Read, Write & Publish Short Stories
Stories from an obsessive thinker
Danny just stood there, watching as his father ran amok in the house, trying to find where he left his cap. He just watched his father leave the house in a hurry
If there were constants in life, it was the arrival of the four-tiered yellow lunchbox. Twice a day, for twenty-seven years.
I was still living in those moments because I believed that there were some things that deserved to live long after they didn’t anymore.
I had the ability to recall everything since I was eight. I could never be too careful. Because anything and everything brought something to mind
I felt her face remain as it was, as the orange rays of sunset filled her room. My faith was shaking as the rays fell upon my face through the window. The moment of truth.
The enchanting thing about falling asleep was that I could live in the happiness I did not possess. It had always been so. That I lived a life in the parallel world.
On that day especially, men wanted their things done right and in time, and women expected them to pay up and surprise.
I didn’t understand how people could be close to girls and stuff. They always nagged and cried and wanted things. They cried shrilly, stomped their feet
I did not know how long I had been here, but I cannot remember hating it for a while now. He could come into my room only once or twice a day,
And then I noticed the way the ‘A’s were written– slightly curved as they began– bringing to mind something I’d thought I’d put away forever.
