Sunday, Bloody Sunday

This is a short story I wrote together with my brother some three years back. He was in grade three, and wanted to know how stories are written. So we wrote one together. The names have all been changed, of course.

I also wrote some poems for him when he wanted to know how poems are written, but I subsequently used them to flirt with a girl and have to deal with my ambivalence towards them before I can put them here.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It was a dark and gloomy Sunday. The sun wasn’t shining. Calvin’s mood was cloudy like the sky. He knew something was going to happen.

He was sitting next to Hobbes, his brother, watching him type when Rosalyn, their overweight sister, entered with a plate of khir, greedily licking the spoon. She was looking at them and laughing when she suddenly dropped dead.

The postmortem report said it was potassium cyanide.

Now, the question was – could they eat the rest of the khir?

Calvin suggested that we send it to the lab for testing. But Hobbes suggested animal testing – that they should give a bit of it to that ferocious dog of their neighbours – lovely – who often interrupted their cricket matches.

Lovely was alive after eating the khir, so they strangled her and killed her and left a bit of that khir next to her body for the detectives. The khir was very nice to eat though.

Two enemies at one shot! It was a brilliant Sunday.

Share:  

Incorrigible Introvert

I wouldn't pretend I have a worthy tale to tell, I have only the ramifications of a twisted mind to sell.
This entry was posted in story, The Diary of a Fugitive and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply