Mrs Fonseca was going to nurse this little grudge until the day she died. And the cranky old crone would probably outlive me by a hundred years. Which brings me back to my original feeling, that this moment was going to come back and bite me in the butt.
it’s not that time of the year without the usual nightmares. I’ll be fine throughout the year, but when October rolls around, I wake up at 2 am, screaming, bathed in sweat, fists clenched tight.
I wrote this short story for #StoryAWeek, conducted by the Wrimo India group. I dug my toes into the sand and sighed. The sand still retained some of the day’s heat, and the tightness in my feet slipped away slowly, as I pressed…
Location:The Zenana gardens of Rajgarh palace, in the year 1970 It is 3 am, my favourite time of the night. A time, when people are in deep sleep, with their guards down. I like to look in on them…little sheep, ripe for slaughter. I…
By Kimaya Kolhe
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