The ailing boy turned restlessly in his bed. The darkness of the room felt heavy. Thoughts of his past sufferings returned. He had been subjected to so many body scans that he had lost count of them. Thousands of needles had pierced him. Injections—once his
As Vivek eagerly awaited his delayed train on the platform, he couldn’t help but wonder about his profound love for train journeys. He tried to recollect how it was never just about the mode of travel as a child, but rather the entire immersive experience
There was a reason why Shyla loved summers. It was only during the summer break that she could be with her distant cousins who would arrive in Channipur to spend their holidays. It was only during their time in the village that the otherwise dull
I woke up to a parched throat, and mumbled, “Wwwattteerr!” I realized I was unable to convey my request forward for my mouth felt paralyzed. I shouted at the top of my lungs but the nurses still couldn’t understand. “Wwwwaaabbbeeerrrr!” They looked at each other
“I am leaving!”, Chara announced solemnly. “For real this time!” The 4-year-old waited at the door for someone to respond. When no one budged, she continued, “And I am not coming back!” No acknowledgement. Nobody seemed to care. She waited patiently with her ears wide
“I hail from Sandess. My planet is up there, amongst the stars.” he said pointing towards the starlit sky. “We were warriors known for our resolve. Warriors of Doom, they would call us. Our bellows resounded through the entire universe. We were so compelling that
I am on a boat with no oars, at the mercy of the flow. It is a surefire fall ahead as a steep and deadly fall awaits my death. I know my fate and have come to accept it. Death has never scared me anyway.
So I walk into this room and it is painted in black. All the four walls, written in pitch darkness. For a second, I felt as if I have stepped into the night. But there were no stars or moon inside. Just a charcoal story
It was the same routine. Like a daily monotonous job. That part of life we have no control over. And we are forced to sit through it brooding through what our life has become and what would it become. But that unpleasant stream of thoughts
A balloon. Its thread tangled to a Rose Plant. It struggles with the wind. Comes close to being pricked, but rises again every time. Wants to break free. But is tied down by its thread that won’t let go. A sudden gush of wind flows.