Ping! Its a text from her. She: I can’t do this anymore. I’m done waiting! 😠🙅♀️ He: Baby, I know I screwed up but please don’t do this.🙏🙏 She: No, you don’t get how important this is to me. I’ve been telling you and telling you but you never listen. You just don’t care anymore.…
I have steel in my veins. I have iron in my heart. I’m Iron Man. I repeat to myself like a broken record. I’m pacing on the floor, going round and round and round and round…like a broken record. It’s a wonder my circumnavigation around the coffee table hasn’t burned a hole through the carpet…
She’s sweating bucketfuls even though the air conditioning in this shopping mall is blasting arctic air through the vents. One hand holds four shopping bags, there’s three more on the floor sandwiched between her legs, while her other hand barely manages to hold down her four-year-old – a slippery baby eel eyeing the gigantic teddy…
Time has ceased to exist for me. I traverse the path between life and death everyday, unwelcome by both the living and the dead. Chafed by my own breath, I choke on the air that you breathe because most of me is still a work-in-progress. Or was. I shall never improve now, I shall never…
Originally posted on Vishal Bheeroo:
? My friend Pradita Kapahi who blogs at The Pradita Chronicles mentioned me on Twitter on a discussion on what makes a place home. The discussion and interpretation which followed with her tribe triggered my creative juice on the idea and feeling of this destination called Home. Today, FB notified…
I stand hands folded, eyes screwed shut, a picture of piety. I stand in a temple swarming with people, with varying degrees of faith – some intense, some borrowed, some faithless. United we stand, chanting and praying to a stony God – who’s opulent raiment and the mountain of offerings before him, is in stark…
Dear Readers, I’m so excited and happy to announce that my short story – The Human Museum – is one of the winning entries for the Fiction Writing Competition hosted by Story Mirror in conjunction with LNMIIT, Jaipur. My story – The Human Museum – explores the meanings of humanity and bestiality in a dystopian…
Originally posted on AreMyFeetOffTheGround:
She lost him last year Seventy one he was In their decades, he brought her tea to her chair, two, three, four times a night. “Are you bottomless?” he would say. She would smile, because she knew he would bring it anyway. Yard sales were their favourite haunt, and he would…
Beep, beep, beep, beep… “Oh, will you shut it up?” He grunts into the pillow where his face is buried. She fumbles in the near dark of the room, groping for her phone and with the familiarity of someone who’s done the same thing too many times before, turns off the alarm. All is quiet again.…
‘I can’t do this… I’m sorry but I can’t marry you.’ She stood there, frozen, her jaw hanging loose like an unhinged door yawning open. ‘Why?’ is all she could manage. He could see the trembling in her dainty hand, the same hand where only a week ago he had slipped an heirloom ring while…
