Trap in a Steel Dawn

Still grey. In the whisper-quiet of a steely dawn a man with a stubbly beard comes whistling ever so softly as he sets a trap.

The trap is vicious. Its teeth horrid. Its jaws gaping, but there is no bait. He places the trap on a partly sandy, partly grassy mound, not far from a semi-ruined house, then turns and vanishes into the soft grey mist.

Is it real or does his ghost chuckle quietly at the aspect of a tired young man leaning against the rubble-remains of a pillar? He is a strange young man. His clothes are of an indeterminate age. His hair is neither long nor short. He seems extremely exhausted.

CHANDRIKA’S TRICK

Long, long ago King Jagata, which means the world, lived happily with Queen Dharti Matá whose name means Mother Earth. Together they lived in a palace somewhere in northern India.

They were such happy people that every time they laughed the sunbeams danced. The courtiers and the servants smiled and sang to themselves as they went about their duties.

Way back then, the seasons were mild and they came and went, as they should. Everyone was happy. Everyone that is, except lonely Chandrika, the moon queen. She was fine for a few years living alone up in the dark night sky. And for a while she quite enjoyed being the Queen of the night.

The Storm – a new poem on Rupali’s Page

Drum Roll…

Trumpet flourish…

We have another rhythmic, lyrical poem from Rupali…

The Storm

The night was dark

The wind did howl

The streets were empty

The tramps didn’t prowl…

See the rest on Rupali’s Page

A review on The Flaneur

This summer I had a lovely break in London. And in the few days that I was there I took in a show – my favourite play Shakespeare’s Macbeth performed a little differently at The Rose Theatre.

This was one of several diversions during the week and having written a review that’s appeared in that wonderful international art blog The Flaneur I thought I’d share it with readers who might visit FictionPals..

Do check out my review as well as the rest of the mag.

Look out for more, I hope to start really writing again.

She reads, she reads not…

By Roshni Shukla

Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in a film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.