Being Death had taken its toll on him. He looked down at his hands, at the flaky skin covering his once-great body. He tried to smell the evening air, but his nostrils had long since been blocked. He tried to watch the sunset on the horizon, but all he could see was an orange blur in the distance.

It was time for Death to die.

He could feel it in his arthritic bones. He could sense it in his foggy mind. Death knew death only too well.

He limped along to the middle of an empty, deserted road, dragging his…

The twenty-first-century human being is dangerously becoming a creature of the everyday, so engrossed in the day-to-day that anything outside the quotidian little circle seems frivolous. We are content with surviving, and thriving seems a luxury. The pandemic has forced us all to quite literally focus on survival. While it has been a mentally grueling year for many, it has shown strength of character for many more. Now, the light is on the horizon. Let’s come back stronger. Let us remember the little things that matter. …

Once, there was a little boy who liked staring up at the sky. He loved the way the clouds formed into seemingly random shapes, the way each and every one of them was different from the other.

This activity could keep him occupied for hours on end if he wanted to. Most of the time, he would pry his eyes away only to sketch that sky down on paper. His sketchbook was filled with drawings of oddly shaped clouds caught in action in the blue sky.

As this boy grew into a teenager, he started delving into music and writing…

This story is a product of going with the first thing that comes to one’s head when faced with a writing prompt. Thanks to Chuck Wendig for the title.

Warning: Very little sense follows.

Brock didn’t stand a chance. The giant warriors of the enemy were inching towards him with every step they took.

He looked around him. His friend Tom had already been reduced to a paste during the first attack.

The first attack. They never saw it coming.

They had all been enjoying a cool night’s sleep when, out of nowhere, there came a rude awakening. Brock wasn’t…

Hope. That’s the language that the latest Linkin Park record speaks in. Listening to it for the first time last night, I couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of optimism by the time the tenth song finished playing.

Now, I’ve never really written a review for anything before, so I don’t really know how to go about this. But after the first listen of One More Light, I knew that I had to write something about it.

It all started with the first single, Heavy. Of all Linkin Park songs, this one, with its simple, straightforward lyrics, got to…

Every year, I can’t help but hear Minerva McGonagall clinking her glass and Albus Dumbledore saying, “Another year, gone!”

It’s amazing how fast days can fly by. Doesn’t seem long ago when you’d made all those resolutions, does it? Time for new ones now and to get that cycle started all over again.

Or maybe you resolutely don’t want to make any resolutions this year — either because you’ll not follow them anyway or because you like things just the way they are.

I recently learned about the term performative contradiction. It’s a beautiful thing.

By deciding that you aren’t…

(This story was written using Chuck Wendig’s prompt. Turned out a little longer than intended! This is my first ever flash fiction attempt, so bear with me.)

Image courtesy: velvetblush

“Food is overrated,” said Varun, rubbing his bulging belly. He burped and scrunched his nose, grimacing at the aftertaste in his mouth.

“Yea-yeah, man,” mumbled his friend Raj, eyes closed and leaning back. One hand was still holding a fork, crumbs of carrot cake sticking on the prongs.

They paid the bill for their third buffet that week and stumbled out of the restaurant.

“Good thing we’re walking home,” said Varun. …

Water ankle-deep in backyards. Water ankle-deep inside homes. People’s patience wearing out. Those were probably the first signs that the rains were getting to us. Having a lake nearby doesn’t help, either.

The wide, blue sky. Stretching, never-ending. Dark in some places. Gloomy everywhere around, people frequently looking up at the sky to see whether it’s going to rain. It is 4 o’clock in the evening, yet it looks like 8 o’clock in the night.

But wait. There is a spot. The sun pierces through the clouds in this spot, poking its rays out, testing the air. Look above directly at this spot, and you’ll almost be blinded by the brightness. Such is the stark contrast between light and dark.

And yet, when you look at this spot from the corner of…

Krishnaa Lakshmanan

Clouds are nice. So are words. I write (mostly) fantasy fiction.

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