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Latest Stories

November 27, 2025
General Stories Abdul Basit

When Ego Finally Melted

Life in Dera Ismail Khan always moves in its own rhythm. The main bazaar stays busy from morning till night and people from different backgrounds pass through it every day. In the middle of this bazar stands the Choggala, a kind of small fortress where police…
November 27, 2025
Horror Stories Ben Macnair

Life Like

The hushed reverence of the Nude Gallery had always been Sarah’s sanctuary. At thirty-two, she often found the modern world a cacophony of shallow noise, but here, amidst the silent, sculpted figures, a profound quietude settled upon her soul. She wasn't an…
November 27, 2025
General Stories Hossam Belal

My Time For Courage

I was a child in Gaza, but I wasn’t like the other children—fear set me apart. Yes, I admit it: I was afraid. And I don’t see any shame in that. I was still just a child, and children have the right to feel fear—especially when they grow up in a place like…
November 27, 2025
Flash Fiction Syed Hassan Askari

The Mistake That Stole Seventeen Years

Sara was the politest girl in her family. She was quiet, shy, and gentle. She would wake up early in the morning to perform Fajr prayers. She would make tea for her parents and then walk to her college—two long kilometers—with her books pressed tightly to her…
November 27, 2025
Horror Stories Ben Macnair

Gone Fishing

The silence of Oakhaven Lake was usually a salve for Barry, a thirty-year-old city slicker who considered himself an outdoorsman by virtue of occasional weekend trips and a subscription to an adventure magazine. But today, the quiet was merely an…
November 27, 2025
General Stories Steven Robnett

Walks Far Woman

I am a geriatric social worker at Cherryvale Memory Care Center. While normally I do not lead outings for patients at the center, I did, on one occasion, as a special favor. The outing, I was assured, would be for a couple of hours and with only one patient.…
November 27, 2025
General Stories Matias Travieso-Diaz

Shattered Glass

When a man carries an instrument of violence, he'll always find the justification to use it. If we really want to escape this war, we have to stop bringing it with us. Brian K. Vaughan, Saga, Volume 1 The last two generations have grown amidst frequent…
November 27, 2025
Horror Stories Syed Zeeshan Raza Zaidi

Where The Road Remembers

The night I first saw her, Karachi had folded in on itself. The city—usually a sprawling, restless mass of neon, horns, and heat—felt strangely hollow, as if someone had cupped it in both hands and gently dimmed the edges. I had been driving for Uber for six…
November 27, 2025
Fantasy Stories Sani Ibrahim

The Clockwork Sparrow

In a city of clanking pistons and hissing steam, where the sky was a permanent tapestry of grey smoke, Elara’s workshop was a sanctuary of intricate wonder. She was a tinkerer, an artist of gears and springs, and her greatest creation was a sparrow. Not a…
November 27, 2025
Flash Fiction Frank Talaber

303 Jen

Time’s recollections flitter like butterflies alighting from fields of sun-cast flowers as I stop before an apartment building staring as snapshots of a life like Kodak moments blur by, one after another. I’ve been here before. Two children and … good God! ……
November 27, 2025
Horror Stories Ben Macnair

A Boat Upon The Shore

The sea, they say, offers solace. A vast, indifferent expanse that swallows grief as readily as it does the sun. After Clara, its ceaseless roar became my only companion, the rhythm of its waves a balm to the ragged edges of my soul. I’d retreated to this…
November 27, 2025
Fantasy Stories Carolyn Brotherson

The Changing

Transforming into an animal was more painful than one could ever imagine. Perhaps that prospect is why Mother prohibited Éana from her Changing, a ceremony that all prospective druids in the Court of Flowers went through after their first year of training.…

Wimbledon has begun and our house is full of excitement. The tennis season always evokes tremendous enthusiasm from the LOH(Lady of the House). She even sacrifices her "Bold and Beautiful" TV time to "Prime Sports" and literally leaves Brooke holding her baby. Not that she is a great tennis lover, but she is an ardent fan of Ms Maria Sharapova. She watches every match that Ms Sharapova plays and her prayers for Ms Sharapova's victory become loud and clear.

I have only to applaud or comment "Well played" on a point scored by Ms Sharapova's opponent and she threatens me with a boycott which I can ill afford. Her comments while watching Ms Sharapova at play are so knowledgeable.

"Just watch! She is going to win today. She is wearing black bangles on her wrist," she exclaims in glee. Ms Sharapova's defeats are attributed to not wearing black bangles or some other trinket that the great tennis star is fond of wearing.

The other day she was absolutely ecstatic with Maria's performance.

"You know I am going to name my granddaughter Maria," she enthused.

"Don't you think that is going a bit too far?" I queried.

"Why what is wrong with it?" she countered. "We have to name her something and Maria is my favourite person."

"But what happens if she doesn't play tennis when she grows up?" I asked.

"She will play tennis," she said with finality typical of her. "And she will become a world champion too."

"And how are you going to ensure that?" I egged her on. Now she was in full flight. Her runaway fancy got the better of her.

"Catch them young! That's what I will do," she went on. "I shall give her a silver tennis racket in place of a rattle when she is born. She will develop a good firm grip right from day one," she added.

"And what about the black bangles?" I said tongue in cheek.

"Yes," she said, "She will get those too. I shall arrange to have her coached from childhood. I shall show her all the video cassettes of all Maria's matches that I am recording. I will make her a world champion. And when she does win the Wimbeldon..."

"She will tell the world 'I owe my success to my grandma. There are people who are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, but I was born with a silver racket in my hand.'" I interrupted her.

"Yes." The faraway look in her eyes and the smile of intense satisfaction on her face told me she was already dreaming of the moment.

"Come on, Darling. She has got to be the first Indian woman to sail round the world single handed," I said. The sailor in me got the better of me even though discretion dictated otherwise.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snubbed me. "When was the last time you won a race. You and your sailing! It's always some protest or the other, or a gear failure or whatever."

She did have a point there.

"But what can I do? You only pray for Ms Sharapova's win and not mine," I countered.

"I only pray for winners," she said.

"But they don't need your prayers."

Just then our son walked in. We were just warming up and the domestic battle was enjoined. He had gathered soon enough what it was all about.

"Mom and Dad, what makes you think that your granddaughter will become a sports person at all? Don't I have a say in the matter?" he asked.

"And pray what has this got to do with you?" said the LOH.

"She'll be my daughter."

"No she will be my granddaughter and she will play tennis. And that’s that," the LOH responded.

"But Mom..."

"I'll have no buts from you young man. And another squeak from you and ...."

"So Mom, you agree to my marrying ...."

"Over my dead body," she said.

"But..."

"Don't you think this is all a trifle premature?" I put in a word edgewise. That is all that I can manage on such mother-son confrontations. He is only eighteen and our dream granddaughter has many years yet before she arrives. But while we wait here is more strength to Ms Sharapova and I hope our granddaughter is not beaten to being the first Indian Woman to sail solo round the world.

 

End

 

Bio:   I have served for over 33 years in the Indian Army Corps of Engineers and am retired now. Love writing humour and short stories. I have also written books on Military History and Management. Some of my short stories were published when I was much younger. Professional commitments pushed my fiction writing to a stand still. I have the time and the inclination now and wish to share my wit with others.

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