Short Story - fiction

It was past midnight when the train screeched to a halt at some unknown station. Shruti woke up. Surprisingly, the compartment was empty. She peered outside the window and no one was in sight. She noticed that beads of sweat have started to form on her forehead and temples. She ran her hand over her face and wiped off the coldness. It was not the moisture of perspiration that her hands were smeared with…. it was blood. Shruti wondered if she had been injured somehow. She could not recollect any physical pain or injury that she had faced lately. Slightly taken aback, she decided to take a thorough look at herself, to determine, how she is losing so much blood without the hint of any pain.


Shruti got up and as she tried to make her first move she found out it was not only the face that was bleeding so profusely but she was, in fact, standing amidst a pool of blood. Though she did not feel any numbness but noticed that her movement has become unusually light. She was almost gliding through the half lit compartment. She noticed there were marks of dried blood everywhere and as she was gliding, she was just adding some freshness to the fishy stench of dried blood. Inside the compartment she could faintly hear cries from voices, voices that were withering in pain but strangely she could not see anyone around. She panicked a bit but glided towards the door where the old mirror was hung. Much like usual railway mirror this too was spotted for most its part. Shruti looked at her reflection; she was petrified of the sight. The bizarre reflection brought back an excruciating pain and left her gaping whether she was still alive, dead or was she sitting on a cusp?

Three months ago, it was the fateful express train that Shruti Kamath had boarded, while returning from her aunt’s place. It was past midnight when she fell asleep while her train was standing on the platform, waiting for the green signal. Suddenly, out of the blue her train was hit by yet another speeding express train. Her compartment flew apart from the rest of the train and placed itself precariously half on a bridge and half on a deserted yet to be made platform. All the passengers in that wagon were injured to death. The rescue team had arrived after some time and pulled out crushed, soiled and bloodied bodies that now filled the coach. The remnant bits and pieces of bodies that remained, were all disjoint and somehow got complexly inter twined with the broken berths and iron rods. Even after numerous tries some of these body parts could not be pulled out and decomposition had set in with time. Shruti’s body, while asleep, was thrown to pieces when her compartment was hit. Hers was one of the few cases whose remaining body could not be assimilated and returned to anyone.

 Till date, Shruti Kamath wakes up every midnight in what remains of the coach. She glides her way to the mirror. Each night when she confronts her bloody reflection she’s invariably baffled to ascertain whether she’s dead, alive or somewhere in the transit……..

Face value

Face is the gateway to soul. It is the face of someone that most often decides its fate. What happens when you have your first glance at a face.... it sometimes impresses you so much that can't take your eyes off it. Sometimes it has a strange quality of distraction that is.. though you can take your eyes off almost immediately but somehow you are still drawn to it just to capture what might be its expression this moment. Some faces are plain... just plain they are easy to forget and difficult to remember... here comes the role of eyes. Such plain faces through repeated interactions may make a place in the eyes, may be minds of the beholder. Another important role is played by smile. It most often makes a plain face wonderful but there are many cases where a beautiful face is marred by a strange smile which can best be expressed as a grimace. Now comes such faces which are striking at the cost of ugliness. These are also faces that have the potential of attraction in a contoured way. Some faces are so disappointing that the beholder has no other option but to avert it.

Now most of us have a plain face that is easy to forget but and difficult to remember. This is the quality that cosmetic industry thrives on. It promises to accentuate some hidden ...almost absent features which might succeed to make an impression to a beholder. Here comes the twist the beholder might avert that kind of a made up face or give in to its face value. What might strike to the eyes of the beholder is highly unpredictable. Coming to think of it... a too much of a beautiful and perfect face might seem unreal to the eyes.

If we apply all these thoughts to ourselves, how does our face fare? The face is what nature has given us..... sometimes we highlight our best features sometimes the highlighting is misplaced. Some lucky ones are happy with the face they have, majority have come to terms with it for the desperate ones there's always a plastic surgeon round the corner! For me, after I've come to terms with my face I'm absolutely elated about it which gives me a good face value. Whats your score?