Hazia’s Reflections

We had our second book project discussion this morning. We covered a lot more, I think this time the 3 of us were more fussy than our course instructor. LOL!

He asked us to stop sending him stories, we now have 38 already. We got over excited, I guess, hehe…The ideal number of stories for a book is between 25 to 30. We agreed on 8 stories each, that would be 24 in total.

However, he said after this first joint effort, each of us should have our own book. Only 2 or 3 of the stories should be re-printed, so each of us would need another 23. That’s why we should not stop writing. We should also have back-up stories in case we weren’t happy with the ones that make it to the final round.

Today we reviewed 9 stories, including Singles’ Honeymoon, my favourite creation so far. There was very minimal change to be made, I edited it in less than 5 minutes.

Obviously, our instructor thought I had a wild imagination supported by factual research. He also asked me the popular question: Can Malaria cause coma and then death? Should I thank Ad?:p. Yeah, the storymaster who could not separate reality from fantasy.

Below is a second corner of my story with Ad, also one that didn’t happen - the confrontation. I’m also thinking of 1 with him being real and really recovering from stroke, that would make a different story altogether.

From the Grave - First Cut

Jasmin was seated on the bar stool with her back to the wall. She fidgeted her fingers nervously. I watched her from the opposite corner. We agreed that I was to observe the evening from afar and follow her cue.

A tall slim man walked into the pub. He spotted her and walked over. She offered him a seat next to hers but he shook his head. For a while, they just stared at each other without saying a word.

He called the waiter and ordered a beer for himself and a coke for her.

“It’s been a while. How are you, my darling?” he broke the silence. “Like a wreck, thanks to you,” she replied with clear sarcasm. “Hmm…” he replied. “Guess that I deserve that welcome.”

“I thought you died. How could you, Alan? I trusted you,” she was mad then. “Do you have any idea what you put me through?” “I couldn’t sleep for weeks. I had nightmares. I cried everyday. At times, I wished that I would die too.” Tears rolled down her eyes.

“I am so sorry, my dear. I really am.” There was regret in his voice. He probably meant it but I could not help wondering if it was one of his charades again.

“We talked on the phone almost every day. We shared our fears… our hopes… our dreams. We planned a future together. Didn’t all that mean anything to you,” she sobbed.

“There is no excuse to what I did. But believe me when I said I have never stopped loving you. I will always love you Jasmin, my flower.”

His tone was gentle. They sipped their drinks and continued talking for a while. I could see her slowly calming down. He moved closer to her and took her hands. He looked deep into her eyes, one of his seductive moves.

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