Pachpan

or Fifty-five words...

Bangalore Bytes, Chamique, Recluse and Mr. D have started writing this story which I picked up from Mr. D's blog. I had to throw my hat in.

Also, just to make sure that by the time we reach the 23rd contributor, we don't go through all 22 blog posts before that, I have taken the liberty to copy the stories on to this post. Please keep the chain going, I say. We start with Bangalore Bytes.


The airplane had been airborne an hour when she entered the toilet. She looked into the mirror and hated the girl of twenty going on sixty that she saw. The horrors she had seen and the family she had lost….

She mixed lip-gloss with Vaseline, stuck her mobile in the goo and walked out.

Slowly…

*****

Between the clothes, she tucked in small surprises. Moisturising lotion for her grandmother. Seaweed hair gel for her grandfather. The cologne her brother had been hinting at...

Later, she realised her lip-gloss had been checked in as well.
Maybe she’d ask the girl next to her for some when she got back from the toilet.

A bit of the viscid mixture was still on her fingers as she opened the door. She quickly massaged it into her full, round lips. Salty.

A kafir watched her and smiled appreciatively.

Bastard.

-----------

Somewhere, Akram sat staring at the bottle in his hand.

Fuck.

He'd given her the cyanide paste instead of the vaseline.

*****

She looked sort of hot (in an Asian way), though not friendly. That made him think. In the end he decided to give it a go, anyhow.

"May I borrow your vaseline, please? It's dry in here"

He added a friendly but restrained smile for effect. She looked around uncomfortably. He tried to look cool.

*****

She handed him the empty tube.

"It's not mine, it's available in the restroom. Go get one for yourself."

It was the friendliest she could be with kafirs.

She licked her lips again while sitting down. Salty.

Somewhere in her bag, the vaseline bottle had leaked open. Akram didn’t know that and pulled the trigger.

*****