Theresa Bhowan

“The Post-Apocalyptic Superhero” by Theresa Bhowan

It all started with a nuclear explosion. The mushroom cloud could be seen for miles and miles, the odour that followed, was distinct, unmistakeable. When your nostrils filled with the tainted and ruined air, you knew the effects were bound to be long-lasting and devastating. That, coupled with the smell of melting flesh, could ruin anyone’s day. The smell never faded.Everyone that worked at the nuclear plant died. Everyone within a ten mile radius of the plant also died, but their remains weren’t completely deteriorated ...

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“From the Other Side” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #105

I am a nobody. Well, not really. I am a somebody but not somebody anybody notices. Sure, they call on me if they spill their drink or if they notice a sticky patch on the airport floor. But other than the human need for my mop, I am a nobody. It has its benefits. After losing my job as an air traffic controller, I just carried on coming to the airport day after day. It was the only place I...

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“Sign From Above” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #103

“Luna, we’re taking dad to the hospital. Meet us there now!” Two weeks later… “Pack a few things for mom’s hospital bag. We’ll take her to the same hospital that dad is in. Maybe the same doctor will treat both of them.” Six weeks of constant stress and constant worry. With both her parents laying in hospital, hooked up to ventilators, machines literally keeping them al...

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“The Man of My Dreams ” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #103

TW: gun violence The figure just stood there, hovering, looming. His large stature hovering in the brightness that her eyes seemed to fight and protest against. The blurry haze engulfs and encompasses them. Louise is fighting against her senses and surroundings but nothing seems to make sense. Her movements seem uncontrolled, she can’t seem to get any part of herself to move according to her will. Then the figure draws closer and his face becomes crystal clear. It is a face she does not recognise but his features, strikingly...

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“Cry, My Beloved Country” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #102

The law enforcement teams are unleashed on the ravaging violence that consumes our land. Everyone sits, glued to their televisions, watching the chaos unfold. In the distance, the sound of sirens wailing and gunshots pierce the air, shattering whatever mirage or sense of safety we might have, tightly locked up in our homes. We are not safe, and we know it.What started as a fight for one man’s freedom has evolved into a nations unrest. Monsters from within unfurling their bitter tongues. Tongues, made of fire, that licks ...

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“The Ripper” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #101

[Disclaimer: this story is in no way intended to be factually correct regarding the laws surrounding death row inmates and the last meals they are served.] He is the best at what he does. Yes, he is cocky, but it has taken him more than twenty years to reach his level of expertise. That is why he was both shocked and flattered when he received that phone call that afternoon. “What?” he pr...

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“The First Ray of Sunshine” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #99

I have spent 700 years of my existence indoors. While that might seem like a long time – to exist and to spend indoors – it is more the existence I was given rather than the one I have chosen. I am careful in choosing my words. I am existing, I am not living. I have lived for 25 years, and then, through no choosing of my own, I began existing. Merely existing.My name is Archibald ‘Archie’ Lancaster.How I came to be is but a blur of a memory. I was (and technically still am) quite a looker in my day. I w...

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“The War Hero” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #98

[A Father’s day tribute to my dad. This is the first year I face this day without you.]The origin story of our father’s scar is a long-standing family tradition that constantly ignites humour in its vast inconsistency. With three kids born in three different generations, we each heard a different story of how our dad got the scar. One thing was consistent in all its retellings though, and it was that he received this scar during a war.The perfectly round, dime-sized, shiny scar that was on the outer sid...

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“The White Lady” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #97

She stares out the window. It is so peaceful looking out onto Kaluna Lake, the moonlight glittering and gleaming off the soft ripples that’s caused by the slight breeze.She is drawn back to lounge where she is sitting by a tap on her shoulder. The music is loud and thumping in her ears. Why did I even come here?“Hey, new girl! You want a drink?” the drunk jock yells at her even though he is already uncomfortably close to her face. The smell of cheap beer on his breath blasts into her face. It t...

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“Fortune or Misfortune” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #96

The doorbell rings.Jane closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath.Now? Really? Who could it possibly be?Working as a journalist at the town’s weekly paper, Jane’s hardest day is a Friday. It is the day after the paper has been printed and distributed, and it is a day of endless complaints from mid-forty-year-old women who have nothing better to do than scour the paper and find some sort of error in the 50-page newspaper. It is also a day of endless meetings and insincere apologies, fill...

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“Life and Death” by Theresa Bhowan

Submitted to Contest #95

The subtle symptoms are there. Nothing nearly as bad as the last two times, but he is still not well – physically. Mentally and emotionally he is in good spirits, blissful to be surrounded by his family.“Wow, Dad. You certainly chose an awkward time to develop a lung infection. Right in the middle of a deadly pandemic that attacks the lungs,” Tracy says jokingly. She tries to keep things light-hearted and good humored, even though the room is thick and compact with emotions.Dad laughs, but everyone else...

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