Orange Quantum Computer
Short Story / Sci-fi The dimmable lights were turned down to their lowest setting. The shades were drawn, the computers in sleep mode, the AI assistants muted. Bose sat upright in the room, reveling in the silence. A sudden beep caused Bose’s steady, rhythmic breathing to fluctuate. The motionless surface of his mind rippled; and the crests of the tiny waves caught in the winds of his thought and lurched upwards. His eyelids fluttered, his fingers flexed involuntarily and, as the asymmetry of his movements increased, so did his awareness. He was slowly made aware of the stiffness in his...
Touch Grass
Flash Fiction / Nature Therapy He is lying on his back, his posture defying his backbone. His left arm is tucked under his back, and he is clutching his new phone with his right, keeping it suspended mid-air. The screen is tilted downwards and he cranes his neck unnaturally to keep his eyes at level with it. His legs are askew, propped against the wall. The back of his head is rested on a jumble of sheets. There is a pillow on his belly, and two others on the floor. “Hey,” I say to him. There is no acknowledgement. “Hey,”...
Mind in Transit
Sci-fi It was the flash that woke me up. That blinding, scorching flash that accompanied the needle-teeth of the electrodes piercing my skull. The computer was tugging at me. Not my body but me. The consciousness, the soul, whatever you called it. The tug of the processors was repulsive, but it was quick. A zip, a split-second. The mind-transfer was a success. I opened my eyes- my new eyes- and my knees twisted. My vision was so intense, so alien, that I convulsed, vehemently, despite my restraints. My muscles squirmed, shivered, contracted, pressed in on themselves. I gasped and spat...
Speaking to Stars
Flash Fiction / Sci-fi “Cat. Heimrick. Doom. Petals.” Bose stared morosely at the monitor screen. Thin wisps of sugary-sweet-coffee-vapor twirled up from his cup. Beep. Another message from a pulsar. “Lichtenstein.” Really, Lichtenstein? The star messages were getting out of hand- and the public just refused to buy it. He didn’t blame them; as a kid, he would have too. As a kid, star messages were his life, his adrenaline, his mission. He remembered reading every article, every paper; remembered pouncing, like feral a cat, on every explainer video on YouTube. He remembered how Verasitium had unraveled the mystery; he...
Banana Boat
Short Story I am in the Banana Boat. I was exiled on it. The fate of the boat, and the fate of the bananas, are also my fate. My name is Eira. I come from a beautiful land that grows bananas. Lots and lots of bananas. Bananas enough to color the horizon and cover the land. Bananas are enough to fill our plates and drive our economy. Bananas birthed our civilization; they allowed us to grow, prosper, and eventually thrive. Admittedly, we are not all bananas. We have other fruits as well, and fish, and nuts, and we make the...
Addicted to Leaf
Short Story Maya stole out of the flat sneakily, careful to close the door softly to make sure her brother didn’t hear her leave. He was in his room, listening to podcasts with headphones on, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She needed the leaf, she needed it bad. She knew her brother was baffled by her addiction and with good reason, she had spent all her life as an upper-class city girl, but she couldn’t help it. Too young, he said, too cute, too susceptible. Too deadly, he would tell her. Way too deadly. Bhaiya, she always tried to...
It’s a Complicated World
TW: Suicide There was commotion in the stairwell today, The girl next door had hung herself. Outside, men draped the building with shimmering, lustrous string lights, Someone- completely unrelated to the dead girl next door- was getting married.
The World is on Fire, but it Still Spins
“What happened?” “Oh, people are dying.” “Where?” “Everywhere. Gruesomely, awfully, unjustly, just look around.” “Oh, yeah.” “Yeah.” “Do we cancel our plans then?” “Nah, let’s roll.”
The Eagle on my Outdoor AC Unit
Flash Fiction The eagle, on my outdoor AC unit. Not quite majestic, not anymore. Dusted and ruffled by the yellow city air, the smog. Flying over and between the sooty, concrete buildings that are its substitutes For lofty, ancient mountains, The dish antennas filling in for the majestic peaks that poke through the clouds. The eagle, standing with its talons on my outdoor AC unit. It’s talons murky with the liquid refuse of the city It’s feathers marked by the signature air pollution Bright eyes, sprightly neck spinning, twisting, turning left and right. A king among the dregs, the high...
The Rivers that Run through our Streets
Flash Fiction The water outside was murky and black. It flowed and gurgled in the direction of the drains and sewers and splashed when struck by the droplets of the rain. The high, thin wheels of the three-wheeler rickshaws created waves that propagated outwards in a sharp, V-shaped wave fronts that collided with the walls and with each other and superposed and lurched upwards and crashed against walls and against gravity and sent sprays of dirty, mucky, waste water splattering all over the sidewalks and over us. The drains were clogged, and the roads were open, their stomachs split bare...
Clothes Heap
Flash Fiction I unload my wardrobe and pile my clothes in a heap. In heaps, actually. Plural. Mounds of T-shirts and pants and sweaters and hoodies and yet more T-shirts. I remember having liked some before. They’re no longer my favorites. When’s the last time I wore this? It’s still good, still possesses quality. What’s that brown one? That pants? Is that mine? I don’t think that’s mine. Either way, I’ve never worn it, never even touched it. How’d it get here? How deep does this heap of clothes go? I remember this green T-shirt. I’d been looking for it...
Whirring Hands
Flash Fiction The nurse held her hands. Clasped them, really. She caught the whirring, wrinkled, baby-soft hands deftly between two palms like an expert squashing a mosquito. The graying eyes stopped their aimless rolling and locked onto the pale, crisp face. She clenched her hands but could not find the strength to grip the hands gripping her hands. “Tell me, ma.” The resident looked at her. “Tell me, I want to hear your story. Tell me.” She gazed into her eyes longingly and soulfully. They seemed to do everything soulfully, these people; everything they did, they immersed themselves in. Then...
