Blue Corvette - By Nirvana Soogreem

Written By: Nirvana Soogreem

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Nirvana Soogreem, writing under the name Blue Corvette, presents a poignant short story titled "Blue Corvette" for the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This profound narrative delves into themes of nostalgia, regret, and the passage of time, inviting readers into a reflective journey. With a keen eye for emotional detail, Soogreem captures the essence of life's complexities and the echoes of past dreams.

About the Work

In "Blue Corvette," Nirvana Soogreem intricately weaves a tapestry of emotions, exploring the bittersweet nature of reminiscence and unfulfilled aspirations. Through vivid imagery and nuanced storytelling, the work evokes a melancholic reflection on life's twists and turns. The narrative's mood oscillates between longing and resignation, capturing the delicate balance between cherished memories and present realities.

Blue Corvette

Original Submission by Nirvana Soogreem

Blue Corvette

I know they’re feigning a polite facade

Everyone here is dismally joyful

But years upon life

A trifle of experience and layers of reading people

I know when smiles are stretched, forced

I’ve seen people as clay and moulds of plaster

It becomes unfortunately obvious when you notice the cracks in the work. It shows when they’re over-engaged in a performative manner

And their smiles are a centimeter too taut on the sides.

Like the clay being stretched by hands too young to know to hide yet,

I know when I look at the arthritis and callouses which rest on my lap, mine have bid their dues. But I don't mention or fuss. That's not the me I am.

For I didn’t attempt to reclaim a position in any of my children's lives

Henceforth now the drudgery of the Nursing Home.

How uncanny it is, that nursing is a baby's feeding off a mother

And now the mother is being nursed to “health”

For I am in perfect health.

They merely retain me as assurance that I shall not die alone under their pretence. I understand the awkward tension and I see it spurt through the room

They assume my hearing capacity is too poor to hear

The arguing about who enters the room first

Who has to pull up the corners of their lips and upturn their eyes, yet failing to let a light behind them flicker.

Because to see me is a reflection of their guilt

That they pay for people to

Press powdered medication through my sun-dried lips

And guard me outside shower doors like a humiliation ritual every night

That you can barely have the human decency to bathe in solitude

And the warden is so fluorescently enthusiastic

It makes me want to scald her with the very water I use against my papery skin Just to feel again.

Because the last time I felt it was when he touched my skin.

I was seventeen and he was older

I’d crawl through my window on the 5th story in my navy waitress uniform and fall into his arms which caught me with such ease and when he hoisted me up I felt I could fly. He’d light me a smoke and pass it to me from his lips and we’d play-wrestle through street lights chasing after it with smoke wrapping around our faces like a ribbon of love trying to enclose us and pull us closer.

We’d kiss with smoke trailing out our noses like bleeding spells and it would twist and contort like midnight dancers in the headlights of his blue Corvette.

His beard was a million heart beats and an adrenaline-induced headrush against my youthful soft and flushed cheeks.

He’d tell me I’d see the world, I’d run on the beach, I’d shoot like the stars and impress the world underneath. I’ll sprint like an asteroid over the sun and make waves like the ocean and the moon in one. I’ll have a future where I turn the world on its side, I’ll rule the earth and I'll run the night and all my biggest dreams will come true.

“I know”, I said, “And I’ll do it with you.”

We’d talk til the Sunrise reached her hands over the horizon and I’d slide off the bonnet and he’d open his passenger door for me to climb into, and he’d drop me off at the restaurant I’d work the morning shift to earn a bit of spare change.

He’d order his usual, strong coffee with a dash of milk, two sugars and a chocolate cream eclair and stay until he had to drive out to the mechanic's place where he worked til 5pm sharp and once the clock hit midnight he’d catch me again.

He’s not dead. No, for all I am old, and he is older, he is not dead.

For one morning at twelve I climbed out the window and fell to the ground. I broke my wrists to gashes on impact and sliced a slit across my brow. I chipped a tooth and broke my nails and yet that was the least pain I felt

When at the restaurant where I worked I saw him walk by with someone else.

The fingers which caught me and let me fall so safely, knowing they would protect me, now held the hands of a softer, more refined sort of hands.

And on the finger he burnt with ash from my cigarette,

He wore a glinting silver band.

Tear streaked and bandaged, I ran to the mechanics and on the hood of his Blue Corvette Sat the lap of a prettier girl with her arms wrapped around his neck

And her lips in his beard

Her hands on his face

It was then that I knew I had been replaced.

I could still see him from my window every single night.

He’d still stand there and smoke there from time to time

And I'd scream and I’d beg for him to catch me one last time

He would always say, No, he can’t, his life was on the line.

I’ll keep a secret I promise, just tell me why

“Sorry, can’t talk, I’m a married guy.”

So then he had children and they weren’t with me

Beautiful boys

With his eyes and his nose and her perfect teeth

And I married a man I partially loved

Did the same and got pregnant and it wasn’t enough But I smiled

And I feigned

The politeness all the same.

But on the quiet nights I’d still look out that window pane From a different house on a different street

I’d still look for him beneath.

Sometimes at 4am with eyes full of sleep

My hands accidentally make the coffee my husband finds too sweet. And I kiss all the kids and himself goodbye.

And then stay idle at home all day and all night.

Because the passionate whispers of running the world Was just something he told to every other girl.

So I tied strings from my lips to my finger tips

And hid my hands behind my back

So when it came to faking a smile

I knew convincingly how to do that.

So when all my children come once a week

And I see their fake smiles all so oblique

I know they never had to seek

A means to hide everything they feel.

Because sometimes from my window

I see the streetlights on

I some couples passing by and I wonder what went wrong When I was seventeen

And you were my whole life and my dream

And whatever happened

To that Blue Corvette?

-Vana

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices in creative writing. This competition provides writers from around the world an opportunity to showcase their unique perspectives and storytelling prowess. It encourages the exploration of various themes, fostering a global community of literary talent.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Nirvana Soogreem for sharing "Blue Corvette" with the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your evocative storytelling and emotional depth have enriched the competition, offering readers a glimpse into a world of nostalgia and introspection. Thank you for your participation and for contributing to the vibrant tapestry of creative expression.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.