Fiction

There’s always going to be ‘just too much’, if you can’t divorce yourself from your damn job.

The bus, like all buses in Hyderabad, smells like lemons… and people. Landlocked and sweltering, Hyderabadians have developed an affinity for citrus.

I was ten years old when I concluded my grandfather was illiterate. I approached him with one of my books one day…

You stand at edge of the hole that your mother dug for herself — not for you — but still. You peer down, at the stairs planted into the dirt wall…

A leaf breaks through the rainy mist and spirals to the gravel. “Nick, look!” Bria’s gaze follows the rock face up to where its peak hides in the fog.

As soon as Alan Baker walked through the door, he knew he was in trouble. There was a less-than-subtle sign…

Maryn concentrated on the feeling of his touch, the cool sensation that passed over her skin…

The man lying on the hospital bed knows that he is dying. Beside him, the heart monitor stutters, falters, returns to a steady pace once more, each time the rhythm slower.

Jimmy was never in a hurry to go home after school, but today was an exception. He raced through the spring melt, flew through the door, kicked…