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A weekly short story contest
Looking for a steady supply of desi short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.
Coming of Age
People of Color
Teens & Young Adult
We'll send you 5 prompts each week. Respond with your short story and you could win $250!
Her feet are feeling the wet and warm tar of the street. “Am I getting an infection?” She wonders. She has always been paranoid about catching something. She has always believed to stay far above the ground wearing well protected shoes. “Boots are the best”, she always thought. She made sure her two sons always wore boots. But then how did she get here? She is wearing her summer slippers, walking...
I am Ralph Sastri, a thirty year old young man. Presently working in the ‘ land of opportunity ‘ the great America’. I was born in a little village in one of the Indian states. My folks believe in providence , superstition and astrological predictions .
I was the pampered child in the family who had the good fortune of being born after a half a dozen girls or let’s say my cousins born to my uncle. My fa...
We were on a shopping spree getting ready for our housewarming party. I met Sheba when I moved to the new city, and we quickly became close friends. During our long stay in a foreign country, we tackled numerous challenges together. Had it not been for mutual support, both of us would have found it very hard. Although we miss “home”, a place that never stopped being one even after a decade of living away from it, we keep...
Raghuram was waiting at the lounge of Hotel Solitaire, a famous five-star hotel in the city. He was waiting for his colleagues to assemble there for Brunch. It was an official meeting and was generally being conducted there every quarter. While a few had already turned up, some more were yet to join. He was very particular about punctuality. Unfortunately, others took it casually. Even if it were to be a get together jus...
Another day passed mopping floors at ‘the plaza’, God! I hate summer here , first of all summer in Chicago is not actually summer , it’s still cold. I don’t drink, even though I am 32 and I live alone , I mean there is literally no one to tell me I cant , I am grown man but every time this thought comes to my mind of drinking I just remember my mother back in Pakistan and the promise I made to her , “you are going just t...
Story in progress***I do miss my home. The beautiful rose garden my mother has toiled over, my grandfather's sagging cane chair, which swings a bit sadly without it's occupant, the smell of pungent spices which blend together and draw out a million different memories playing out over my tongue. I just hate the people who live in it. Each time my feet hit the pebbled garden path to the door, my muscles ache from all the cramps of the 5 hr long bus journey. In hindsight, I could have waited fo...
It’s funny how people hold on to things. Somehow a frayed notebook carries memories of carefree days past, while a piece of glass reflects a shattered home. A dusty scarf smells like your favorite roast dinners, while a rusted gold ring reminds you of a cheap love. I guess it’s quite simple, really. Objects that others dismiss mean the world to you; they hold the sentimental values of your whole universe. Sometimes I look at the locket, turn it around until it starts to look like another scar on the palm of my hand....
Rohan looked at his watch for what seemed like the millionth time, a movement that was not lost on his wife Sonal.“Why do you keep doing that? It won’t make the flight land any faster!” Sonal said with some irritation. “And stop shaking your leg so vigorously!”He made a noncommittal sound and picked up a magazine. They were in the airport lounge, waiting for his father Shankar’s flight to land. It was his father’s first trip out of India, but that was not the only reason for Rohan’s nervousness. He had drifte...
Getting down at Vishakapatnam airport Pihu , took the first available taxi towards the inter state bus stand. She had to catch the only bus which went to her sleepy town. She was excited about the trip. Firstly going to the little town and meeting her friend Beena after two decades and to witness the ‘Rath Yatra’ the annual fair. Pihu getting on to the bus realised that nothing much had changed about the rickety bus or t...
THE BOY WHO CANNOT RETURN
Today morning I received the invitation.
It was beautiful. In the background of roses and jasmines, it contained an invitation to the ex-students of class VII of the Infant Jesus High school, Bangalore.
It depicted the photographs of 28 young boys and girls brimming with innocence and happiness.
The photographed encircled in the border...
Mr Jayadev Narayan woke up feeling crankier than usual. He lay in bed, pondering over what made him so angry so early in the morning, when he turned and his eyes focused on the date, glaring in neon from the alarm clock.Of course. The eighteenth of December.Mr Narayan hated the eighteenth of December. He normally used to get away to his sister’s house at least a week before, but she had recently moved to California (a better work opportunity, Mr. Narayan vaguely remembered her saying), and she hadn't outright said he couldn’...
I don't understand why these adults don't mind their own business. I mean, I know I should not have let a stupid kid pull me into an outrageous bet. But at the end of the day, it is my life that is on line, not theirs. Why do they care?
Now I have been dragged to the school Headmistress office. As if she would magically fix everything wrong in my mind.
Sometimes I think, why is it so diff...
The Bleeding Heart
Those displays of concrete lives, real and fiction, have attracted me towards them since I was a child.
As a child, when my mother wanted to take me shopping, I would cry and agree to go when she would let me visit the bookstore nearby.
While she would be shopping for laces and utensils, I would drift off to my paradise.
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