Once upon a time, there was a naughty little boy named Timmy. Timmy was Webster’s own definition of a brat – spoiled without a trace of gratefulness in his demeanor, and a hateful bully to his parents at that. Finally, little Timmy pulled the last ma ‘n’ pa hamstring, and hit his father over the head with a plastic doll, bruising him. That was it – violent little Timmy was going to juvy, after countless beatings and bruises liberally administered by him. Or was he? Perhaps not, for you can imagine little Timmy’s parents’ confusion when the friendly neighborhood police handcuffed not the rugrat, but the plastic doll instead.
Category Archives: Fiction
This is a short story that I wrote last year. I would like to thank the VR staff for allowing me to publish it here, and please leave any constructive criticism that could potentially help me improve my writing.
A depressed look was pasted across the face of the individual whom not too many knew. He was mysterious, mystic, and held the atmosphere of a recluse, of an aloof man – and yet he was completely open, like a deep, deep swimming pool ready for business, ready to share his sorrows with anyone. Near the room he sat, the room of the metro driver, with a small white towel wrapped around his thick dark head, and a cooler filled with semi-refreshing beverages, ready to make any willing customer all-the-more thirsty. This was the young man who you will never know, but will always see, wherever you go on the metro. Continue reading