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The Prophet
Posted on April 16, 2020 3 Comments
I take a left at the end of my street and turn down a barely used laneway. I’m trying to avoid people, trying to maintain social distance, or physical distance, or whatever the latest pandemic catchphrase is. Hardly anyone comes down this way. I know this from walking the dogs. In the daytime, the odd […]
The hit
Posted on April 4, 2019 4 Comments
“They exchange secrets; two strangers on the bus.” YeahWrite #416 Microprose
The Eulogy
Posted on November 15, 2018 12 Comments
CAUTION: This story contains references to domestic violence and descriptions of childhood emotional abuse. I stood at the podium looking out at the sea of faces, unfamiliar and familiar, the funeral director’s words still ringing in my ears. It’s okay to be raw and honest. There’s no right way to grieve. They’re just looking for […]
The Innocence of Mabel Cunderdin
Posted on October 4, 2018 8 Comments
If you wanted to set your life on fire, there wasn’t a better combination than Mabel Cunderdin, and Edward Willard’s limitless credit card.
The Peacock’s Daughter
Posted on April 1, 2018 7 Comments
Music surges through the speakers. Salt-N-Pepa tell us to push it, and I survey the sea of shocked faces. Not really funeral fare, Mum. ‘No sombre music, Gillian.’ Yes, Mum. No sombre music. But you could have at least let me warn folks.
Old Town Vet
Posted on February 22, 2018
A steady breeze blew through the deserted streets of Old Town lifting dust and debris into a ghoulish danse macabre. The blades of the old windmill whined their arc through the air, the rusted metal cogs and gears screeching in protest.
Milestones
Posted on January 18, 2018 18 Comments
Shanti wound her window down and inhaled the fumes. She loved these late-night gas station runs with Appa. It was their time together. No Amma worrying over money, or which Aunty had insulted her this week. No Anna, pretending to be older than his years, trying to impress Appa by discussing politics like a good […]
Noir
Posted on August 3, 2017 22 Comments
Crimson splatters line the walls, crime scene tape girds the door. Shattered glass, a single lily, and pristine white shagpile carpet grace the floors. He lifts the needle, abruptly silencing the Shostakovitch piano concerto. Tipping back his trilby, he scratches his head. Who still uses a record player? Image credit: SouthernRebel/pixabay SaveSave SaveSave SaveSave
The Wedding Sari
Posted on March 29, 2015
The fans circle, humming sonorously, making no difference in the dense hot air. My aunt and I sit surrounded by cascades of colourful, gold-embroidered silk as the small birdlike dark skinned shop assistant claws more saris from the shelves, fanning them out to their full glory, allowing the light to catch the subtle changes in […]
The Bestowing
Posted on March 29, 2015
The old woman sits, stooped and wizened on a small wooden stool at the front door of her cottage. The skin at her throat sags and droops, as if two sizes too big for her. Her gnarled fingers trace shapes in the air and her lips move in their silent dance, forming words that will […]
Asha Rajan 