red wine chocolate cake

One of my 2021 resolution was – write a flash fiction inspired from BJD (Those who haven’t read her yet shall be kept at bay with silent bafflement.) by Helen Fielding, in January 2021. After a few weeks procrastination finally I managed to pen it down.


Red Wine Chocolate Cake

A sharp bend in the midst of the conversation.

“Why do you write?” wheezzed Chenel with a nasty smirk.

Aaargh. Abysmally foolish inquisitiveness. Of course, to forge a new career out of a brittle life that I have done away with. According to empirical evidences, a dangerous confession was tugging the Bitch Queen from Hell.

Durr! I gave myself a little shake and dissembled my bona fide fractious sentiments.

“Uh-huh” I managed to garble through a sluttish grin.

’twas a stroke of genius that I could rustle up at the moment instead of a knee jerk outburst. With the mounting tension under the tutelage of the Tattle-Queen, you could cut the fag with a knife.

I put down the Red Wine Chocolate Cake and slipped off onto the balcony.

Gosh! My heart gave a great lurch as I stuck my head above the parapet. I wasn’t ready to hazard a guess about the cripplingly embarrassing arrival of the coolest-hunter-prowling-in-the-alley.

Unlike earlier this time he was clean-shaved, fresh-faced and healthy-looking, prattling away with Timothy. I confess we never discussed any skirt-health summit after (or before) my rants about his fuckwittage dêbacle.

He looked up straight through me as I was staring crazily at him then chuckled at Timothy and went on with his prattles.

Such chuckles infringe upon my speech by reducing my ego to the size of a snail sending me work myself into a frenzy. Heaven forbid it is not to say I dint lurve him!

Juno had assured me he’ll be gagging for it now. But the dream felt as afield as the moon. My brain-fart culminated into making-me-turn-tail and frantically pick up the plate of cake once again. While gobbling it down I racked my brain for whose dictum was that – Love has eradicated the need to pig out. Aaaaaaaaaaargh!


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Published by Smita Ray

Smita Ray is the mother of two lovely kids and hails from northeastern town Gorakhpur, U.P, India. Her perpetual displeasure arising from the hypocrisy in the society underneath the semblance of religion, culture as well as the conditioning for compliance urged her to put down the impressions in her mind. In her spare time, she likes to have some culinary adventures with her kids or crafts.

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