Ms.Matchsticks and the Machine

You would think that the world really cares about your trials but, honey! that ain't happening ever. Now, that's a lesson Ms.Matchsticks teaches everyone. Especially, the overly enthusiastic gremlins of hope. This time, Ms.Matchsticks found herself in one of those booby traps of an evening. You know... one of those events which you plan on bailing on for a week, to eventually get roped in by a co-worker in the last minute, kind. Such a waste of a windy, chilly evening, she thought to herself as she lightened her cigarette of the building ash, on to the ashtray. 'I could have been in my comfy bed, under my comforter reading a book. M,m may be a dirty book.....any BOOK!'.....Ms.Matchsticks almost said the last word out loud. 'Hi!' ....she heard from a remotely familiar voice but couldn't put a face to its kind. She heard again... ' 'Hi! I Think we met at the Classical Music Fest in November...right?' Now, she had to look. She saw a decentl

Sorry! Sorry! Today was different. Ms. Matchsticks was in no mood for the usual tantrums. She was running late and nobody but nobody would understand the female anatomy of being in a hurry. She's feisty, she is always ready to punch if you get in her way. Except that guy. That guy is ... well he is allowed to be a bastard. As Ms.Matchsticks gathered her morning papers and was ready to step out, Mrs Whisker's let her know today is going to pretty darn weird. Yeah! There goes Mrs.Whiskers. Warning her about the fantastic few. Always thinking when will Ms.Matchsticks show up. Will she look beautiful? Would her voice still spell out love?  No! No time for that now. Ms.Matchsticks is late. So, so late.  She walked by her lane, hoping to get the vehicle on time and that's when she saw a pan whopping his penis out near the drain to take a leak. Ah! Public urination. The natural sport of the East.  So, Ms.Matchsticks thought! She gets told off if her bra str

“Let someone love you just the way you are – as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.” — Marc Hack Ah, the follies of literature Ms. Matchsticks thought while she read this quote. Clearly, Marc Hack never met brown men. Someone should take them and introduce them to the average Indian male smothered by their mother and trained to believe in the flawless slate of a woman's brain. She was doing all of those thinking while he was telling her how small of a brain she had for not keeping up with his broken promises. After all, why wouldn't he? It's the right bestowed by him, from his mother to make sure the rest of the women in the world would be lucky t