52 bad short stories.

The envelopes that came always smelled like lavender and something she had never smelled. She imagined they smelled like city. He was in a city in America and making a home for her to live. His letters always felt hopeful, they had this amazing feel to them all their own. They came once a week and always had the same message. "I love you and we will build a life together in this place." Puju read the letter intently. This week he said he had found a great new job and was making a lot more money. Some of which he sent to his parents to help out. As tradition she was living with his parents until he sent for her. The lavish wedding ceremony held one year ago was still in her mind and the pictures were scattered all around the house. A house which felt empty without him.  Vikram was their only son and the pride and joy of their life. When he announced his intentions to marry her, they were slightly disappointed. They had wanted to arrange the marriage with a neighbor girl, one h

The piano was the only thing brining her comfort. She wasn't playing it, just listening as he played it. Often times when he practiced, she liked to listen, she sat in the bench to the entrance to the house. She wanted to be out of the way and she didn't want him to know she was listening.  He was truly gifted. He loved playing too, which was wonderful, the teacher even understood it. This was her son. She created him and he was truly talented, maybe even a genius. All the things that had gone wrong over the years. She could sit peacefully and listen for hours, but then she heard someone at the door. "Hello Constance, how wonderful to see you". The blonde woman on the other side of the door rolled her light blue eyes and pushed her hair back like she was Marcia Brady.  "Stop with the pleasantries, I know it was you Margret". Constance pointed one perfectly manicured pink finger at her and continued, "I'm going to tell every what you did you filthy B

Mustard Yellow. His train of thought finally led him to this after looking at it for several minutes. It took him this long to remember the name of the color. Mustard Yellow. The walls were painted this awful color. He was never a fan of the color yellow, at least he didn't think so. He thought it was odd when people liked yellow and to paint a room yellow seemed insane. Especially a color that was so unhappy. It was literally an unhappy yellow, it seemed impossible, but it wasn't, because he could see it, dull and unsmiling back at him.  He sat up in bed, in the room with the walls painted Mustard Yellow and wondered where he was. It looked like a hospital. It wasn't all coming back to him, the last thing he remembered was being at work. A place with computers and desks and offices. Talking to someone, the blonde woman, about reports, brightly colored graphs in her hands, her nails painted blue. He strained to remember her name.   This room. It looked familiar but he had n

 Zara was tapping out her speech for the conference on Sunshine Day when there was a knock on her door. A small blue figure entered the room. "Miss Taylor? can I ask a question?" Small Pizzaro entered the room. Her star student in the classroom. Always studying, always answering, always alone, never asking any questions. This sudden appearance startled her, she wasn't sure what he'd ask or if she could answer.  "Yes Pizza, of course, how can I help you?" The small boy with his wide eyes and small mouth entered cautiously. He was probably afraid of the Sunshine Day. He had never seen a Sunshine Day. He was born the day after the last one ended 7 years ago. She remembered the last one vaguely. Most of all she remembered her relationship with Marizito and collapsing, as the day was so hot. She really hated Sunshine Day. She had never had a good one in her 70 years on the grey planet.  Sunshine Day was the one day the rains stopped and the clouds part to bring o