The Savior

The Savior

Jemima was twenty-four when she got married to a jewelry store owner. They had a good life. He would come home late and leave early. And he would constantly obsess over how Jemima looked.

Every month, he would send her to the biggest clinics in the country, just so she could get several procedures done, ranging from chemical peels, to microdermabrasion, sometimes a nip here and a tuck there. Six years had gone by, and they led a comfortable life.

Jemima was also very lonely. When you’re thirty, married to a rich person, and living in a big house with only walls for company, you do get bored. And neighbors kind of talked, a lot. Jemima always felt very useless and insignificant. And she prayed that someday she could help someone and be treated with respect. That’s how a few of her habits were born. One day, she complained to her husband that she couldn’t really eat anything anymore.

He was mildly alarmed, because he’d given her a strict diet chart which she followed religiously. Her diet comprised largely of fruit and no carbs whatsoever. This helped her maintain that twenty two inch waist of hers.

“When was the last time you actually ate something, Jem?”

“Dinner, last night. My belly kind of hurts.”

“I’ll have Ron drive you to Dr. Samuels’ today. I’ll call and get an appointment, don’t worry.”

He kissed her on the temple and left.

Jemima was in surgery when her husband’s store was broken into. They took everything. Emptied the registers, stole millions worth of jewelry. He thought he’d lost everything when he got a call from a very astonished Dr. Samuels.

“I just got robbed, Dr. S,” he sobbed, “I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

“Come to the hospital immediately. There’s something you’ve to see.”

He rushed to meet Dr. Samuels. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was facing. Recovered from Jemima’s abdomen were about three kilos of jewelry. A couple of rare Rolexes. He almost cried.

“How’s Jem doing, Dr. S?”

“She’s stable.”

Jemima’s husband had never felt so relieved before.



I looked at Em, hunched over the new batch of eye-drop formulations we were going over. Em has had myopia her whole life, and by the time it stopped getting worse, she was already a twenty-nine year old. I remember the conversation we had once, very distinctly, like it were yesterday.

“I’m so tired, Sean,” she’d told me, “Of being the only one in the family that’s not yet married.”

“That’s okay, marriage isn’t a big deal, you know,” I’d told her.

Em had shaken her head and said that she was Indian, and being as old as she was, and unmarried to boot wasn’t considered a good thing in her family. I told her I failed to see logic.

She’d sighed and explained, “It’s a thing. An actual thing. Indian parents don’t understand you, it’s true. You could be doing well career-wise, but you aren’t doing anything till you’ve actually gotten married to a nice guy and made a few babies. And I keep getting rejected. My parents are worried.”

That had sparked my interest. Em was beautiful: she was tall and stately, had dimples when she smiled (which wasn’t very often), and also had one of the sharpest minds in the lab. She was a brilliant scientist. Sometimes I considered her my competition, my only competition.

“I’m sorry I’m being nosy, but why would you keep getting rejected?”

She’d pointed at her eyes and said, “Proptosis and high myopia. They won’t even do LASIK on me. My eyesight is really bad. Minus eleven diopter.”

And she’d cried a little. I’d passed her a tissue, patted her on the back and gone back to the lab.

Present day, she would still get upset over her eyesight but she tried to shove it under the rug and pretend to be fine. But I could see through the façade. Strong Em had reached her breaking point. I’m trying to not be too intrusive but I notice Em pick up a of couple eye-drop samples that weren’t meant to be there, which she then proceeds to pocket casually. I know exactly what those samples are. I look down at my notes and smile to myself.

Two months later, Em walks in and she no longer has proptosis. No longer has myopia. She also has a shiny new ring on her finger and new veneers.

She’s hugging back everyone who’s congratulating her.

I’m at my station, working on my patent. I’ve decided to call it AntiPropt and it’s my baby. It’s my brainchild, my new eye-drop. It essentially penetrates the eye to slowly absorb and dehydrate the eyeball over a course of few weeks. Oh, but not too much, so that fluid loss from the aqueous and vitreous humor happens over a span of time, and doesn’t happen too drastically because having a shrunken globe is again, messy. And once the process is completed, this leads to a shortening in the actual axial length of the eyeball, making the images form on the retina like it normally should, thereby curing myopia without any invasive procedure. This drop had taken me years to perfect and Em has been my first successful test subject.

