I’ve been writing for years. I remember journalling from my teens. When I reinvented my career, I supplemented my personal writings with commercial assignments, most of which I have enjoyed. I’ve written narratives, aborted novels, ads, scripts, plays, short stories, poetry, social and political commentary, history, animations, digital books, prayers, all sorts of genres. I do it because I love to write.

I often go back to my past writings. More often than not, I cringe when I read what I had written. Sometimes because my thoughts were immature and sometimes because of basic language and syntax errors I had made.

Sometimes I cringe when I read what I had written because my perspectives have changed so much as I matured that what I felt strongly about, no longer matters to me. Other things have taken greater importance.

Some five to six years ago, I wrote a series of very (very) short stories called “Micro-fiction”. These are stories that are usually less than 200 words. I wrote these to convey a message in an extremely succinct manner. I had intended to compile a series of these, get them illustration and published.

I wrote a piece called The Masquerade Party which I revisited last night. This is one of the rare pieces that I still like very much reading it years after it was written. I edited slightly though, because I didn’t like some of the syntax and spotted an error.

So, here is The Masquerade Party, revisited 2013:

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Source: Wikipedia

Last night, I took a very old book of Brothers Grimm Fairy Tale off my bookshelf and read a few. I’ve had this book since my Japan days (1964 – 1974) and the book print was dated 1967. The book is beautifully illustrated. The above is not from the book.

I re-read a few interesting ones.

I like stories like these. Imaginative and simple. One of them I read was the Shoemaker and the Elves.

The Shoemaker and the Elves (Brothers Grimm)

A shoemaker, through no fault of his own, had become so poor that he had only leather enough for a single pair of shoes. He cut them out one evening, then went to bed, intending to finish them the next morning. Having a clear conscience, he went to bed peacefully, commended himself to God, and fell asleep. The next morning, after saying his prayers, he was about to return to his work when he found the shoes on his workbench, completely finished. Amazed, he did not know what to say. He picked up the shoes in order to examine them more closely. They were so well made that not a single stitch was out of place, just as if they were intended as a masterpiece. A customer soon came by, and he liked the shoes so much that he paid more than the usual price for them.

The shoemaker now had enough money to buy leather for two pairs of shoes. That evening he cut them out, intending to continue his work the next morning with good cheer. But he did not need to do so, because when he got up they were already finished. Customers soon bought them, paying him enough that he now could buy leather for four pairs of shoes. Early the next morning he found the four pairs finished. And so it continued; whatever he cut out in the evening was always finished the following morning. He now had a respectable income and with time became a wealthy man.

One evening shortly before Christmas, just before going to bed, and having already cut out a number of shoes, he said to his wife, “Why don’t we stay up tonight and see who is giving us this helping hand.”

His wife agreed to this and lit a candle. Then they hid themselves behind some clothes that were hanging in a corner of the room. At midnight two cute little naked men appeared. Sitting down at the workbench, they picked up the cut-out pieces and worked so unbelievable quickly and nimbly that the amazed shoemaker could not take his eyes from them. They did not stop until they had finished everything. They placed the completed shoes on the workbench, then quickly ran away.

The next morning the wife said, “The little men have made us wealthy. We must show them our thanks. They are running around with nothing on, freezing. Do you know what? I want to sew some shirts, jackets, undershirts, and trousers for them, and knit a pair of stockings for each of them, and you should make a pair of shoes for each of them.”

The husband said, “I agree,” and that evening, when everything was finished, they set the presents out instead of the unfinished work. Then they hid themselves in order to see what the little men would do. At midnight they came skipping up, intending to start work immediately. When they saw the little clothes instead of the cut-out leather, they at first seemed puzzled, but then delighted. They quickly put them on, then stroking the beautiful clothes on their bodies they sang:

Sind wir nicht Knaben glatt und fein?
Was sollen wir länger Schuster sein!
Are we not boys, neat and fine?
No longer cobblers shall we be!

Then they hopped and danced about, jumping over chairs and benches. Finally they danced out of the house. They never returned, but the shoemaker prospered, succeeding in everything that he did.

NB: I checked. It’s a public domain book 🙂

Tonight I hosted a fight

Again

It was a vicious fight

Funny thing is

I knew who the winner was going to be

But the winner didn’t win tonight

But the winner will win

I host these fights often

I know the winner has won

But the loser wins instead

Even so, day after day

I will host these bouts

Until the day

The winner wins

And when the winner wins

It’ll be forever

It hasn’t happened yet

In the bouts I host

But it will

It has

It will

The winner will win

And I’ll be His groupie

“I can’t believe it. Why us? Why us?! Why? Why?!” she wailed as fiery tears of desperation poured out of her quivering, bloodshot eyes.

Her wail was loud, shrill and painful. It was primeval. I felt that the acid from her tears would kill her.

The desperation in her voice was physical. It created a wall, layer by layer. I felt I had to make a foothold before I lost her completely. But I didn’t know what to do. I was lost. She was desperate, hysterical and manic, all rolled into one.

I prayed.

It was the least I could do.

As it turned out, it was the most I could do.

I left the house intent on causing havoc. I was single tracked about that. I put on my clothes and shoes violently and deliberately. I hammered the elevator buttons and charged out of the door.

The sun was glaring. I was hot. This was good because the heat would make me more prone to causing focused and vociferous havoc.

The first person I saw, I was going to kick his head in. If it was a woman, I’ll kick her head in as well. If it was an animal, better still. I’ll kill it. And degut it. And probably paste it all over the inside of the elevator. No, I’ll keep some of the entrails and cook it in a curry and serve it to my neighbor with cyanide for good measure.

Yeah. That’s what I’d do.

The first person I saw was a really cute 4 year old girl. Totally adorable.

I cussed.

I went back home and had a cup of chamomile tea with way too much honey.