Some of the short stories I write for fun.
FICTION
One Less Person
Anna loved to throw parties, partly because she was one of the first to get her own place after school. She moved in with Wardy and Tori a week before graduation to an area closer to uni. For their housewarming, they invited the whole year 12 to ‘de-flower Caroline’. That was the name of the street but also the name of our classmate. She took it in stride, although I heard she slept with someone that night in the spare bedroom. I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t invited. Read more >
FICTION
Stig & Taras
It was the last week of summer in post-war Berlin, and people were crowded around a corner table in a dark and hazy nightclub. The place was abuzz with whispers and sharp stares, because sat on the velvet couch, fingers around fat cigars and glasses of free alcohol, were the great Stig and Taras. Read more >
FICTION
Tell Me About Your God
On the first day of every monsoon season, the island would celebrate the coming of the rain. I was awoken by a steady drumbeat and loud footsteps outside. The singing voices of women seeped into the cracks of the house, as did the magical sound of the trhuvi, a banjo-like instrument made of animal bone and thin rope. A child, no more than five, ran into my room and tugged me out of bed, pointing and speaking in sharp shrieks of excitement. Read more>
POETRY
Rainfall
I like people who like rain
It means they see the good in a storm
And hear applause in the pitter-patter on the roof
They do not wait for it to pass
Because that would mean they await beauty on the other side
FICTION
You’re Not Here
Sav disappeared five years ago. Poof. Into thin air. That morning she was kissing me goodbye, my hands around her waist, pulling her closer as she wiggled out of my grip. After she had left, I went to the park, read a Steinbeck, and helped an old man find his way to the train station. It was a good day. The last good day I had. Read more >
Love
Asleep
Fall in love with them when they are asleep. Tucked under the rough terrain of your blanket, their foot spilling out to feel the cold air. There is something mesmerizing about the way their chest rises and falls, and how their lips, slightly ajar, move silently as they play out their dream. Read more >
Fiction
The Sky Is Blue
Blue crayons, that’s what we all used growing up to color the sky, just because that’s what we were told to use. But still, some used gray; timberwolf gray, manatee gray, charcoal gray, ash gray, battleship gray, all sorts. Those kids, like Sam, thought blue skies were just lies made up by adults, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. Read more >
LIFE
Write Me Down
I want to read about myself. As terribly vain as it sounds, I want to see someone unravel me until I’m nothing but bone. Just like how people love seeing themselves through the lens of a camera, I’d like to see myself through the lens of a writer. Read more >
FICTION
Almost Soulmates
He sat in seat 29A and her in 28A. The plane began to quiver, the cabin darkened, and the crew rushed to their seats. Minutes after, they were twelve thousand kilometres in the air.
If they had been seated next to each other, this was what would have happened. Read more >
POETRY
Bloodshed
The news flashes as red as the cobblestones in Nice.
If it bleeds, it leads.
But oh how much it bleeds—
an endless stream of gore wrung from the flag of the United Nations.
So we light the wicks and send our prayers.
(How many more candles can we burn before Earth resembles hell?)
FICTION
The Talk
“What are you having?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m getting the burger with cheese fries. And a Coke.”
“That sounds good.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Not really.” Read more>