I She wakes up to the scent of wild flowers; the heat; it is dark. An arm around her waist. She tries to turn to face him. It is not easy. His other arm encircles her and helps her turn. “Are you cold?” he asks, peering into her face. She shakes her head. She cannot see him clearly. He seems to be looking at her…
Observing him for the first time since he brought her home, she noticed his bright eyes changed from green to grey and then, a mystifyingly maddening blue. She smiled as he handed her the swirling ochre drink. His room, illuminated by flickering candles positioned carefully around it, was furnished sparingly. “Lonely,” she mused; smiling into the alluring spectrum of his eyes as he shyly gazed…
I have something to tell you. You would think it’s a rat, roaming around inside the walls. It makes a strange, scratching sound like someone trying to get out. I, of course, will never let it escape. Why should I? It never would come back if I did. I feel better with it trapped inside the substantial walls of my house, always moaning and screeching to…
He is really well-dressed and graceful,’ she thought as he knocked at the door. She was so engrossed in watching him that she didn’t realise it had been five minutes since he had been standing there. ‘Mother, Uncle Sikander still hasn’t opened the door,’ she shouted. Maybe a bit too loud because the young man turned around and looked straight at her. She whipped away…
She believed in angels,in starry nights andrainbow coloured dreams. She believed in smiles,in flying bears andbright pink fairies. She believed in love,in joyful giving andwarm glowing togetherness.This little dove,In a dress stained crimsonand cheeks lacking skin,What does she believe now,as she lies strewn over the battle field?
