Category: Fiction

The afternoon I was supposed to sign my employment contract, I walked out the company doors, resolved never to return.

...I was told repeatedly not to go to the end of the block. This was said as if creatures from a distant planet lived there. My mother was of the opinion that the people “at the end of the block” were to be avoided.

Like Jackson Pollack and Mark Rothko, Jokūbas numbered his paintings, refusing to ever give any of them a title or even a date.

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‘I'm creating a pile that can reach heaven,’ explained Sanju.

‘Why?’ asked Chhotu as excitement gripped him.

‘I'll climb right to the top,’ said Sanju ‘and meet God.’

‘Meet Bhagwan!’ repeated Chhotu clapping his hands. Then he paused. ‘Why?’ asked Chhotu.

‘So that I can ask Him to make you less foolish,’ said Sanju feeling happy.

I pushed the housekeeping cart into the middle hallway and braced myself for the day. I’d been a technical writer not long before; this job hadn’t been part of the plan.