I write because I read. I read because I write.
Four houses inside a red gate - dwarfed by the acacia tree beside it. Murmurs upon murmur, they wait like masked bees waiting for the sting of the queen. "So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm."Not in the 21st century when a hollowed neck meant for a lover's head can be… Continue reading murmurs: a 100-word story
Three chili plants remaining, I once thought they would succumb after I almost drowned them with neem oil because of pesky ants. Together in a pot, amidst many stormy nights, it's always a surprise when I see them breathing in silent delight. Yes, with wrinkled leaves, but at least, still alive.But these clouds are clearly… Continue reading cloud’s sunburn
Silence has always tasted sweet since I was a young boy. I find bliss in building a world of my own, alone. Now, with only the whirring of her ventilator, my tongue is filled with bitter gourd juice, swimming through the boulder inside my throat. Her hands, I've held since she was 24, feel cold… Continue reading tasting silence: a 100-word story
It starts with the usual scene. The hibiscus bush void of bloom, filled with sharp twigs like fangs of the past, looking at him from his bedroom window. The door less-an-inch open like a defeated sigh. The bedsheet crumpled, free of human warmth. The duplicate cold key, slouched. The screech of tires against the gravel… Continue reading dawning dreams: a 100-word story
Mildew and mould hover freely inside the decade-age cabin, eventually welcoming a pair of sneakers, uncertainly wandering. Each step receives a pained, creaking answer. Unhurried climbing continues. One. Two. Three. Four. And more. Her gloved hand reaches for the rusted knob, still frozen with the last breath of winter. With pounding chest, she opens the… Continue reading mildewed memory
While the roof sings to the tune of the monsoon keys, the leaves outside dance with the storm's cold breeze, with a warm, fresh cup of coffee, my eyes stare blankly at the road void of wheels and feet— empty— wishing I can say the same with my mind. The antonym of empty is full… Continue reading fogged up
on the day when her grandchildren will be sitting on her lap asking for the bravest thing she has done, she will be looking back at this moment. she's in no danger. no noise. no death-defying acts. but with peaceful tree-whistles, lullaby-like bird-tunes, embrace-like forest air. and her heart and mind who were both dauntless enough to walk out of a life in… Continue reading Bravest Moment
Her eyes on the slow, old tram coming. Her hands inside the bag, checking the cold office keys, the leather notepad, the tattered coin purse, the thin phone, her essentials. Lucky day, no forgotten items today. Her ride to the office is about to arrive when a familiar face crossed her peripheral view. He has aged,… Continue reading Not Forgetful
after more than a decade of virtual hugs and late night chats, the four girlfriends have finally met again for a summer picnic. two married, one engaged, one still single, they've bonded because of one common denominator: a guy they played love with. a nerd from college who's known for his ragged blue jeans and an old-day-smelling shirt. under the hot sun with… Continue reading The Picnic
An eerie blanket of silence wrapped the courtroom. The accused stood, confidently, without a trace of remorse on his rather innocence eyes. Without reading the grim report of a young married woman who went missing, then body parts being discovered one by one-- legs, arms, head-- none can even guess the suspect would be a youthful… Continue reading Missing Heart
A Reading Writer 