Assorted Tales

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

These are a collection of small tales

A South Eastern Rendezvous

An image of a winsome South East Asian girl has appeared in my mind. In the dream, I saw her being very fond of me and loving me to her heart’s content. I wonder when I can meet her. Yes, my dream has to come true. I want a woman who is loving and caring and who is a passionate bed.

Plot in the Novel

I have finished writing a novel. I was in a fix as to how to carry the plot of murder forwards. Then my subconscious spoke to me and said: use the powers of a psychic to unravel the plot and this is what I exactly did.

Letter for Sartre

Dear Sartre,

You are my fondest admirer. I believe that you will appear in my dreams and speak to my subconscious. Help me manifest an optimistic reality. Dear Sartre, I have finished writing a novel and since I am a newcomer, I need money to publish it. The only source I have is lottery tickets and I pray that you will manifest the first prize for me in the coming days. Thank you, Sartre, for answering my prayers.


Ashwni is a girl whom I met on a dating site. We used to enjoy hours and hours of erotic conversion on the phone. I loved it, when she exclaimed: ‘you have made me soaking wet’. Sad to say, I lost her contact after my wife deleted her number.

A Suicide Note

I don’t know what to write! Things in my life have not been going according to my wishes. I feel utter regret in having lived my life this far. I ponder on the meaning of death and yet I have no answer. I wish to end my life, but I am caught up in the paradox of living life and yet taking away of my life. Yes, I have great fear of dying and I don’t have the guts to carry it out. Yes, someday I might, when my will is stronger.


Woe occupies my heart. Fear is a paranoid asylum. My mind is filled with the thorns of anxiety. Misery in me is like a dark sky at night. I long to be cajoled and comforted. Even the one’s whom I have loved have written me off. They condemn my personality as being mad. I have lost all hope. Yes, I ask to myself what is the meaning of life? Is life’s meaning a hell of shit. Is life’s meaning a cornucopia of garbage? Is life a cataclysm of dung? Why does not luck favor me? Why does the fairy Godmother of fortune hear my pleas? I am shriveled and wasted. My mind is a torpedo of disaster. My failures in life are the barbed-wire of a bullet. I feel lost, wounded, sick and helpless. Not a soul is kind to me. I hate this shithole life of mine.

Women in my life


My relationship with her is sour. She is very dominating and holds the key of my purse. I have to beg and plead to her for my daily allowances. Yes, she is a witch who uses the crystal ball to imprison me.


She is domineering and arrogant and bitchy. She constantly threatens me to put me in an asylum. She stands in opposition to all my dreams. She is a Christian with spiritual pride.


She is twice my age and she is my significant other. With her I have loved the poetry of the bed. But alas, she is only interested in my money. The ungrateful bitch does not have an iota of thanks for the favors I have done.


I have met her on a dating site. There was many a time when she invited me for a fuck. But I was so overladen with guilt that on the journey to her house, at half way, I turned back. Now I carry I sense of regret for having done this.

Borges the Writer

I recall fondly the story of the Aleph written by Borges. He transforms the letter of the Aleph into a magic realism of fantasy. The Aleph becomes a palace with his pen. Then the Aleph is turned into an hourglass. Then the Aleph becomes a map and then he dreams the Aleph of books being written.


Submitted: February 10, 2021

© Copyright 2021 enigmati. All rights reserved.

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