The Writing on the Wall

It was the noise of the earth moving that woke her up. Like great roars of an angry mountain hurling its molten insides. Or a baby earthquake working hard to show its prowess. Most likely, it sounded like a rockslide in full swing. All that ruckus, yet she never opened her eyes. Ah! So it’s actually happening.
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Slinky Boots

Terry had never seen her in his life, but would have known her in a sea of coveralled women.

Five days earlier a chopper had dropped him and eleven others off on the vessel that was to be their home for the next four weeks. He’d smiled and inhaled the salty ocean air. The floating old rust bucket was three generations outdated but it held sentimental value for him. At least twelve hours of each of the next twenty eight days, he would spend working on it, so there was no point moaning about its limitations.
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Cows in the Haze (2)

See Part 1 of this story here.

Chinny took the bag from me, peered inside, then marched silently upstairs. I stared at her open-mouthed as she walked away, but for once words failed me. There was no lying this one away. Minutes later I sat before a panel consisting of her and my mother, with Manuch launching his eight year old self in and out of the room like the restless soul he was. He was curious, but caught between listening in and punching the throw-pillows in the sitting-room. Kickboxing was his current obsession.

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Cows in the Haze (1)

It’s my thirty year old birthday today, so naturally I’m home, sitting at my desk and staring out the window at the coming night. It’s still light outside, yet an impatient moon floats in my horizon. Another milestone reached, another reason to grow a beard and reflect. It’s always good to remember. Where would I be, had things turned out differently? Earlier on I browsed nearby houses, and just now I’d been searching online for a decent engagement ring. Who knew? I close the lid of my laptop and drift back to the pre-Google 90’s of my pre-teens—one night in particular that shaped my entire outlook on life.
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A Song From Catatonia

In a white-walled, starkly-lit room, Kura sat waiting for her troubled visitor. Many nights the man would come in and hurt her in various ways, but she held no grudge against him—he was dealing with many issues. There were ways—secret ways—that pain could be weathered without feeling a thing, and she frequently employed them. But something else was amiss tonight. She knew this because she possessed a gift of foresight which no one seemed to believe. Still, she was determined to disclose her most recent premonition.
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Final Thoughts

The air is wet and chilly as I step out onto the street. Droplets fall from the sky yet do not wash away the grey overcast blanketing the world. Stolidly everything remains bleak, lacking colour. It is fitting weather, as it mirrors my heart perfectly. But scarcely does the rain blur my vision, or the cold register against my bare feet. For my purpose is set and there will be no turning back. I decide on a destination, and make my way towards it.

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They Do Not Speak Of It

Somewhere in the Southern Nigeria district, a University campus sat cosily beside a quaint little fishing village. There was a curious juxtaposition of illiterate, occultist villagers against the nation’s brightest minds; a shantytown alongside modern structures of higher learning. A small river flowed nearby. Rumour had it that the residents practiced many atrocities along its banks, and so the school issued warnings advising students to avoid the area at night.

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