She comes over and hugs me.

“Thank you, Sean,” she says, “for my new eyes and my new life.”

“Wedding Dress Shopping.”

“Wedding Dress Shopping.”

Dana wants this big wedding. She’s so excited. She walks into a fancy boutique on Friday morning, with a whole entourage, all wearing pink. Jose, the camera guy, and Sammy, her assistant are in the mix. Dana tells herself that it’s going to be fun. Her Tiffany Nova square cut ring sparkles in the late morning sun.

The girl that’s going to be helping her with her dress walks in, and everyone is so pumped.

A round of hellos are exchanged and the champagne’s poured and Dana goes in to try her first dress on.

“I’m so nervous,” she tells Charlotte, the bridal store girl.

Charlotte pats her on the shoulder and says, “Aw, honey, don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Let’s get you changed into this beautiful ivory strapless. You did say strapless was your style, right?”

Dana nods and puts on the dress. Charlotte helps her tuck it back and secures it with clips, and she walks out to meet her entourage. Jose is still filming. Dana wants the whole thing done vlog-style for her YouTube channel, it’s been a fun seven years on there.

“OH MY, that’s stunning,” Sammy says. Sammy’s been trained to exclaim appreciatively at everything Dana does. Sammy is also really good at keeping secrets and that’s why nobody really knows who Dana is getting married to. Everyone’s looking forward to meeting the mystery guy, but every time the topic comes up, Dana giggles and brushes it aside with a wave of her long red nails that almost looked like talons from some mythical creature.

She goes on to try four more dresses, and buys the slinkiest one because everyone likes it the best.

“When do we meet the man now that the dress is done?” someone asks in the comments that afternoon when she posts a mirror selfie in a white dress on Instagram.

“Soon,” Dana replies with a winky face emoji.

Now she must find a guy since the last one died from an accidental stab wound to the carotid. The murder weapon? A woman’s blood-red talon. Incompetent police work overlooked this, and the murderer effectively got rid of it. No arrests were ever made. No one knew who the man was and where he went. That’s what happens when you don’t have a family and you end up in a dumpster with nothing to identify you with. The case was closed and filed away, never to be opened again.

Dana throws a glass at the mirror, breaking it into little shards.

“Why wouldn’t any guy last till the damn wedding?” she screams at her shattered reflection.

50 Word Story: Stand-Up Comedy

50 Word Story: Stand-Up Comedy

Morgan’s at the bar, cracking jokes. That night he meets Sally, they fall in love.

Sally likes comedians.

Deep down, she hates anti-feminist jokes.

Soon, she adds a new piece to her collection of shrunken heads in the basement. Morgan fits right in with the rest of the offenders.

The Power Of Belief

The Power Of Belief

Guest post by Suyash.

I jerked awake as my chef slipped my supper into my room.

I smiled at him, he had a look of disgust on his face. I wondered why.

I remembered my family from back in the day: a devoted mother, a strong father and an annoying little brother. They doted on him so much I was almost jealous sometimes. He became a fine man, more successful than me even, and our parents were very proud.

Right until the day we found his body in a car. The brakes had failed. That tore the family apart. My mother overdosed on pills, and my father hung himself in grief. Thank God I survived as I dug into the meal which looked much better than it tasted.

“Looks pretty normal from the outside,” the prison guard said, “who’d have thought he murdered his entire family”

American Horror Story: 1984

American Horror Story: 1984

The second trailer for American Horror Story: 1984 dropped a few days ago, and IT LOOKS SO GOOD! Ryan Murphy, as usual, slays yet again. The new season airs on September 18, 2019.

