By: Gaither Stewart I am bizarre. No more and no less than my characters. I know that about myself. Who gets into his car with no special place to go and decides on the spot to drive to Istanbul? Where…
By: Will Darlington Day 1, 10.13 a.m. Well, here I am. Not quite sure where I am, or what I’m doing here, but I am here. There must be a reason for my being here but I do not precisely know,…
By: Michael C. Keith Fear is faith that it won’t work out. –– Anonymous Maxwell Booth sits in his doctor’s lobby awaiting the results of his x-ray. A cough that started months earlier has worsened to the point that he has…
By: Raja Jaiswal The railway station of a small town, near Gorakhpur, had been renovated to a new level, on the theme of palace. A flash crowd appeared very timely, routinely, humming and driving their luggage to platform, through the…
By: Samantha Memi The early morning light streamed through the hospital windows, capturing floating specks of dust, and glistening on the polished floor. The two sisters waited in the reception area, not noticing the sunlight outside. Having travelled through the…
By: Rajendra Roul The weather could not have been more pleasant. There was no humidity. No sweating either. A soft breeze was blowing calmly darting a romantic surge through their spines. The sun was nowhere in the sky. That does not…
By: Gaither Stewart ‘…..There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.’ (Homer’s ILIAD) Alessandro Bramante was in love with love. Like other lovers Alessandro was the…
By: Gaither Stewart Some people peel apples in thick layers, heedlessly and negligently cutting away half the apple. Others squint and observe closely the fruit, stripping its skin paper-thin in an unbroken circular thread, lovingly and frugally, as if it…
By: DC Foster The azure radiance had no end – just a global horizon where the sky curled around the planet and out of sight. A range of mountainous clouds navigated the blue above, leaving smoky trails in their wakes….
By: Prosenjit Dey Chaudhury On at least one Sunday of each month, a house up the street used to hold a lot of attraction for a number of people. On that side of the street ran a slow, thick stream with…