The night screams and groans in agony as the silence strangles and chokes the life out of it. The day, long gone, can’t come to its rescue. And the moon, deaf and mute, hears none of its cries. The dogs, as if mourning the loss of the night, wail in sequence, one after the other …
His eyes were bloodshot, and his breath heavy. He was the kind of man who never ran from anything. The kind your brain would arm-twist you not to walk towards. He sat on the seat closest to the door. Or rather, the rest of the attendees sat on their chairs as his chair carried him …
The dead of the night. The night of the dead. Frankie’s passes by Julie’s and is mesmerized by her curves, smooth and shapely. She appears tall, much taller than Frankie’s, but he doesn’t mind. Height does not matter to him. And although shapes are not permanent, he does have his preferences. The night grows darker …
The old bus rattled and rumbled down the country road under the hot midday sun. James couldn’t bear the view of the lifeless countryside and shifted his attention to his fellow passengers. Apart from the driver and a middle-aged man who struggled to keep his head upright and eyes open facing a newspaper, the rest …
It’s often a wonder how life seems to unfold right before us but yet off our sight. We are often surprised by the time that has managed to sneak past us. We are pulled back to the realization by the mundane of things. Be it a government form that requests for your age; a stranger …
Kama has a rude face. Or at least that was my first impression of him when we met. He bears a face you would imagine behind a hangman’s mask — the face of a man who would enjoy dragging you to the gallows. If you ask me, he might as well be skilled in making a guillotine.