1. The major players are missing. Sarah Paulson, Kathy Bates, Jessica Lange, Angela Bassett don’t make an appearance in the ninth season of the anthology. Evan Peters, too. He said he wanted to take a break from the show. This makes me very sad, but okay.

2. New cast members. We have Matthew Morrison (Mr. Schuester from Glee), and DeRon Horton (Dear White People). Angelica Ross from the show Pose will be joining the cast of 1984. She also makes history as the first transgender person to be cast as a series regular in two tv shows. Woot woot!

3. I also caught a glimpse of John Carroll Lynch. He played Twisty the clown in Freak Show as well as Cult. I smell a connection.

4. Matthew Morrison’s bulge makes a very prominent appearance through the little shorts he wears in the trailer. So yes, expect soft-core adult movie action that you get with almost all seasons of AHS. Ooh, and everyone looks amazing. The eighties were so… fashion forward.

5. Olympian Gus Kenworthy stars as Emma Watson’s character’s boyfriend. I’m looking forward to their onscreen chemistry.

6. Cody Fern is a series regular and looking super retro in that hair with those bleached blonde tips.

7. Apparently, there’s going to be a Billie Eilish song and I cannot wait.

8. There’s a dude in sunglasses. He reminds me of Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker, who killed people between June 1984 to August 1985, using a wide variety of weapons. This fits the theme too.

9. The music is going to be KILLER. I can already tell.

10. There could also be a twist like the one they put on Roanoke. It’s hard to tell, because this is AHS we are talking about. But I’m speculating at this point. This has to be the campiest season, ever.

Does anyone watch the show? Who’s excited?

Lasting Impressions

Lasting Impressions

I’m in my usual spot, desk by the window, writing. You’re at work, and I’ve got the house to myself. I can’t focus. I guess this is what writer’s block does to you, maybe.

You’re a good man, you don’t need to know things.

Ronan was being a bit of a douche lately. He was talking about trying to talk me out of my marriage. This marriage. What I have with you. Ronan doesn’t mean a thing to me. Not anymore. Not since twenty fifteen.

You walked in the other day to find me on my knees scrubbing at a the carpet. You said I looked crazy because I was scrubbing away feverishly. But you didn’t dwell much on it because you know I am a bit of a germaphobe, so you didn’t say anything, and went on your way.

Such a darling.

Now I must dispose of Ronan’s lifeless form and the blood stains before you find out I’m not so innocent after all. Lasting impressions, baby, they matter to me.



I used to get hurt, a lot.

Little things would make me cry,

And then one day, I decided not to

I wanted to be stone cold, I had to try.

So hurt me all you want

Try with all your might

Insult me even when you can’t

I won’t put up a fight.

All I’ll be is cold, stone cold

And as calm as can be

Non-permeable emotionally

Is the new me.

So throw all the cussing my way

Send me old convos and call me a witch

Say I made you do things

I’ll take all the backlash, I won’t flinch.

Travel Woes

Travel Woes

It’s been raining all week. More than a week, actually. It hasn’t stopped raining since July started, to be honest. Sometimes I hate rain. It’s supposed to be romantic but this? This is just plain simple overwhelming.

Right about now:

Sometimes I feel like the weather hates me. The rain Gods have some sort of vendetta even, against me. I’ve noticed a pattern. It rained in October last year, when it never does, right before I was meant to travel. Same in February. Now same, in July. And when it rains where I live, it gets waterlogged pretty quickly, making driving to the airport literal hell.

I wish I could look at the bright side and say that there’s going to be zero traffic so yay – because honestly this is such a dampener on the whole thing. My clothes are going to take forever to dry and my freshly blown hair is going to turn into Frizz Central. God forbid if my bags get wet, there goes my weekend.

What’s YOUR biggest travel woe?

50 Word Story: Enucleation

50 Word Story: Enucleation

Scratchy-eyed with fatigue, she knew she had to keep working. She had a family to feed.

Her retinas weren’t helping. Medical bills weren’t cheap, she was drowning.

One day, she showed up, confident, sunglasses on indoors. No one noticed she’d cut out her own eyes.

No eyes, no pain.