ONION SOUP FOR THE PESSIMIST’S SOUL

>> Saturday, April 14, 2007

Onion Soup for the Pessimist's Soul establishes an individual's right to be bitter, caustic and if required, seek for professional or spiritual help to keep his cynicism in good form. We are planning a sequel soon for the Homicidal Maniac's Soul.

Daring To Dream

John was a prolific writer, churning out dozens of original stories and novels every day. His stories were harmonized blends of romance, comedy, tragedy and the inevitable happy ending - to cut a long story short- an ideal book for a railway journey of two hours and thirty-three minutes. There was just one obstacle in his perfect world- editors refused to accept his stories. No editor understood his selfish love for words, his profound desire to let his name be written beside Shakespeare’s or his thoughts to be mulled over centuries after his death.

Life ceased to have meaning for him. His latent genius and unexplored talent seemed doomed to be unrecognized by the hypocritical judges of aestheticism. A disillusioned and dejected John decided to end his life rather than live in anonymity and among rejection slips. He collected the entire works of his life and went to a cliff, deciding against a high-rise building (it is impossible to look like a romantic martyr if you are crushed under a hundred cars). He envisioned a dramatic death with the papers flying around his deceased mortal body, paying a final tribute to the man who had dared to dream, daring all odds.

However, fates were against him. The moment he convinced himself the cliff was not too high, a man came and stopped him. John, furious at having even death thwart him, shouted at him and in his desperation sang out the entire story like a gangster under the gentle influence of NYPD (for the want of a better simile). The man quietly listened to his ballad and took the papers from his hand and looked over them. After contemplating them for a long time, he told John that he liked his style of writing and that he would like to publish his works. It turned out he was a publisher of not a small repute who liked to give new talents a chance. The gratified and overwhelmed John fell down on his knees with joyous gratification, sobbing like a child. The man started to come near him but tripped over a pebble and fell down the cliff, his scream reverberating off the walls of the abyss.

(The author would have preferred to remain unnamed in fear of being lynched by the masses, but, then, even notoriety is fame)

3 scaly flippers:

Priyanka Kumar 11:43 pm, July 02, 2007  

Ha, this was funny. funnier than the real chicken soup stories, which are the wrong kind of funny.
this was good funny.

Ibanov, Sir Rekaf 2:23 am, May 18, 2008  

Bravo, bravo! I'm in love with your style :D

Sharath 2:55 am, August 31, 2008  

Screams of O.Henry (which is a good thing!) :-)

So you HAVE written stories...how come you haven't sent them out yet? Instead of posting them on blog sites, maybe you should get a number of them together and write a proposal...

Any reasons for not doing so?

Sharath

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