Waseem Akbar was a friend of my father’s and my uncles – It was the only thing I knew about him. Naturally, the news of his death did not affect me. The burial was in the night.
Through the open window above the tub, an outcry reaches us from the world. I sink my battleship, but it pops right back up to the surface. More shouts follow.
“Seventy hours,” said the man across the table from Peter Crown. Peter had invited him in for tea on an impulse that didn't feel like his own. He didn't even remember hearing a knock at the door.
The Agency hired me so if anything went wrong they could claim I was acting on my own hook. We’d only just opened up diplomatic relations with Dokpur, and things were still delicate.
I didn’t even have time to get annoyed at the man squeezing past me in the stairwell before I realised he was on fire. He didn’t seem to care himself and by then he was already so far ahead it didn’t seem appropriate
I’m sitting there, clicking away at my laptop, working on a new story. My cousin’s on the floor, playing a puzzle game on a tablet. She’s almost done.
The beaten-up, old leather bag of indeterminate colour looked the most interesting find so far. James brought it down from the attic and dumped it on the kitchen table for further investigation.
The latest item had come in while Ray was out of the office. West Coast – TB17. He looked at it and swore under his breath. He hadn’t signed on for this crap, at least it wasn’t what he thought he was signing on for
The door of the restaurant opened up and two men came in. They sat down at the bar, and Bob, the owner, said, “What can I do for your?”
I’m unzipping the small suitcase open when the phone rings. ‘Tonia, is that you?’ My mama’s fuzzy voice comes through the line in agonizing gasps.
by Andrew M. Carless I threw my tackle box in the bed of my truck, chunks of rust bounced off the tire. Billy pretended not to see it. He struggled…
Each spring, the urge to plant something—a flower or vegetable or anything that would blossom and produce—pulled at her. It must have been a legacy from her grandmother who had, long ago, kept a garden of small and neat proportions.
* is a novelist, poet and playwright. Works include the novels *Scarabocchio *and *Poetry and Fear*,* Music
The finishings on the vertical planes of the hotel’s interior. An inexpensive or moderately priced paint has been used here in the corridor, a light beige. Its smooth appearance
The heart shaped planchette that had once been tossed into the box along with the other memorabilia lies before me with its feet up like a dried cockroach. Yellow and brittle as an autumn leaf, it's marvelously intact considering the age
On a night like this, he would not have been out. But tonight was different. This was an emergency. The consignment had to be delivered. He glanced back at the life-like statue covered in brown-paper. One of the antiques being shipped out. This would make his fortune the man had assured him. But the night worried him. He preferred nights to be dark and cloudy, the rain falling down in torrents, the stars hidden, the wind howling?all that ensured security guards huddled together, more than ready to wave him through.