Death is freeing MWC Death
An old author, made feeble by the hardships of life, lay on his death bed. His hair was a mess, a little greasy, like he had his hand through it all night. He moved his hand over the blanket, back and forth and buried his face in the pillow. On…
Entry for MWC Reentry
The sun slowly hid itself behind the earth as Rafeel, grey haired and with short wrinkle lines on his face reached the old bus-stop of his village. …
Satirical Short Story
At last the big and barren graveyard was decided to be the best and safe place for the decisive session of noble dogs. It was a unique event of dog-history that they were united and strongly convinced that everything in the human world was rotten, false and disgusting. Experience brought…
Short Story
Alone in my dreams, the world around me was dazzling and my mood was wondrous but sad.
The next morning, I caught a bus to my village and watched the cities disappearing into a blur of grey. I got off the bus and stopped beside the river. …
My Writing Journey
My literary life is like a wild tree that grows in the desert and depends on the rain. It has to face the heat of the sunlight and the harsh winds. If it grows up, it remains untrimmed and unappreciated. But if it survives, its fragrance spreads in the desert…
Short Story
The hot tea sucked me back into reality, my mind rudely awakened from frequent naps. It had recently succumbed to the habit of chasing thoughts unrelated to the topic at hand. My mind returned: “Wasteland.” I was sitting at a large wooden desk, apparently examining the assignments of students.
“Sir…
Short Story
Gul Khan stared off into the horizon through his office window. Out there was a vast expanse of life, but it reached far beyond the line between the earth and sky — farther than his eyes could see. A quiet, uncomplicated fellow, he believed there was a God who governed…
Short Story
I cannot believe what I have been witnessing. Isn’t it ironic that those persons that we try to put in the dark corner of our memory box, appear suddenly at that moment of life when we can’t afford any burden of conscience? …
by Edmund Vance Cooke
For most of us, life is a journey to the grave. I think we should live each day considering it our last day. This poem taught me how to hold my head in all circumstances. …
Short Story
At the top of Siachin glacier, sitting outside their igloos, Indian army officers and soldiers measured the depths of their patriotism with sacks of frozen enemy corpses. The sun didn’t foster life there, gasoline did. …
