Me Movies More

She was sitting in a corner with the manuscript on her lap. It was her dream, since she stepped into the big city, to work under a famous filmmaker. And finally, after five gruelling years of sharing chawls and odd jobs at cafes and stores, she had made it here, today, with the script that she had been working on. Earlier, she had shown some of her scripts to some indie filmmakers. Some of them threw it on her face, some of them smiled and had bid her adieu with a” will get back soon”. But she almost broke down when she saw a YouTube short film that matched her script exactly, even down to the title. And she tracked the maker to be one of those, “will get back soon”. When she tried to contact him to ask for credit, he denied it, saying their meeting had been just a figment of her imagination. But after going through so much betrayal and rejection, she finally found herself at one of the biggest filmmakers’ offices. She was oozing in excitement from within, but the last 5 years of extre...

He was surprised to find it on the table. How had it ended up here? He thought he had left it at his mother's place. Brushing off his thoughts, he picked it up to take a look inside. There were so many pictures of his high school classmates—some he still kept in touch with, but most were strangers to him now. In one photo, he saw himself, all smiles and confidence, as the captain of the school baseball team. His gaze landed on a girl with unruly red hair, severe acne, and a toothy grin that almost made her look like a bunny. He chuckled, remembering how she had been severely bullied and taunted by everyone, who called her "Bugs Bunny." But what was her name? There it was: Sandra Hillock. He read it twice, unable to believe it. Just then, his stunning wife stepped out of the bedroom. "Honey, did you look inside it? Look at me there! You would laugh now—I was called 'Bugs Bunny.' Can you imagine?"   This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

She looked at the cradle with empty eyes and a heavy heart. That was where she had made him sleep every night. A year had passed, but his memory remained fresh, as if his little feet were still running around her. She glanced around the room, where she had kept every piece of clothing and every toy that belonged to him, all intact, as if he would return at any moment. In the corner lay his favourite toy, the one he used to play with all the time. She remembered how fondly he would pick up the two sticks and gently touch the colourful chords—pink, blue, green, yellow. As time passed, his soft touches would gain speed, and the final strikes would come down almost like blows to the chords. He giggled playfully, and she joined in his laughter. Now, she touched the toy and gently picked up the sticks, striking one of the blue chords. A sweet, tinkling sound emerged. She repeated it once, then again, and soon she was playing it. Suddenly, she could hear giggles nearby. As she continued to st...

He was crawling in search of food. Every rib in his frail body was visible, protruding from beneath his skin. He was devoid of any clothing. Unable to withstand the hunger and heat, he paused for a moment. The vultures were waiting nearby, ensuring that their search for food would soon come to an end. His tiny body was brought ashore, as if a gift from the ocean—a stark reminder to humanity of what it is losing in its constant hunger for power. Before his existence could be completely erased from this world, his teary eyes and innocent words warned us that this was only the beginning of the end: “I am gonna tell God everything.” Isn’t that enough? This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026  

I enjoy reading horror stories, and a few have given me sleepless nights.  This post will highlight my top two horror stories that I often revisit. 1. The Horla: I have read the translated English version of "Le Horla," which was originally written by Guy de Maupassant. It is one of his most celebrated short stories, and for me, it is the best horror story I have ever read. The meaning of "Horla" is "Outsider." The narrative explores the protagonist's deteriorating mental state, who feels as though he is being overtaken by an unseen presence. The story is presented in the format of a personal journal, and the gradual decline in the narrator's mental health is haunting. The first-person narration gives it a compelling edge over more traditional narratives. The use of "I" allows readers to fully immerse themselves in the narrator's experience.  What's most striking is that the narrator's decline is not steady; at times, he find...

She wore a pink chiffon saree, flaunting a milky-white handbag and a pair of matching white peep-toe kitten heels, exuding a magnetic aura wherever she went. The air around her was filled with a delicate floral fragrance. Pink pearl earrings and a pendant added a touch of elegance to her outfit, making her look like a million dollars. She was well aware of the admiring glances directed her way. Used to the attention, she found it enjoyable. This was her daily routine; today she wore a saree, and tomorrow she would don formal attire, yet she would attract the same level of attention. That was simply who she was—a centre of attraction and a crowd puller—and she was unapologetic about it. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026