By Onkar Sharma “I’ll freak you out with my disembodied voice. I’ll shriek you out though I’m stabbed thrice.” The Sound starts the blues and thrills the torso. It belongs dolefully to the oblivious world. The shuffle resumes and retreats….

By: G David Schwartz   I’ll Never See You Again G David Schwartz I’ll never see you again Never even anymore Not even if I go into Our most favorite store I no no more Will I ever see you…

 By: Anna Spencer     Hang Borin is a Khmer writer whom I have had the great pleasure of meeting recently. He was born in a refugee camp in Thailand in 1987. His mother had made the perilous journey over…

By:  Diane L. Merkel   Just above a Geico bill and below a Chase credit card statement rested a white envelope. It was addressed to Leo in handwriting that was not unfamiliar to him; handwriting which debuted on the back cover…

By: Joe Peacock   On his title page of The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien identifies these linked stories as “a work of fiction.”  Had he not, readers could certainly fall into the mistaken impression that this work is indeed…

By: Valery Petrovskiy When he came, a book lay on my desk, just children’s book, no suspense. Mere travel notes of a man who spent a vacation in Siberia rafting with his friends: fishing around and hunting whenever possible, they…

Goodreads (www.goodreads.com) which has been a favourite destination for readers and writers around the world, will now be operating under Amazon’s banner. Amazon.com, Inc. yesterday announced that it has reached an agreement to acquire Goodreads. It is, however, not easy…

By Kersie Khambatta     The silverback sat in solitary splendour. His extended family was spread all around him, at a respectful distance. He chose to ignore them. Two young ones were bored. They walked about a bit, and found…

By: Pamela Riley I remember the color of your eyes that day we drove to Calvary and how you said my smile could murder the moon. Everything I did that summer was for you – the shells rattling in old cans…

By: Adreyo Sen Her madness was an open sore. A forgotten wound. It added years to a face closing in upon itself, like a government deposition. Her madness fled from her lined mouth and attacked us passers by, a snake…