Short fiction

  • Murder most futile

    The earth was damp and loamy, and the grass wet. It had rained all night. I stood on the pathway edging the cemetery and watched them walk toward the grave, picking their way among tombstones. Bush and nettle had overgrown, colonizing every spare space. The neem and peepal trees loomed large, the mighty sentinels standing guard over the dead. ...
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  • The Unkindest Cut

    The drive from Toronto Pearson Airport was slow. The car crawled in the Friday morning rush-hour traffic. Zoya, our seven-year-old daughter, exhausted, slept in the backseat. My husband Juzer had taken the morning off to pick us up. Shielding my eyes from the bright late August sun, I was thankful to be back home, relieved ...
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