From Hell to Purgatory
Flash Fiction “Let there be.” And I was. “Greetings.” “Greetings, voice.” “Hello, I’m confident you are aware of your office.” I sloshed my feet in the ankle-deep pool of water and attempted to gauge the inky-black void I found myself in. It was disorienting to find yourself existing; even more so to exist in someone’s imagination. Nonetheless, I was aware of my office, alongside much else. “This is his place of respite. He hides submerged in the water, a speck of dust in the sea. The idea is that the demons can look forever and not find him.” I could...
Why don’t Ghosts Fall into the Earth?
Flash Fiction / Dialogue-Only “I can’t just leave the car.” “Why not?” “I am attached to it. Tied to it, basically.” “Can’t you get over this attachment?” “That’s not how ghosts work, dummy.” “Why not?” “Because that’s how it is.” “And who decreed it? God?” “Well, yes.” “Did he say it, do you have proof of him saying so?” “No, but it is one of those things that is obvious, one of those things that just is, you know? Eyes on the road, bucko.” “No, I don’t know, I am not a ghost, you see.” “Oh shush it, that’s just...
Burn, and Burn, and Burn
Short Story The bombs fell splatteringly, like rain. They were tiny little raindrops at first, slipping out and down from the dark and ominous clouds of the unfeeling metal planes. Then they fell more jarringly, like a downpour, a downpour that beat down on the earth weakly, like a tempestuous child beats down at a grave and silent adult. The shells, which were actually bullets from rotating muzzles of machine guns, smote the tiny town in angst, were converted into compressions and rarefactions in the vibrating air, and travelled far and wide through air and metal and bitumen, refracting and...
The Rim of the Galaxy
Flash Fiction “Like walking back home along the rim of the galaxy.” “Yeah, it’s exactly like that.” He told his imaginary friend, the rabbit. And it really was like that, the trip home, the sidewalks, the always empty bus. It was just like circuiting the entire circumference of the galaxy just to reach earth in some dark, gloomy alley somewhere near the center. But it had its charms. Sometimes he wished he would get mugged, just to stave off the loneliness. The next moment the chivalry would desert him like a shower of sand and he would return to his...
House on Fire
Fiction / Novel Excerpt He didn’t have to turn the corner to realize he had fucked up. Royally fucked up. He could see the smoke from around the curb, rising up playfully, almost tauntingly. It was the dull, transparent, unassuming nature of the smoke that convinced him. It didn’t look like that of a house fire (but of course it was). The smoke from a house fire is blacker, thicker, more violent, more sooty. This one was paler, softer. Meaner. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel of his car, considering. He had a lot of paths open to...
Looking at it Differently
Flash Fiction Sometimes you just have to look at it differently. Then suddenly, the dichotomous world isn’t so dichotomous anymore, and your concrete philosophies unveil their baselessness, all of which have been built out of sheer defensiveness and hot-headed zeal, built on up from random, spontaneous, unverified comments, and you get a look at the crux of the issue and realize you have been fighting towards a quasi-center, your arguments orbiting a gravitational anomaly, your retorts jabbing at inconsequential inconsistencies, your motivations fueled by the fiery, animalistic drive for victory and validation, like the puritan who disliked bear baiting, not...
Weapon of Mass Destruction
Fiction / Novel Excerpt On the West end of Texas, nestled between two artificial, flat-topped hills, is a sprawling array of concrete buildings and underground laboratories. BFT zone-260 is the hidden pride of US defence, an ace tucked neatly into the folds of their military sleeves. Built without congressional knowledge, it forms the largest and most technologically advanced testing grounds for biological warheads in the US of A. There are only two entry points to the main lab, an underground monstrosity aptly named The Womb. The front steel gates leading in from the desert is sentried by two AI chipped...
Volcanos and Stories
“Grandma, come-on already, we have to leave before the ashes asphyxiate us.” “Hush, child, I mean to stay, I wish to hear the story the volcano is ready to tell us. It has been silent for too long, and it has been silenced for too long.” “What does it have to say?” “It’s telling me a story, it’s telling us a story, and we can never know what a story is until it has been told.” “And what good are stories if you choke on black soot and putrid, sulfurous gases?” “Stories, love, open the world to us, and when...
Fairy Lights
Flash Fiction I was supposed to be writing about the bright decorative lights hanging so festively on the roof of the neighboring apartment complex as if it was Christmas, and yet it is Christmas, but the lights aren’t meant for Santa Claus. Regardless, the pantone yellow fairy lights go well with the night and with the sleepy, green, rooftop plants. The moon. The spotted, reflective moon. There is something so inherent, so intrinsic, so human about the moon. It feels so distant, so removed, a sentinel standing vigil, the stuff made for human imagination, made to harbor and foster stories...
Dear August (Second Letter)
Flash Fiction / Letter TW: Suicide Dear August, Regardless of what you believe about greetings in the start of a letter, I genuinely hope that this letter finds you in good health. You’re right. I am not exactly doing well. I am writing this letter to thank you for everything you’ve done till now. Having you around brings a little joy to my otherwise numb soul. Your company is something I’ll cherish for whatever life I’ve left. The letter you sent, though it was not your usual self, a little harsh, I might say. But, it had that warmth and...
Dear Jan (First Letter)
Fiction / Letter Dear Jan, The convention of writing a letter is to start with a greeting. An empty statement of hope towards the recipients' good health. With your permission, I will forego that convent since your previous letters have made it beyond obvious that you are already in a deplorable state. I remember the day I made your acquaintance very clearly, and I remember it because annoyances have a way of embedding themselves irreversibly into my mind. I don't remember the place, the time of day, or even the occasion, but I do remember being annoyed. I remember being...
Where am I?
