This is our town – 3 min short story/ poem

Hiss of samosas hitting the frying pan.

Crackle from chips being wrapped.

Vibrating boom from the record stall.

This is our ends.

The air alive with spices and smoke and handshakes and happy how’s-your-mothers.

Chuckles and street cackles bounce around the market. The paved streets lined with locals with rich stories. Faces familiar and friendly. Undeterred.

Crowds gather around Jackie fruit and veg as she retells that story we love to hear,  just one more time Jackie.

This is our town. Radio John snoozing on his stall, Viv’s leopard’s prints and Ahmed’s fish. They’ll be around forever.

No matter how many tall gawky coffee shops with spindly metal chairs sitting outside and fingers clattering on silver white laptops.

This will always be our town.

 

 


Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed my short story/ poem (I’m definitely not a poet!). This  piece came about when I went on a writing trip with The Writing Squad where we explored gentrification on London through photography and writing.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments below! Thank you all so much for staying with me and reading my stories!

D x

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I am also starting book reviews! Let me know your recommendations in the comments below!

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My Coat – quick short story

I have this coat I wear. It’s heavy. Pulling me down.

Holding it close I wander. Past the towns I once knew. Size fives grow to tens.

The walls that heard everything.

And the people that reflected my whole soul.

The silly games we shared. The pockets we filled. The meals, the shoulders, the hands held tight.

The air after I left tasted sweeter. Full of opportunity that I lapped up.

My coat grew lighter and I held my arms out as I flew. Pulling and grabbing everything.

Head spinning with the new world I spun.

Returning hurts.  The air still. Bitter. Tasting of sour pillowcases and snapping sweets in half.

I feel dense. Pockets too heavy for this old life.

Where all time stands still except mine.

 

My Coat - quick short story by Dija Mulla


Thanks for reading! This piece was inspired by a writing trip I went on with The Writing Squad. We explored the idea of gentrification in London. I wrote this piece back in November last year but so much has happened since then – I got a new job in a new industry and so I just haven’t had time to come back to this blog.

If you liked this piece, please let me know by liking it. If you have anything to say about it, just leave a comment below.

And follow me on Twitter  and Instagram if you’re into all that.

Cheers!

D

Short story Girl in Front Dija Mulla

Girl in front – original short story

Queuing up to use cash machine at train station.

Girl in front. Long hair. Fruity perfume.

Tap tap tapping her feet.

Queue moves forward. She drops her purse. I swoop down. Pick it up. She turns around.

‘Oh thank you!’ Big wide smile. Warms my soul.

She turns around again.

And starts tap tap tapping her feet again.

My heart is racing. Skin burning.

Queue moves forward and it’s her turn to use cash machine.

She gets money out.

I get money out.

She goes to the platform.

I follow.

She is the one. My one true love.

The first person to smile at me in months. The first person to speak to me in months.

She must be thinking about me, as she climbs on the train. Sits down. Opens her book and begins to read.

I bet she’s not even reading. Day dreams about me replacing words on the page.

When she pulls out a phone. Starts tap tap tapping on it. I bet she’s telling all her friends about the great guy she just met.

I follow her all afternoon. When she pops to the pharmacy, meets her friends for coffee and goes to the hair dresser, I’m there too. In her mind and behind her. Watching.

Watching my one true love. Being truly lovely.

She’s walking along a road full of terraced houses. Pretty road. Smells like roses.

Stops outside one of the houses.

Turns around.

Looks at me.

Brown eyes pierce my heart.

‘STOP following me!’

She pushes the door open and the slam echoes all over the street.

I stay. My insides warming. Head light.

Make a note of her house number.

My one true love.

I’ll watch you forever.

 Short story by Dija Mulla about being followed


Thanks you for reading! This short story was inspired by the book The Collector by John Fowles.
Read more of my short stories if you liked this one.
Let me know what you thought of it in the comments below, and follow me on Twitter if you’re into all that jazz.
Cheers!
D
Short story about waiting at the bus stop

At the bus stop – 3 minute short story

Early morning waiting for a bus. Smell of shampoo still lingering. Eyes heavy with sleep.

Purple Coat Woman arrives at the bus stop, her coat’s too thin, she’ll be cold today.

Headphone Guy follows, dressed quite smartly. Maybe he’s got a job interview. Well done mate good luck!

Car stops nearby, Man with Shoulder Bag gets out waving his wife goodbye and comes to stand with us. His wife drives off. Cute couple.

Where’s Girl With Bun? The bus’ll be here any minute now.

She clobbers over finally.

Phew! We’re all here.

We all stand in silence, the same five people.

We’ve been getting this bus at the same time every week day for the last two years.

We’ve never spoken.

BFFs – cute short story

 

The floor vibrates under my feet. The tube jerks. My hand slips and I stumble. Whirls of faces.

My forehead bumps something hard.

I look up. She looks up.

Rubs her head, smiles silly and we both stand up.

She looks away. Strangers again.

But I know we shared something. Something intimate. I felt it.

She’s wearing a suit. Nice. It suits her. I smile at my own pun. Smile at the idea that maybe one day she’ll hear it.

She checks her phone. No signal down here silly, we’re underground. I want to say to her.

She tuts with her perfect mouth. She must be running late. Poor thing. That’s just British transport sweety, you can never rely on it. I say to her. In my head.

The tube jerks again. This time both of us are ready. We catch eyes and she smiles again.

The doors swing open and she teeters out with perfect black heels.

The tube moves on.

Where did you get those shoes? I want to ask her. I can never find black heels I like, but yours, well, they’re absolutely perfect.

Maybe next time you’re around, she’ll say, we can shop for them together. Maybe check out the sales.

Hmm let me check my calendar I’ll say. My heart beating fast. Knowing it’s empty anyway.

Oh, I’ll say, I’m not free tomorrow but maybe Saturday?

Great, she’ll say, see you then, she’ll say. We’ll go out afterwards. It’ll be fun. She’ll say.

And just like that we’ll be BFFs. That’s what she’ll call us. It’s a little lame for me, but it’ll sound nice when she says it.

The tube doors slide open. More violently this time. I get out.

Footsteps echoing.

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Flash fiction

Para – 3 minute short story

3pm. Walking to the corner shop. Bread, milk, maybe something for dinner tonight.

Cars driving past. Cars staring at him and his black leather jacket. Cars laughing cuz it didn’t suit him. He stumbled and the cars laughed even louder.

A woman walked the other way. Middle aged, laden with food shopping. She veered slightly away from him when she walked past. She must hate him. Freaked out by how weird he was. His forehead wet.

Automatic doors hesitated before letting him in.

Multi grain or white bread? Or maybe a baguette. Side glance from shelf stacker. Only losers ate white bread. He put it back, armpits soaked.

Ready meal? Cauliflower cheese was on offer. Elderly man picked up the pasta bake next to it. ‘Excuse me lad.’

He shrank away from the isle towards the Dairy fridge. Heart beating fast.

The elderly man probably smirking at the cauliflower cheese. Who eats that?

Green milk, definitely green milk. Good for tea and biscuits. ‘excuse me, can you pass me the last yoghurt pot, I can’t reach?’ Teenage girl, short.

‘Sure’ cough, swallow phlegm. ‘sure’. He could feel her eyes on his neck. I hope I don’t end up like him .

He handed her the yoghurt. Hands slippery, face hot.

People stared as he walked past them empty handed, breathing hard and breathing fast.  Probably wanted to steal something. Look at him, so chubby. Probably a tramp.

Every bit of his skin dripping.

He could try again tomorrow.

There were still some custard creams in the cupboard.

 

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