Image, Graphic Source Part One Part Two Part Three The Curse: Part Four (Final) One of his hands has a thumb and one finger only. The whole arm is horribly scarred. The other arm is a prosthetic. “I used

The Curse: Part Three Image, Graphic Source Part One Part Two The Curse: Part Three The passengers stare at you. They appear shocked. “Please,” you ask in a softer voice. “Who said they didn’t want to

Image, Graphic Source The Curse: Part One The Curse: Part Two Perhaps the passengers will make up for the loss of Jasper. The one next to you is gripping the back of her seat with both hands. The man on

The Curse Image, Graphic Source The Curse: Part One The vehicle you are driving hurtles down the highway. Your hands caress the steering wheel. Only light touches are necessary to follow the contours of

Conman-In-Training Source I’ll call him Con for the purpose of this story. Con: short for Cornelius, no, short for ‘Conman In Training’ - considering his young age. Con is fourteen years old and knows

Source My Friends My friends tell me I can do whatever I want to do and give me the courage to do so and someone to blame in case something goes wrong. My friends tell me I can be whoever I want to be

Source strutting bouncing skipping always out of reach disappearing appearing scheduleless stoking anticipation flirting teasing tantalising inflaming curiousity one day the gift steals home snuggling

Social entrepreneurship is like a series of impossible dares that take place in rapids. You set the dares yourself and the possessed way you go after them leaves quite a number of 'sane?' people scratching

Graphics Source Pleas swatted, the mother forced to watch father and brothers exact failure's penance for a forbidden glance. Red tinged honour drips libation to ravenous gods only partially sated by this

This is my entry for the Constrained Writing Contest #16 which is organized by @svashta Graphics Source The Competition There was dead silence. The warriors clenched knives and spoons behind their backs,

You feel as if a rock has barreled through your guts. You are petrified. You are unable to see beyond what you are going through. You are so traumatized that you cannot process what is happening. In other

Knock! Knock! Note to self: Smile! Points to remember: +Hello. +I'm organizing a fun day for children. +Date: in four months. +If there are children living here, could you please let them take part? +Do

One hundred fortresses. Slightly more, actually.   Citadels of disinterest.  Full of strangers. Full of people I had never spoken to. Mainstays of single raised eyebrows and sneers.

I've just come across this amazingly simple and heartwarming contest.   The goal is to get people talking to each other. All one needs to do is to comment on the post and vote. If you are interested,

The laying of the egg was accidental. It started as self-therapy, as a way to dodge the cloying cloak depression was weaving around me.  I had been in despair's clutches before and I was terrified

My life has recently been taken over by a thousand-headed benevolent hydra, and each head has its own ideas about what I should be doing.  This is the whirlpool of adventure I've fallen into