Category: Fiction
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Life Is Unfair. Deal With It.
“Fuck,” murmured Laia as she threw the phone to her side where it skittered and settled by the trim on the carpeted floor. The room was silent, lit only by the occasional headlight visible through the thin blinds of their room. Regretting the impulsive action, Laia forced herself out of bed to reach her phone.…
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Maya’s Dream
She fell with a thud. At least that is how it felt. She had been reading a book she had checked out from the library on Indian History and fallen asleep reading and dreaming about villages and rice crops. Maya opened her eyes fully expecting to have fallen off her bed. The one with the…
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Breaching New Frontiers
“You can get drunk as much as you want to…” Ammu says playfully in conversation where her dad and I talk about her and her twin getting their learner’s permits and eventually their drivers license. “Ani! Neva…” I call out laughing as I do and head back to my oasis that is my study. “True!…
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Microfiction: Twas The Day Before Christmas
Her discontent presses down like humidity, tainting everything it touches. He scrubs the pan, hunching over the sink, channeling his guilt. “What would you like for Christmas?” he asks, bracing himself for what is to come She is silent a tad longer. Her voice when it appears is wistful. “To be understood.” Another day, he…
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Fiction: It’s Not You. It’s Me.
She sat by the window seat watching the countryside fly by. It wasn’t yet winter but the window fogged up with her breath as she leaned closer to get a better view of the landscape flying by. The exchange on WhatsApp was playing on her mind. “Hey! Am in town this week. Meant to message…
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Collecting Rain
The water snaked down the window, gathering into rivulets and joining a stream that wound its way to the spout off the roof, falling into the mulched beds beneath my bedroom window. I sat on the floor, the loops in the carpet standing out in sharp relief as each tear formed, large and luminous in…
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Point of view
This is my entry to Day Eighteen of Writing 101 at The Daily Post. Today’s prompt: write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street. The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of…
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In love, hopelessly.
He breezed in one Monday morning looking dapper in his business casual. I sat at my desk watching his head bob up and down in the cubicle next to mine. Even before I could turn away, his eyes caught mine and he smiled. I bent down as color crept up my face and busied myself…