my first story, barring the one i wrote about the dentist and sadly didnt get published

Every year the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival celebrates the spirit of Mumbai with a week long cultural programme. It incorporates film screenings, dance performances, music recitals, food festivals, plays, creative writing workshops, visual arts exhibitions and heritage walks. It also hosts a number of competitions, such as the Flash Fiction contest; encouraging awareness about the arts and urging people to give expression to the dormant creativity in them.

Flash Fiction (also called micro-fiction or short-shorts) presents a simple challenge: tell a story with all the classical elements: a beginning, middle and end, a conflict and resolution, a credible protagonist…but do so in a very limited number of words.

Here’s an attempt.


She was a pretty, young thing. In fact, I quite liked her. But the day she rolled her eyes and said, with a short, sharp laugh, ‘Love, what’s love? It’s all rubbish, yaar’ to her best buddy who was nursing a broken heart, I knew I had to step in. I stalked her day and night, hiding my boyish golden curls under a cap and my bow and arrows in a huge slingbag. I followed her wherever she went; watched her keenly when she interacted with people. But she was close, very close. And then, one day I saw it. Her eyes danced as she spoke to her boss, her smile a bit too ready to please. I knew then that I had won. I strung an arrow to my bow and let it fly. It struck her heart in the middle of a conversation with him. She suddenly blushed and stuttered. ‘Ha!’, I exclaimed, ‘there, done’.
Revenge was sweet. Very sweet.