suppose I would damage my home a little but I could always redecorate with the reward money I get for apprehending a dangerous criminal.”

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My Gal Poison

Elvis D'Silva — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 01:45:00 +0000

She was the type of girl men went to war for. Actually, calling her a girl was tantamount to giving the call to attack right there. She was and had been a woman for quite some time. Almost nobody failed to notice that she was fully grown and well filled out in all the right places. When she turned up at his desk he was tempted to look the other way almost immediately. In his experience, and he had enough to shame most police departments, women like her were poison. He wasn’t in the mood to die just yet. He had Africa to visit and Paris to fall in love in so he didn’t think it was wise to get involved in shady business with some dame with slim hips and a chest that fought her face for all the attention any man had.

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Gossip Chain

Elvis D'Silva — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 03:43:19 +0000

She was frowning in concentration. He loved it when she did that. He felt like kissing her. It was one of his favourite things to do – to try and make her frown. He didn’t often succeed. He made her laugh though and that should have been alright but theirs was not that kind of relationship. Not because he didn’t wish for it to be but because she was clueless (or pretended to be anyway) about the way he felt. So failing the appearance of any acknowledgement on her part that he fancied her, he strove to make her frown because that was his favourite face for her. Her eyebrows sort of knitted together and she squinted her eyes, as if she was trying to see something clearly that was at a great distance. And in a sense she was but the distance separating her from the thing she was trying to see spanned space and time. He had just recounted another one of his work stories and she was trying to figure it out.

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Chasing Fame

Elvis D'Silva — Sat, 24 Nov 2007 02:01:56 +0000

They rushed into the house, excited and smiling, like two little boys who had discovered that big girls didn’t yell at them if they peeked under their mini skirts. Anahita immediately wanted to know what they had been up to but they were content to keep grinning at each other like happy confidantes too afraid to give up their secret for fear that it might not exist in reality. But she kept asking so they looked at each other one last time and blurted out, almost in unison, “We have an idea on how we could all be famous.”

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Mortality Acknowledged

Elvis D'Silva — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 00:49:33 +0000

In the afterlife of senses, right next to the virulent half-truths that populate every corner of reality, I am tempted to live my life. As I have done for the millennia of wasted seconds that is the reality of this and every other life lived and died on this planet throughout history. Ever since man became capable of thought as a precedent to action he has felt the need to exist in a vacuum out of which the only release is the sexual one or a violent one and everybody knows that nothing screams independence like the penetration of another. Weapons or sex organs, the choice is always ours but dominance is always the end game.

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Wiggle Room

Elvis D'Silva — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 02:24:42 +0000

She had her spectacles on. Over the four months they had been together like this he always considered it a special moment when she brought her spectacles down. They looked cool enough holding her hair back but there was something just incredibly sexy about her spectacle-clad face. She ran her pen down a sheet of paper and said without looking up, “You’re not giving me any wiggle room here.”

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Bring The Cool

Elvis D'Silva — Wed, 21 Nov 2007 03:52:52 +0000

They were walking and talking, something both of them did a lot of, together and with other people. Too hip for the good of most regular people they grinningly referred to it as promiscuous W&T. His name was Aaron and hers was Nisha. They had lived in each other’s neighbourhood for long enough to know when to stay close and when to give the other distance. She knew, just from listening to him talk, when he was in a tie-on-his-bedroom door space and the same went for him with respect to her sexual activities. To each other, they were like siblings and they’d made the brother/sister-from-another-mother reference so many times that it had gone from ‘tired’ to ‘cool again’. That, in many ways, was their reason for living as two symbiotic peas in a pod; “To bring the cool,” as she liked to say when no one else was within earshot.

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