Flash Fiction / Dialogue Only “Where am I?” “Oh, does it matter?” “What? Where am I?” “Everywhere and simultaneously nowhere.” "What the hell? Where am I?" "Where the river meets the sea; where dreams are disintegrated to oblivion." "How did I get here? Where am I?" "In Xanadu, with Xubla Khan. Nine fathoms deep, with the spirit of the land of the mist and snow." "Why am I here? Where am I?" "In the room where the women come and go, speaking of Michelangelo" "Who are you? Where am I?" "Buried in Lazarus' empty grave." "Why are you here? Where...
At Least She Still Sings
Flash Fiction It was difficult to catch her singing, and often I didn’t try. I mustn’t. For I mustn’t be caught listening. As a rule, I left her alone. Everyone did. But sometimes I let my eyes follow her discreetly along as she shifted through the rooms, an apparition, silent, ghostly, unhappy. Mostly the third. She rarely looked for a quiet place to sing- most of the time she was merely trying to walk off her desolation- but sometimes she was, and it was those sometimes that I had to restrain myself the most. It was difficult, and at times...
Cold Fire
Short Story / Post Apocalyptic I moved my hands through the blue, papery flames. The desert sun was blistering overhead in the brilliant desert sky, casting angry, yellow rays that baked the rough sand and us. The cold fire helped a bit. My eyes fluttered from object to insulating object before resting on the nomad sitting cross-legged on the insulating cloth floor of the tent. He was clad in the general nomad fashion, oily garments, thick-leather boots, a resilient yet beaten-down turban, and respirators resembling the face of some sickly insect dead in the desert’s heat. “Tell me,” I began,...
Look, Mountains
Flash Fiction “Dad, look, mountains!” Little Crisie pointed excitedly at the blue, bulbous mountains due north where the river flowed into the fog, her voluminous ponytail bobbing up and down, her arms shaking wildly and forearms struggling to reach over the last rung of the railing. He smiled, marveling at his little daughter’s excellent eyesight, and squinted at the small, rolling hills in the distance. Not quite mountains, but it does no good to squash her enthusiasm over something as immaterial as semantics. He rests his elbows on the cool steel of the railing and cups his chin with the...
Examinations
The slow spinning fans did nothing to abate the tense, humid, arid warmth of the classroom. Tensions ran high, pens ran slow. The clocks ticked, and so did nervous pens at the whims of nervous ticks; and sheets of papers were created that would dictate the quality of their author’s life from here on out.
“Did You Take Your Medicine”
Flash Fiction / Dialogue only “Leonard, did you take your medicine?” “Yes.” “There, you’re doing it again. Your meds are still on the counter.” “I took them.” “Don’t take that tone with me, I know when you take them and when you don’t.” “Then you should know that I took my meds.” “You’re exasperating. C’mon, take them now.” “You’re going to make me overdose.” “Excuse me? You wouldn’t be standing here today if I wasn’t keeping track of all your medications.” “Maybe that would have been for the best.” “Honey.” “I’m sorry.” “You really hate your pills, don’t you?” “Hand...
It is Cold
Flash Fiction The weather is cold and listless. The seething sea hostile and frigid, the air cruel, piercing, and pregnant with an apocalyptic volume of water vapour, a tsunami threatening to burst forth out of the strained intermolecular forces of the paper-thin, unforgiving atmosphere. It is cold. The very spaces between the air molecules, the vacuum that is the staggering majority of the universe, the absolute nothingness that exists between two adjacent subatomic particles, even the regions of the infinite expanse of spacetime where the fields of quantum physics exhibit no curve or bend, even nothingness itself was cold. A...
Those Lazy, Fuzzy, Sleepy Evenings
Flash Fiction It’s summertime, but seasons are arbitrary anyways. The floor of the yard is cool and welcoming, the trees indifferent and rustling, sunlight dappling the leaves in a somber, mellow touch. You never could name those trees. They might as well be oak, or acacia, damned if you knew the difference. The shadows lengthen in the yard and you sit there, alone, your mind abuzz. You are just a child, not even an adolescent yet, and your brain is still struggling with ameliorating the conflicting surges of evolutionary selfishness and human empathy. The scent in the air is sweet....
You are in a Forest
Short Story / Second Person TW: Gore / Death You are in a forest. The scorching sun has pulled itself laboriously over the thin horizon, and the last shreds of red-orange light have climbed in after it. A handful of stars still twinkle dimly in the far reaches of the cosmos, and you can just barely make out the new moon crested in the corner like a toenail cutting discarded on a dark carpet. A pale glow lingers in the darkening sky like a wound on the verge of healing. A few seconds more and all the traces of the...
Hello, this is weird but…
Flash Fiction Hi. Hello. Okay, this is weird. You don’t know me, but you just have to trust me here, okay? Don’t worry I’m not going to ask something illogical of you. There is no Mission-Impossible type plot and nothing really serious, if I’m being perfectly honest. It’s just that I had to say hello, I just did. I don’t know the consequences of this, though I’m guessing they’re near negligible. I don’t suppose this could result or spark into anything, even if I tip off a domino effect of something along that line. It’s just- Hold on, let me...
Tears
In the universe, Two eyes. In those two eyes, Two balls of glistening tears. In those two balls of glistening tears, The universe
Are you sure you want to put it to the burn?
Flash Fiction “Are you sure you want to put it to the burn?” The tree stood tall, cold, unmoving, unresponding, unperturbed by its death sentence. The ancient trunk wide and almost cylindrical, its circular circumference made shaky by the tough, dark-brown bark hanging on the surface, clinging and groping resolutely on the smooth skin that discarded it. The trunk was, in a word, broad; in two words, broad and old; in three words, broad and old and tall. Its wise head rose unchecked over the ground, the saplings, the shrubbery, the roofs, and the swaying heads of lesser trees before...
Polar Bear
Flash Fiction The polar bear poked one eye out of its cosy pit and yawned. He brought forth a hefty paw out from beneath him and beat it lazily against one side of his head. He stuck his butt out from the thick blankets of snow and sent powdery snow flying all around. Wriggling his tail, he yawned once more, his mouth opening into a giant mortifying cavern. He flexed his thick, curved nails and attempted to scratch the rheum out from his large, watery eyes. He sat up and stretched. It had been a good sleep. He felt warm...
