Subscribe
Join our amazing community of book lovers and get the latest stories doing the rounds.
Subscribe!

We respect your privacy and promise no spam. We’ll send you occasional writing tips and advice. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Refugees in a Banana Republic
Literary

Refugees in a Banana Republic

Early dawn, when fog hung…

Read More
A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor
Interview

A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor

Meet Breanne Mc Ivor. She…

Read More
Nocturnal Conductions
Humor

Nocturnal Conductions

The first time it happened,…

Read More
The Lady of the Water
Fiction

The Lady of the Water

I’d thought Central America would…

Read More
Never Will I Leave Home
Literary

Never Will I Leave Home

You have not seen our…

Read More
Two Blind Men
Flash Fiction

Two Blind Men

They knew well I was…

Read More
An Interview with Ernest Brawley
Interview

An Interview with Ernest Brawley

Ernest Brawley, a native Californian,…

Read More

Somewhere in Madras Presidency, sometime before the ̐Channar revolt, the twin-conical fabric sat on the coir bed way before the bride entered the room. ‘Could be a bit large,’ the man thought, as he took them. He caressed the right cone, then the left. Jolting as if hit by instincts, imagining the weight, the burden that cloth would have to bear, he walked to the window where the full-moon ripped the dark sky, inspected them again, plucked off small protruding pieces of thread from the sides, and watched every stitch closely until the doors behind him opened with a gentle sweeping swoosh. The man and his wife had been neighbours, childhood friends, and had even married each other umpteen times during their childhood plays. But, then she was seventeen and really married to him. Seventeen was too late for any girl to get married, but she was determined that she…