Chance Dissolution of Comfy Bohemia

He walks in with a swagger. I own you now. Everyone in the room bursts out laughing. What is that again. Slowly around the room, smiles get wiped. As everyone pauses to notice. His blood shot eyes boring in to her. They wait and don’t blink. He grips her hair. Flashes his knife and drags her away. The chatter hangs frozen. Half eaten cupcakes remain tightly clasped. A lone fly navigates carefully quirky outfits. The ice lazily melts in the lemonade. A cry. Someone rush out.

The Girl Who Ran Out of Luck

Things were different when she was younger. When she woke up, her dreams had already fallen in to place. She found them neatly laid out, waiting for her to step in. Yet, everytime it happened, she was a bit more wary. Could never shake off the nagging feeling. It was inevitable. It was bound to catch up with her. She was almost waiting for that moment.

It was strange then that she missed the moment. Or maybe it was the grand introductory gesture. She often tried very hard to remember. But all she could remember now were her dreams. Every night and in every desultory moment, they emerged to describe to her, in lucid detail and fluorescent color, the happiness she was destined to not have.

He let out a sigh for his ruined experiment. She was never going to see the truth. So caught up was she in the brilliance of her dreams. She had an infinite supply of luck. He had designed it that way. But luck had worldly limitations. Her imagination didn’t. He had rather carelessly overlooked how incessant thinking could turn one’s imagination prodigious.