Places Don’t Get to Decide How They Will Be Remembered
This picturesque grove. These ancient white oaks and their shady, leafy canopies. The playful sunlight dapples the leaves and the hungry chloroplasts engulfing the photons. The fluttering birds. The sun-kissed flowers. The babbling brook. The patch of freshly-dug earth in the middle. The headstone. A picture-perfect grove, a graveyard.
Kumejima Station
Flash Fiction Kumejima station. Well past midnight. Cold, dreary, bright. Bright. Brighter than it ever needs to be. It’s quiet. The kind of quiet you get when a behemoth structure designed for the rush and reverberations of a flood of hundreds of thousands of people echoes only with the hushed bustle of thousands of people. The kind of diluted quiet of a giant stadium that is not quite empty but acres away from its intended capacity. The kind of unexpected quiet when a quintessentially bursting city like Dhaka empties up around Eid and despite currently holding the appropriate amount of...
The Indifferent Universe Rolled On
Flash-fiction Sean gazed at the sky and wondered if it all really did matter. Above him, rolling over the gloomy, grey expanse, the black thunderclouds boomed. Below him, the sleepy earth hummed noiselessly. In front, the forest stood silent vigil, as dismal and inscrutable as ever. A crow cawed. A raven took flight. A dove died in a distant city. One of the rats escaped a keen cat. One of the rats did not. A venomous snake bit a human. A human beheaded a venomous snake with a shovel. A star died, a thousand stars were born. A planet collided...
People
Flash Fiction The black and white rain drizzled noisily in an ever-increasing downpour. The sky was overcast with pitch black clouds, their outlines impossible to distinguish or differentiate. The rain fell from a dark abyss, the drops forming out of nothing and simply materializing into one’s vision. From that dark abyss, they fell chaotically, racing downwards as if they couldn’t wait to shatter against the ground. The raindrops were all separate, individual entities making up the enormous rain, but it was impossible to locate or to follow any single drop in the torrent. They all faded into one giant blur....
Casualties
Flash-fiction / Star Wars Fan Fiction Ahsoka Tano saw the bright red beam hurtling towards her, but too late. She saw her hands raise themselves, defending her. She saw them fail. She saw the ground closing rapidly towards her as her skull shattered inside her helmet. She saw Anakin turn towards her, lightsabers ablaze. She saw the shock and mounting fear in his eyes. She saw him run recklessly towards her, just barely avoiding getting shot himself. She saw the helpless look in her eyes. She saw Rex’s painted helmet reach her before Anakin could. She saw the rest of...
This Is Mark XII Requesting Immediate Evac
Short Story / Sci-fi Hello. This is Mark. I’m messaging from the remains of Shuttle P-6–7, currently in orbit around the sun at the extreme edges of the solar system; coordinates unsure. Emergency code C64, I need immediate assistance and evacuation. Surviving Crew: one (Mark XII). Spacecraft: non-functioning. You can lock onto me by my signal which I’ll leave open. Okay so that was the official SOS I am required to send. Ideally I’d just be sending that one paragraph with my name and coordinates, but it’s been a long while since I’ve talked to anyone, and the communicator is...
You Are Not Anywhere
Open your eyes. Look around you. Fear not the hauntingly empty void, you are one with it. Open your eyes, let them penetrate into the impenetrable darkness. There are no photons here, yet see how majestically the green aurora shines. Open your eyes. You can spend an eternity here with your eyes closed and yet not a moment will pass. Open your eyes and see the river of time flowing beside you. You are afloat. Your arms and legs are still there, floating listlessly by your side. Your head is still attached to your neck. Your clothes still bellow in...
Head Pressed Against Glass
Flash Fiction An empty compartment, dead still. The boisterous heartbeat of the locomotive muffled by modern silencers. A throbbing forehead pressed against glass. The breaths too dry for condensation. The streamlined train bustling through tunnels and underground stations. Bright flashes of yellow light flitting across his face, sweeping over his eyes; not sharp enough to sting, but lively enough to dry his sleep. The weight of the day lurking a small distance beneath the surface; desperate to leap forth, to spew out. Instead, being sucked away lower still. Buried. Buried under days more ancient. The bubbling emotions draining into a...
“Did You Take Your Medicine”
Flash Fiction / Dialogue only “Leonard, did you take your medicine?” “Yes.” “There, you’re doing it again. Your meds are still on the counter.” “I took them.” “Don’t take that tone with me, I know when you take them and when you don’t.” “Then you should know that I took my meds.” “You’re exasperating. C’mon, take them now.” “You’re going to make me overdose.” “Excuse me? You wouldn’t be standing here today if I wasn’t keeping track of all your medications.” “Maybe that would have been for the best.” “Honey.” “I’m sorry.” “You really hate your pills, don’t you?” “Hand...
Are you sure you want to put it to the burn?
Flash Fiction “Are you sure you want to put it to the burn?” The tree stood tall, cold, unmoving, unresponding, unperturbed by its death sentence. The ancient trunk wide and almost cylindrical, its circular circumference made shaky by the tough, dark-brown bark hanging on the surface, clinging and groping resolutely on the smooth skin that discarded it. The trunk was, in a word, broad; in two words, broad and old; in three words, broad and old and tall. Its wise head rose unchecked over the ground, the saplings, the shrubbery, the roofs, and the swaying heads of lesser trees before...
At Least She Still Sings
Flash Fiction It was difficult to catch her singing, and often I didn’t try. I mustn’t. For I mustn’t be caught listening. As a rule, I left her alone. Everyone did. But sometimes I let my eyes follow her discreetly along as she shifted through the rooms, an apparition, silent, ghostly, unhappy. Mostly the third. She rarely looked for a quiet place to sing- most of the time she was merely trying to walk off her desolation- but sometimes she was, and it was those sometimes that I had to restrain myself the most. It was difficult, and at times...
