You can read more about flash fiction here (click).
Flash fiction are stories that on my blog end it less than 450 words. Some of them are also 55-Fiction (click), i.e., those stories that get over in 55 words or less. They always contain an element of surprise, so keep guessing! You can read more about the criteria for writing 55-Fiction in the blog’s left sidebar.
I must warn the reader here, though that few of the 55-Fiction stories were of violent nature, and might not be to everyone’s taste.
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
On pushing, Jill couldn’t control her laughter.
Despite having my feet literally firmly grounded, I’ve seen more humans, their humanity & its complements – indifference, deceit & cruelty – than you ever could have.
…Wait! Don’t think it’s another philosophical drivel only ‘cuz I choose to speak through Ketan’s blog! How many weighing machines’ life-stories you’ve heard?
I used to like kids standing on my feet. Their big eyes would further widen when I’d make faces – my blinking lights & rotating disks – they’d chuckle, not bothered by their weight at all! They loved me – their entertainer. But now kids find my antics silly 
Why won’t they? Having seen smart cards & ATMs, the idea of feeding me a coin & see me come to life no longer excites them.
But not just kids, even grown ups have changed. In those days, they were not bothered by the printed number. Except if too big, they would call themselves “healthy”, smile & get down happy. But later on, no number could satisfy them. Most wanted it to be much smaller. They always left dejected.
Somehow I’d always wished that everyone be happy, & none be sad ‘cuz of me. So I started showing 5% less weight. Some people got happy, but not others. So I started reducing 10%. This made many happy. They started praising me, wishfully calling me truthful, but that’s not what I was! I longed to be known as nice! It was ironical that weight I showed wasn’t accurate, yet I wanted the praise to be!
Once, I overheard a doctor explain something about BMI & how overweight people suffered more from heart attack & stroke. He also said obesity was an epidemic & was killing Indians at younger age. I was shocked! I wanted to mend my ways. But having got used to people’s praise, I couldn’t regain the courage to be truthful. I still showed reduced weight.
Then one day, a mechanical mechanic failing to understand I also had feelings, reported that my spring wasn’t yielding enough ‘cuz of corrosion & I must be taken away for showing wrong weight. Like all non-humans that die at the end of autobiographical school-essays, I too wanted to. But his boss reminded him of profits, & how his promotion hinged on it. I now understood the true purpose of my life.
Partly inspired by Insignia’s post (click)
They always viewed things from different perspectives, yet somehow always managed to focus on where their views overlapped.
Wherever one went, the other had to go. They even woke up together. And no doubt, slept together. But, sleeping together never brought any excitement. They had grown sick of the other. Totally sick.
You go your way. I’ll go mine.
[Angrily, without a thought] As you wish. And don’t you dare follow me. Huh!
So for the first time ever, they went their own separate ways and darted in opposite directions. But they felt intensely dizzy (click). They could not stand it, they had to unite. They realized, their fate to stay together was sealed, not by something flimsy as love, but PPRF!
Okay sorry folks for this crap, which I am sure even medicos would find crappy!
It is on simple eyes that mammals possess. Meaning, they always manage to look at the same object of focus, but from different angles. Yet, the brain fuses the two images into one. PPRF is one of centers involved in controlling horizontal eye movements.
Eyes show many types of involuntary and voluntary movements for proper functioning.
Saccades are jerky movements generated mainly in response to changes in visual field (what the brain ‘sees’), e.g., a moving target or sudden appearance of something new in the field–a fly falling in your soup! 
They bring the ‘pursued’ object just about to the center of visual focus.
Smooth pursuit movements perform the same function as saccades, but are better coordinated, with constant adjustments in direction and velocity of eye movements based on feedback from muscles moving the eyes as well as the images formed by the retinae.
The fast phase of a nystagmus is brain’s attempt to keep eyes still with regard to axis of the head when eyes get ‘distracted’ (the slow phase of nystagmus), say following head movement, saccades or sudden pursuit movements. So nystagmus could be normal, but occurs whenever eyes try to simultaneously look at different things!
He finished reading it. Seventh time today. Her first love letter.
“Could so much love ever vanish! She’ll understand, if I talk.”
“Anjali, please understand! We’d fought before also. But we always made up! Why not today? I love you, Anjali!”
She didn’t reply. Those suspended in air, hanging by rope about their neck, don’t.
———-
Explanation:
(To be read only after meditating ‘deeply’ upon the profundity of above piece, and thinking of all the plot-related possibilities)
The protagonist reads his lover’s first love letter umpteen times. He realizes the depth of love they’d shared, and how talking things out could help.
He tries to convince his lover to not be miffed and try to resolve the dispute amicably. But actually, all he’s talking to is her dead body as she’d committed suicide by hanging and, he’s still in denial about it–not ready to believe ‘all was over’.
…[Pluck] loves me not!
Arggh…Third time now. I must’ve missed a petal.
Arman, you fool! Look at yourself. Which birdbrain chick’s ever gonna harm her eyes laying them on you?
Shh…
You can’t silence your inner voice!
Arman: Hey Riya! I was just thinking about…
Riya: Will you marry me, Arman?
———-
PS: Am just experimenting with scheduling of posts only to see if original comments are retained or not. This post was originally published in May, 2009.
Rohit’s voice boomed, “You’re so arrogant to believe you didn’t require a creator to be created?”
Manoj responded–amidst boo’s.
But when he was heard, it was with disinterest.
Rohit’d won the debate competition.
Manoj wasn’t disappointed because he’d lost, but because he wasn’t heard.
Rohit winked. “Now you know why I say I believe?”
“It makes you cry so much? You’d loved so much!” Distant gaze. Contented smile. “I feel so happy! So fulfilled!”
“Quiet, Mukesh!”
“I find fulfillment in your loss? And you’re my dearest! I’m so cruel no, Mridula?”
His eye let go of that reluctant tear. Like his body was to let go of that life…
Gail Waynand stared at his own reflection, and the hand that held gun against his forehead. His own hand.
He wanted to live on… to try deserving Dominique more than Roark.
He was afraid of death. He pulled the trigger.
[Click]
“Inefficient buggers! Can’t produce guns that don’t jam.”
“Keating! Don’t…”
[Dhishkaon]
Who’s John Galt?
Shilpi: Gimme your English notebook. Quick! Couldn’t do my homework. How much time’s there?
Alka: Five min!
Shilpi: My God!
Ten min later…
Shilpi: Phew! Just completed!
Alka: [Thinking] What shabby handwriting! You get ‘FAIR’. I get three stars. Wow!
Teacher [Gasping]: Sorry, got late. We’ll directly begin our lesson. No homework-correction for today!
—–
Thanks Rajat for inputs!
This is my first attempt at 55 fiction. To briefly see the conditions of 55 Fiction, see the side panel.
—–
Monologue:
Don’t you stare, Moti.
It’s not my fault. You made me mad. You resisted.
You didn’t have to whine like dog that you anyway are [sobs]…Were.
This knife was not to scrape your heart; just cut your leg…only one for today. But you resisted.
Hey mom, up there? Happy? Rajesh Motilal Patil…orphaned?
——
*Moti is a name commonly given to pet dogs in India.
*In some parts of India, people use thier complete name, like First name Father’s name Surname.
