A Story in Search Terms

This week’s challenge for Chuck Wendig’s Terrible Minds Blog is:

The challenge is to write a narrative using the search engine entries. Here is my attempt. To participate, click on the above link and type in your stories in the comments.

Search history:

How to make a freshwater tank
Black Fish purple stripes
SPC 173
Are creepypastas real?
How to kill a fish
How fast can fish evolve
EMerge.,gc ..,lmw[gjer[g

Voice your opinions or criticisms in the comments below. 🙂

May Your Darkness guide you to Your Light!


Just Another Night

A dying stray dog,
A wet concrete road,
A speeding car.

Someone’s dream was broken that night. Someone’s heart was shattered.

The rains poured heavily like the tears of the dog who could never cross the road to find it’s master. The clouds barked and howled in pity at the slum child whose pet was run over before his eyes.

A stereo played a plagiarised Bollywood song as the driver dreamed of having violent sex with the objectified image of the woman from the song.

The road only sat there quietly, observing the horror that we call humanity. It was only aeons ago when creatures that respected the land lived here. She wasn’t covered in black tar back then. She was free to fly with the wind, part by part.
Too bad, she wondered, When will they ever learn?

The Unhappy Warlord

So, I follow this guy Chuck Wendig. Every Friday he posts flash fiction challenges for writers to follow.

This weeks challenge was to write a 100 word story. No particular theme or challenge, just a simple 100 word story. This is my story, it’s exactly 100 words.



Once upon a time, there lived an unhappy Warlord. He had conquered all the lands of the world, but there was something he couldn’t understand. Despite having all the material possible, the Warlord wasn’t happy.
After contemplating over his issues, he realised what he had to do.
He discarded the title of ‘Warlord’, and declared himself as ‘God’. His life changed, and with it, the world.
Till this day, no one has ever seen him. All we know is that people will kill in his name. Perhaps the imprint he has left on our race will never fade…

The End



The baby was crying, screaming it’s little guts out. The father sat dizzy from the thirteenth peg he had just gulped down. He looked out to his wife, nowhere to be seen in the kitchen. He shouted out, adding to the baby’s cries.
No Response.
More pegs were made, three bottles had fallen to this man’s addiction. His wife seemed to have forgotten of his existence. But his hazed mind was far away from these troubles. His intoxication had reached a new level. After the twentieth peg, his insides gave up. The floor was in ruins.
After a terrible pain in his stomach, he rushed to the bathroom for unknown reasons. Maybe his mind was trained for these situations. He rushed and spilled his stomach out into the ceramic pot, not noticing his wife that hung from the kitchen fan.
After the third gag, he lay unconscious on the floor. The last thing he remembered was the horrifying silence.
The baby had ceased its crying.

Strange Ending

The wind gushed and the clouds roared. The weatherman said a storm was rising. If he did not reach home on time, he might never. His work had ended earlier; his boss was more paranoid than anyone else. However, his boss had a driver and a car waiting to serve his needs. His colleagues ran just like him, but their buses were frequent. His bus had a terrible frequency.
People were closing shop, others were hurrying home. The homeless tried to look for a tentative shelter. The animals were nowhere to be seen. Smart bitches, he thought. He looked around at the systematic chaos that presented itself. Religion had forgotten its enmity and rivals helped secure each other. Everyone seemed to be prepared, except him.
The road was emptier than before. Isolation seemed to be creeping in. He had to leave.
He decided that he would spend some extra bucks and travel by rickshaws. But as every Indian knows, these bastards never listen.
One rickshaw rushed away. He grew frantic. The skies began to wet the earth.
Another ignored his cries. He abused passionately.
A third said an unjustified no. He kicked the rickshaw as it sped away.
The fourth one’s breaks failed.
The isolated road gathered pedestrians to help him, but he realised that the storm wouldn’t be his bane. The people carried him to a shelter, an ambulance was called for. The driver of the rickshaw was beaten for his faults. The clouds roared and the rain had finally begun its heavy downpour.
He was convinced that his end would come. Either by the storm, or the accident.
Death had a strange way to find things. A mosquito landed on his wound.


“What is it honey?” he asked. He thought he’d heard his wife call out to him.
When no reply came, he thought it was nothing. Then it all crashed down on him. His house, his life, all engulfed by the flames inside his mind. Another migraine.
He fell down on the carpet and writhed in pain. The TV show host laughed at one of the gags and the recorded audiences giggled as well. 
Clutching his hair, almost ripping it off he rolled trying to understand why the pain felt different. That is when the crimson dripped down his cheek. He noticed the pool of red forming below his head. There had to be something wrong. How was this possible.
He looked up, and a silhouette stared back at him.
As she bent down, he saw the bruised face of his wife, eyes bloodshot. In her hands, she gripped a spade from their garden.
“HOW DARE YOU?” he screamed. If the neighbours ever found out, his name would be cast down. Their family would be in shame.
In reply, she kept staring at him. He had never seen her enraged. Every time she did something wrong, she would clam up and accept his beatings. That was the way society had raised them. Their parents did it, and their grandparents. But was it true? Or was it a delusion that only he lived in?
“I’m done!” she whispered, barely enough for him to understand.
A divorce was shunned upon in their society. His migraine worsened. And the moment he realised that the migraine was actually the hurt from the wound he had tried to ignore, the spade came crashing down on him.
One hit, his vision was hazy. Second and the pain worsened. Third, and his life flashed before him, numbing his senses. A Fourth and unable to bear the excruciating pain, he fell unconscious.
As life left his body, from the passage between life and death, he heard the faint laughter of victory.
His societal prisoner was finally free.

He had Won

He walked alone, on a desolate street, thoughts of joy churning through his mind. The sky was gloomy but his mind afresh. Filled with emotions of jolly, his feet carried him towards his destination. Stars revolved around his head, as angels and demons danced to salute him. His was a victory of pride and honor. He had earned it. He had been in utter disgrace and now, he had won.
He was a lad from a happy family. No worries or troubles even meddled with his peace. But then came that little idiot of a boy. What was his name? Aah well, it’s not necessary anymore. That Idiot, as he would always refer to him, made his college life miserable. It was his first day in college when this Idiot met him. Idiot was a senior and so, he respected him. But little did he know, that this Idiot, meant to rag him.
Well, that was in the past. That Idiot was dead now. And he killed him.
Yes, this boy who we are reading about, walking towards his destination, well, yes. He killed him.
His destination?
Insanity. Yes, it was insanity. You didn’t believe that this story was going somewhere good did you? Oh well, too bad. He grinned as he walked towards insanity.
A tiny door opened in a house at the end of the street and a wrinkled gray hand gestured him inside. He walked in. Inside was an abyss with nothingness surrounding him, with a silent deathly aura and an aroma of filth and reeking flesh. He kept smiling. He had won.
A million spider webs shot at him, entangling his limbs and body into yielding. He knelt down as huge hairy apes slapped him red and raw. He kept smiling. He had won.
Why they asked. No reply. He kept smiling. He had won.
Was it so bad? The Idiot had driven him to insanity. Yes, it was the Idiot who had tortured his whole living mental state, so much that he resorted to a mind of blood rather than beauty. Can ragging actually take you to such extreme limits?
I don’t know. Ask him! Ask him all you want. All he will do is smile. But of course, what can we say?
He had won.