Casualties
Flash-fiction / Star Wars Fan Fiction Ahsoka Tano saw the bright red beam hurtling towards her, but too late. She saw her hands raise themselves, defending her. She saw them fail. She saw the ground closing rapidly towards her as her skull shattered inside her helmet. She saw Anakin turn towards her, lightsabers ablaze. She saw the shock and mounting fear in his eyes. She saw him run recklessly towards her, just barely avoiding getting shot himself. She saw the helpless look in her eyes. She saw Rex’s painted helmet reach her before Anakin could. She saw the rest of...
Clothes Heap
Flash Fiction I unload my wardrobe and pile my clothes in a heap. In heaps, actually. Plural. Mounds of T-shirts and pants and sweaters and hoodies and yet more T-shirts. I remember having liked some before. They’re no longer my favorites. When’s the last time I wore this? It’s still good, still possesses quality. What’s that brown one? That pants? Is that mine? I don’t think that’s mine. Either way, I’ve never worn it, never even touched it. How’d it get here? How deep does this heap of clothes go? I remember this green T-shirt. I’d been looking for it...
Dear August (Second Letter)
Flash Fiction / Letter TW: Suicide Dear August, Regardless of what you believe about greetings in the start of a letter, I genuinely hope that this letter finds you in good health. You’re right. I am not exactly doing well. I am writing this letter to thank you for everything you’ve done till now. Having you around brings a little joy to my otherwise numb soul. Your company is something I’ll cherish for whatever life I’ve left. The letter you sent, though it was not your usual self, a little harsh, I might say. But, it had that warmth and...
Dear Jan (First Letter)
Fiction / Letter Dear Jan, The convention of writing a letter is to start with a greeting. An empty statement of hope towards the recipients' good health. With your permission, I will forego that convent since your previous letters have made it beyond obvious that you are already in a deplorable state. I remember the day I made your acquaintance very clearly, and I remember it because annoyances have a way of embedding themselves irreversibly into my mind. I don't remember the place, the time of day, or even the occasion, but I do remember being annoyed. I remember being...
Fairy Lights
Flash Fiction I was supposed to be writing about the bright decorative lights hanging so festively on the roof of the neighboring apartment complex as if it was Christmas, and yet it is Christmas, but the lights aren’t meant for Santa Claus. Regardless, the pantone yellow fairy lights go well with the night and with the sleepy, green, rooftop plants. The moon. The spotted, reflective moon. There is something so inherent, so intrinsic, so human about the moon. It feels so distant, so removed, a sentinel standing vigil, the stuff made for human imagination, made to harbor and foster stories...
From Hell to Purgatory
Flash Fiction “Let there be.” And I was. “Greetings.” “Greetings, voice.” “Hello, I’m confident you are aware of your office.” I sloshed my feet in the ankle-deep pool of water and attempted to gauge the inky-black void I found myself in. It was disorienting to find yourself existing; even more so to exist in someone’s imagination. Nonetheless, I was aware of my office, alongside much else. “This is his place of respite. He hides submerged in the water, a speck of dust in the sea. The idea is that the demons can look forever and not find him.” I could...
Head Pressed Against Glass
Flash Fiction An empty compartment, dead still. The boisterous heartbeat of the locomotive muffled by modern silencers. A throbbing forehead pressed against glass. The breaths too dry for condensation. The streamlined train bustling through tunnels and underground stations. Bright flashes of yellow light flitting across his face, sweeping over his eyes; not sharp enough to sting, but lively enough to dry his sleep. The weight of the day lurking a small distance beneath the surface; desperate to leap forth, to spew out. Instead, being sucked away lower still. Buried. Buried under days more ancient. The bubbling emotions draining into a...
Hello, this is weird but…
Flash Fiction Hi. Hello. Okay, this is weird. You don’t know me, but you just have to trust me here, okay? Don’t worry I’m not going to ask something illogical of you. There is no Mission-Impossible type plot and nothing really serious, if I’m being perfectly honest. It’s just that I had to say hello, I just did. I don’t know the consequences of this, though I’m guessing they’re near negligible. I don’t suppose this could result or spark into anything, even if I tip off a domino effect of something along that line. It’s just- Hold on, let me...
It is Cold
Flash Fiction The weather is cold and listless. The seething sea hostile and frigid, the air cruel, piercing, and pregnant with an apocalyptic volume of water vapour, a tsunami threatening to burst forth out of the strained intermolecular forces of the paper-thin, unforgiving atmosphere. It is cold. The very spaces between the air molecules, the vacuum that is the staggering majority of the universe, the absolute nothingness that exists between two adjacent subatomic particles, even the regions of the infinite expanse of spacetime where the fields of quantum physics exhibit no curve or bend, even nothingness itself was cold. A...
Kumejima Station
Flash Fiction Kumejima station. Well past midnight. Cold, dreary, bright. Bright. Brighter than it ever needs to be. It’s quiet. The kind of quiet you get when a behemoth structure designed for the rush and reverberations of a flood of hundreds of thousands of people echoes only with the hushed bustle of thousands of people. The kind of diluted quiet of a giant stadium that is not quite empty but acres away from its intended capacity. The kind of unexpected quiet when a quintessentially bursting city like Dhaka empties up around Eid and despite currently holding the appropriate amount of...
Look, Mountains
Flash Fiction “Dad, look, mountains!” Little Crisie pointed excitedly at the blue, bulbous mountains due north where the river flowed into the fog, her voluminous ponytail bobbing up and down, her arms shaking wildly and forearms struggling to reach over the last rung of the railing. He smiled, marveling at his little daughter’s excellent eyesight, and squinted at the small, rolling hills in the distance. Not quite mountains, but it does no good to squash her enthusiasm over something as immaterial as semantics. He rests his elbows on the cool steel of the railing and cups his chin with the...
