Here are the amazing stories from our first collaborative story-writing project! It was a tough task -- and the participating storytellers did a great job :) Group authors are listed in order of submission.
From @Shi_dreams, @gillian.nair, @rebelinpurple & @gehan99:
Little Ashok lay under the bed in the dark terrified.
A car sounded in the driveway and he heard the voices of his nana and someone else in the hallway. She was screaming “YOU POISONED MY DAUGHTER!”
Ashok’s world started spinning.
“Nooo! Mommy isn’t dead!” he thought, crying.
Suddenly there was silence.
“Nana??” he whispered.
He tiptoed in to the hall. He could see the bracelet he made for his mom broken all over the floor. He heard a familiar voice that he followed in to the kitchen. His dad was standing above his mother’s lifeless body, with a shining gleam in his eye. He started to move towards Ashok.
“Really, Lehan? That’s how you want to start your first novel? I’m certain your father wouldn’t approve,” quipped, Sid. This wasn’t the reaction Lehan was looking forward to, but made no attempt to defend himself. It could have been worse; his father would have just walked off and carried on drinking without saying a word.
And suddenly, Lehan had an idea.
Soon he was at his father’s house, watching him read his manuscript. His father didn’t speak, but his eyes showed contempt at his son’s “so-called profession”.
“Rubbish.”, he slurred, reaching for his drink.
Lehan watched him take the poisoned glass, picked up his pen, and prepared to start writing.
From The Eccentric Vagabond, @sharasekaram, Michael Mendis & Jonathan Vittachi:
He watched as he twirled the liquid in his glass, or what was left in it rather. There was a storm brewing at work, and it wouldn’t be long till it shattered his life into ruins. What of Molly?..and Samuel? No; it had to be done, had to. Not like he’d been given another option.
In one movement he downed the contents of the glass and winced. Taking a deep breath he dialed. Dialed the number that would change everything. Dialed the number that would ruin a relationship that had been carefully built up. That would pit friend against friend. Nothing would ever – COULD ever be the same again.
Rohan answered the call. 'Hello. I know who leaked the proposals. Merc Private offered 3 mil for the copies, and I delivered. I am willing to talk. Tell me what to do.' He hung up. He would much rather Molly and Samuel know their father did the right thing later, than never at all.
His phone rang less than a second after he had replaced the receiver; it was Rohan. ‘Mark we already knew that, the cops are already on their way, my suggestion is to run. Take the kids and go’ and with that the line went dead.
From Ritesh Agarwal, @yazblu, @dishilicious & Raisa:
The sky roared. A storm was in progress. But it was not half as fierce as the one brewing within him.
His thoughts were split. Half of them strayed towards Monica and the other half wandered over towards Jennifer.
He sipped his cold coffee, willing it to warm up his heart. Then the doorbell rang.
He stared at the door, rooted in place. His memories pulled him to another place, another time, when a ring of the doorbell had brought him Monica; who had captured his heart and left him to live a shell of an existence when a similar storm had snatched her away with a flash of lightening.
He tried to take a step towards her, instead stood frozen, feeling gloomier and colder than the weather outside. An unbearable pain was piercing through his veins, as flashes of memories blinded him. He wanted to scream, to explode.
Just then he felt the warmth of a touch on his shoulder. He opened his eyes.
“Good morning! It’s time for your pill.”
“This coffee is tepid. And when exactly did I say you could enter?”
“Hush, now”. I’ll get you hot coffee,” she said, stifling a smile.
Her eyes are blue, like Monica’s.
I was young once, he thinks.
Now it’s all over.
He turned back to the raging sky.
From @shamsmakkiya, @minzy34, @Mari_deSilva & @wIkIfReAkz:
Isis sat frozen. Adrenaline stormed circling her entire body. The very next second, the full height glass window went crashing as she threw the table in great rage. The building startled. The colleagues rushed upwards. At the sight of Isis's ferocious look, the boss retreated. Hundreds of questions met Isis's ears. She started responding atypically.
“STOP!!!” Isis was screaming inside her head; but her body was not her own. Amidst the shattering glass, numerous cuts that leaked blood like an ice cream on a sunny noon, she saw the retreating Boss. In a flash, her mind recollected the look in his eyes the previous night. It all made sense now.
He was a coward. He didn’t want anyone to know his dirty little secret. But I wasn’t going to just roll over and play dead. I was going to stay and teach him a lesson he wouldn’t easily forget. Isis never backs down from a fight. Especially when she has got nothing more to lose.
She signaled her fellow-mommoids.
His body seemed tiny from the 55th floor.
---
Epilogue
The mommoids, the humanoid nannies have a high demand as they possess all the motherly features.
Yesterday, Intra-Sync Info-Syster (ISIS), the server gynoid, found that the CEO of CareBots.Inc was drawing plans to design mommoids as sex machines to attract more customers.
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