Looking at it Differently
Flash Fiction Sometimes you just have to look at it differently. Then suddenly, the dichotomous world isn’t so dichotomous anymore, and your concrete philosophies unveil their baselessness, all of which have been built out of sheer defensiveness and hot-headed zeal, built on up from random, spontaneous, unverified comments, and you get a look at the crux of the issue and realize you have been fighting towards a quasi-center, your arguments orbiting a gravitational anomaly, your retorts jabbing at inconsequential inconsistencies, your motivations fueled by the fiery, animalistic drive for victory and validation, like the puritan who disliked bear baiting, not...
Mind in Transit
Sci-fi It was the flash that woke me up. That blinding, scorching flash that accompanied the needle-teeth of the electrodes piercing my skull. The computer was tugging at me. Not my body but me. The consciousness, the soul, whatever you called it. The tug of the processors was repulsive, but it was quick. A zip, a split-second. The mind-transfer was a success. I opened my eyes- my new eyes- and my knees twisted. My vision was so intense, so alien, that I convulsed, vehemently, despite my restraints. My muscles squirmed, shivered, contracted, pressed in on themselves. I gasped and spat...
People
Flash Fiction The black and white rain drizzled noisily in an ever-increasing downpour. The sky was overcast with pitch black clouds, their outlines impossible to distinguish or differentiate. The rain fell from a dark abyss, the drops forming out of nothing and simply materializing into one’s vision. From that dark abyss, they fell chaotically, racing downwards as if they couldn’t wait to shatter against the ground. The raindrops were all separate, individual entities making up the enormous rain, but it was impossible to locate or to follow any single drop in the torrent. They all faded into one giant blur....
Polar Bear
Flash Fiction The polar bear poked one eye out of its cosy pit and yawned. He brought forth a hefty paw out from beneath him and beat it lazily against one side of his head. He stuck his butt out from the thick blankets of snow and sent powdery snow flying all around. Wriggling his tail, he yawned once more, his mouth opening into a giant mortifying cavern. He flexed his thick, curved nails and attempted to scratch the rheum out from his large, watery eyes. He sat up and stretched. It had been a good sleep. He felt warm...
Speaking to Stars
Flash Fiction / Sci-fi “Cat. Heimrick. Doom. Petals.” Bose stared morosely at the monitor screen. Thin wisps of sugary-sweet-coffee-vapor twirled up from his cup. Beep. Another message from a pulsar. “Lichtenstein.” Really, Lichtenstein? The star messages were getting out of hand- and the public just refused to buy it. He didn’t blame them; as a kid, he would have too. As a kid, star messages were his life, his adrenaline, his mission. He remembered reading every article, every paper; remembered pouncing, like feral a cat, on every explainer video on YouTube. He remembered how Verasitium had unraveled the mystery; he...
The Eagle on my Outdoor AC Unit
Flash Fiction The eagle, on my outdoor AC unit. Not quite majestic, not anymore. Dusted and ruffled by the yellow city air, the smog. Flying over and between the sooty, concrete buildings that are its substitutes For lofty, ancient mountains, The dish antennas filling in for the majestic peaks that poke through the clouds. The eagle, standing with its talons on my outdoor AC unit. It’s talons murky with the liquid refuse of the city It’s feathers marked by the signature air pollution Bright eyes, sprightly neck spinning, twisting, turning left and right. A king among the dregs, the high...
The Indifferent Universe Rolled On
Flash-fiction Sean gazed at the sky and wondered if it all really did matter. Above him, rolling over the gloomy, grey expanse, the black thunderclouds boomed. Below him, the sleepy earth hummed noiselessly. In front, the forest stood silent vigil, as dismal and inscrutable as ever. A crow cawed. A raven took flight. A dove died in a distant city. One of the rats escaped a keen cat. One of the rats did not. A venomous snake bit a human. A human beheaded a venomous snake with a shovel. A star died, a thousand stars were born. A planet collided...
The Rim of the Galaxy
Flash Fiction “Like walking back home along the rim of the galaxy.” “Yeah, it’s exactly like that.” He told his imaginary friend, the rabbit. And it really was like that, the trip home, the sidewalks, the always empty bus. It was just like circuiting the entire circumference of the galaxy just to reach earth in some dark, gloomy alley somewhere near the center. But it had its charms. Sometimes he wished he would get mugged, just to stave off the loneliness. The next moment the chivalry would desert him like a shower of sand and he would return to his...
The Rivers that Run through our Streets
Flash Fiction The water outside was murky and black. It flowed and gurgled in the direction of the drains and sewers and splashed when struck by the droplets of the rain. The high, thin wheels of the three-wheeler rickshaws created waves that propagated outwards in a sharp, V-shaped wave fronts that collided with the walls and with each other and superposed and lurched upwards and crashed against walls and against gravity and sent sprays of dirty, mucky, waste water splattering all over the sidewalks and over us. The drains were clogged, and the roads were open, their stomachs split bare...
Those Lazy, Fuzzy, Sleepy Evenings
Flash Fiction It’s summertime, but seasons are arbitrary anyways. The floor of the yard is cool and welcoming, the trees indifferent and rustling, sunlight dappling the leaves in a somber, mellow touch. You never could name those trees. They might as well be oak, or acacia, damned if you knew the difference. The shadows lengthen in the yard and you sit there, alone, your mind abuzz. You are just a child, not even an adolescent yet, and your brain is still struggling with ameliorating the conflicting surges of evolutionary selfishness and human empathy. The scent in the air is sweet....
Where am I?
Flash Fiction / Dialogue Only “Where am I?” “Oh, does it matter?” “What? Where am I?” “Everywhere and simultaneously nowhere.” "What the hell? Where am I?" "Where the river meets the sea; where dreams are disintegrated to oblivion." "How did I get here? Where am I?" "In Xanadu, with Xubla Khan. Nine fathoms deep, with the spirit of the land of the mist and snow." "Why am I here? Where am I?" "In the room where the women come and go, speaking of Michelangelo" "Who are you? Where am I?" "Buried in Lazarus' empty grave." "Why are you here? Where...
Whirring Hands
Flash Fiction The nurse held her hands. Clasped them, really. She caught the whirring, wrinkled, baby-soft hands deftly between two palms like an expert squashing a mosquito. The graying eyes stopped their aimless rolling and locked onto the pale, crisp face. She clenched her hands but could not find the strength to grip the hands gripping her hands. “Tell me, ma.” The resident looked at her. “Tell me, I want to hear your story. Tell me.” She gazed into her eyes longingly and soulfully. They seemed to do everything soulfully, these people; everything they did, they immersed themselves in. Then...
Why don’t Ghosts Fall into the Earth?
Flash Fiction / Dialogue-Only “I can’t just leave the car.” “Why not?” “I am attached to it. Tied to it, basically.” “Can’t you get over this attachment?” “That’s not how ghosts work, dummy.” “Why not?” “Because that’s how it is.” “And who decreed it? God?” “Well, yes.” “Did he say it, do you have proof of him saying so?” “No, but it is one of those things that is obvious, one of those things that just is, you know? Eyes on the road, bucko.” “No, I don’t know, I am not a ghost, you see.” “Oh shush it, that’s just...
Orange Quantum Computer
Short Story / Sci-fi The dimmable lights were turned down to their lowest setting. The shades were drawn, the computers in sleep mode, the AI assistants muted. Bose sat upright in the room, reveling in the silence. A sudden beep caused Bose’s steady, rhythmic breathing to fluctuate. The motionless surface of his mind rippled; and the crests of the tiny waves caught in the winds of his thought and lurched upwards. His eyelids fluttered, his fingers flexed involuntarily and, as the asymmetry of his movements increased, so did his awareness. He was slowly made aware of the stiffness in his...
Touch Grass
Flash Fiction / Nature Therapy He is lying on his back, his posture defying his backbone. His left arm is tucked under his back, and he is clutching his new phone with his right, keeping it suspended mid-air. The screen is tilted downwards and he cranes his neck unnaturally to keep his eyes at level with it. His legs are askew, propped against the wall. The back of his head is rested on a jumble of sheets. There is a pillow on his belly, and two others on the floor. “Hey,” I say to him. There is no acknowledgement. “Hey,”...
Banana Boat
Short Story I am in the Banana Boat. I was exiled on it. The fate of the boat, and the fate of the bananas, are also my fate. My name is Eira. I come from a beautiful land that grows bananas. Lots and lots of bananas. Bananas enough to color the horizon and cover the land. Bananas are enough to fill our plates and drive our economy. Bananas birthed our civilization; they allowed us to grow, prosper, and eventually thrive. Admittedly, we are not all bananas. We have other fruits as well, and fish, and nuts, and we make the...
Addicted to Leaf
Short Story Maya stole out of the flat sneakily, careful to close the door softly to make sure her brother didn’t hear her leave. He was in his room, listening to podcasts with headphones on, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She needed the leaf, she needed it bad. She knew her brother was baffled by her addiction and with good reason, she had spent all her life as an upper-class city girl, but she couldn’t help it. Too young, he said, too cute, too susceptible. Too deadly, he would tell her. Way too deadly. Bhaiya, she always tried to...
Burn, and Burn, and Burn
Short Story The bombs fell splatteringly, like rain. They were tiny little raindrops at first, slipping out and down from the dark and ominous clouds of the unfeeling metal planes. Then they fell more jarringly, like a downpour, a downpour that beat down on the earth weakly, like a tempestuous child beats down at a grave and silent adult. The shells, which were actually bullets from rotating muzzles of machine guns, smote the tiny town in angst, were converted into compressions and rarefactions in the vibrating air, and travelled far and wide through air and metal and bitumen, refracting and...
House on Fire
Fiction / Novel Excerpt He didn’t have to turn the corner to realize he had fucked up. Royally fucked up. He could see the smoke from around the curb, rising up playfully, almost tauntingly. It was the dull, transparent, unassuming nature of the smoke that convinced him. It didn’t look like that of a house fire (but of course it was). The smoke from a house fire is blacker, thicker, more violent, more sooty. This one was paler, softer. Meaner. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel of his car, considering. He had a lot of paths open to...
Weapon of Mass Destruction
Fiction / Novel Excerpt On the West end of Texas, nestled between two artificial, flat-topped hills, is a sprawling array of concrete buildings and underground laboratories. BFT zone-260 is the hidden pride of US defence, an ace tucked neatly into the folds of their military sleeves. Built without congressional knowledge, it forms the largest and most technologically advanced testing grounds for biological warheads in the US of A. There are only two entry points to the main lab, an underground monstrosity aptly named The Womb. The front steel gates leading in from the desert is sentried by two AI chipped...
Cold Fire
Short Story / Post Apocalyptic I moved my hands through the blue, papery flames. The desert sun was blistering overhead in the brilliant desert sky, casting angry, yellow rays that baked the rough sand and us. The cold fire helped a bit. My eyes fluttered from object to insulating object before resting on the nomad sitting cross-legged on the insulating cloth floor of the tent. He was clad in the general nomad fashion, oily garments, thick-leather boots, a resilient yet beaten-down turban, and respirators resembling the face of some sickly insect dead in the desert’s heat. “Tell me,” I began,...
You are in a Forest
Short Story / Second Person TW: Gore / Death You are in a forest. The scorching sun has pulled itself laboriously over the thin horizon, and the last shreds of red-orange light have climbed in after it. A handful of stars still twinkle dimly in the far reaches of the cosmos, and you can just barely make out the new moon crested in the corner like a toenail cutting discarded on a dark carpet. A pale glow lingers in the darkening sky like a wound on the verge of healing. A few seconds more and all the traces of the...
This Is Mark XII Requesting Immediate Evac
Short Story / Sci-fi Hello. This is Mark. I’m messaging from the remains of Shuttle P-6–7, currently in orbit around the sun at the extreme edges of the solar system; coordinates unsure. Emergency code C64, I need immediate assistance and evacuation. Surviving Crew: one (Mark XII). Spacecraft: non-functioning. You can lock onto me by my signal which I’ll leave open. Okay so that was the official SOS I am required to send. Ideally I’d just be sending that one paragraph with my name and coordinates, but it’s been a long while since I’ve talked to anyone, and the communicator is...
It’s a Complicated World
TW: Suicide There was commotion in the stairwell today, The girl next door had hung herself. Outside, men draped the building with shimmering, lustrous string lights, Someone- completely unrelated to the dead girl next door- was getting married.
The World is on Fire, but it Still Spins
“What happened?” “Oh, people are dying.” “Where?” “Everywhere. Gruesomely, awfully, unjustly, just look around.” “Oh, yeah.” “Yeah.” “Do we cancel our plans then?” “Nah, let’s roll.”
Volcanos and Stories
“Grandma, come-on already, we have to leave before the ashes asphyxiate us.” “Hush, child, I mean to stay, I wish to hear the story the volcano is ready to tell us. It has been silent for too long, and it has been silenced for too long.” “What does it have to say?” “It’s telling me a story, it’s telling us a story, and we can never know what a story is until it has been told.” “And what good are stories if you choke on black soot and putrid, sulfurous gases?” “Stories, love, open the world to us, and when...
Examinations
The slow spinning fans did nothing to abate the tense, humid, arid warmth of the classroom. Tensions ran high, pens ran slow. The clocks ticked, and so did nervous pens at the whims of nervous ticks; and sheets of papers were created that would dictate the quality of their author’s life from here on out.
Tears
In the universe, Two eyes. In those two eyes, Two balls of glistening tears. In those two balls of glistening tears, The universe
Places Don’t Get to Decide How They Will Be Remembered
This picturesque grove. These ancient white oaks and their shady, leafy canopies. The playful sunlight dapples the leaves and the hungry chloroplasts engulfing the photons. The fluttering birds. The sun-kissed flowers. The babbling brook. The patch of freshly-dug earth in the middle. The headstone. A picture-perfect grove, a graveyard.
You Are Not Anywhere
Open your eyes. Look around you. Fear not the hauntingly empty void, you are one with it. Open your eyes, let them penetrate into the impenetrable darkness. There are no photons here, yet see how majestically the green aurora shines. Open your eyes. You can spend an eternity here with your eyes closed and yet not a moment will pass. Open your eyes and see the river of time flowing beside you. You are afloat. Your arms and legs are still there, floating listlessly by your side. Your head is still attached to your neck. Your clothes still bellow in...
Feeding
Freestyle Poem I watch the child sitting on the floorI watch the plate splatterI watch the contents streak all over the floorLike strokes from a painters brush The child crawls on the floorCrawls over its foodOver its nourishmentSweetly oblivious that I cannot give it moreSweetly aware that I willThat I must I pick up the childIt refuses to comeIt refuses the mop, the wiping handIt’s knees are spreading the yellow brush strokes of mashed potatoesIt’s sweet mouth smiles, unfedKnowing that it will be I clean up the food with my handsThen wash them (the hands)And ladle another serving of mashed...
Kaleidoscope
Haibun Opalescent skyPregnant with a million moonsOf them, just one mine For you, the moon may be a peaceful chalice brimming with a tranquil joy. Or it may be a pale smile, its radiance a soft, soothing kiss. Maybe it is the harbinger of a sweet message; a postman delivering the longing gaze of a beloved staring wishfully in the same direction. Maybe it is nothing, just an insignificant apparition far away. Maybe it is everything, the entire universe condensed. Maybe it is evil; a hideous smear upon the charcoal sky. Maybe it is pure; an eternal sentry standing silent...
Apology
Poem / Acrostic And the dates are flexible. Perhaps we could even book a cruise Over the vast oceans, under the brilliant skies Lovely, white gulls and endless blues Or we could just sit in a restaurant and eat John Dory God, I’d go anywhere just to be with you You know I miss you, I love you, and I’m sorry.
Tears
In the universe, Two eyes. In those two eyes, Two balls of glistening tears. In those two balls of glistening tears, The universe
Entry#3 Cheese and Chopsticks
Thoughts I am eating cheese with chopsticks. Or, more accurately, I was eating cheese with chopsticks. I melted a bunch of cheese in a cup as a snack for this whole writing session, but then finished it in one go while I was procrastinating over a keyboard. I think that says a lot about me and our society. But procrastination is not our topic for today. I see I have begun this new format for myself. It’s more non-fiction and chill, and I like it. By Sveta K from Pexels.com Our city got flooded today due to heavy rainfalls. I...
Entry #2: My Table
Thoughts I am sitting at the table. The table is a train wreck, as always. There are marks all over the surface. Blots, scratches, chinks, cuts, burns, what have you. There are scratches from scratching, ink stains from pen leaks, and discolorations from chemical spills. There are tiny bumps and ridges from split glue and wax due to nails I have hammered in. Near the front, the splotches have outdone the varnish, you can no longer distinguish the original color. The back fares a little better, primarily because it’s harder to reach. In front of me is my touch-screen laptop....
Entry #1: Sitting on the Roof
Thoughts I am sitting on the roof, in the shade, cross-legged amidst rows of potted plants. It is hot. I handle the heat remarkably well; nevertheless, I am sweating lightly. The ground is dirty and green, spotted with algae or moss, I can never differentiate between the two. I had to reshuffle a couple of pots to make space for me, revealing the clumpy dirt that forms underneath potted plants. I pick up a piece of wooden board from a pile nearby and place it on the ground as a makeshift mat. It is not entirely uncomfortable. The roof is...