Shyam_The Art of Resting_Pink Tights_Devil's Telepathy
Catalog Guide:
Shyam
“Mayaaaa, what on earth are you trying to do “yelled Shyam.” Press the brake damn it, the car is out of control, are you out of your mind, have you forgotten to drive, an ace racer is not able to drive a Cherokee. What is wrong with you, if you don’t put the brakes we will fall off the cliff. “Oh, just shut up Shyam, I’m not able to pull the car to a halt; there is something wrong with the brakes.” I cannot even shift the gears, Oh god, Shyam we are going to die”, yelled Maya. There was screeching sound and a rumble, the car dashed ahead and went topsy turvy and fell off the cliff with a bang...
The Art of Resting
It was late, so Lexi had offered to drive.“Are you sure?” Cara asked, glancing at her smart watch and tapping her fingers against the thigh of her jeans to calculate the length of the four-hour trip, “We won’t get to the lodge before 2am.”“I’ll be fine. I don’t get tired.” Lexi confirmed, extending her hand for the keys. She was used to skeptical faces and cautionary doubts, but as she predicted, an hour later, everyone in the van was asleep, soothed by the hum of tires turning at a steady speed on a highway, and she was very much awake, driving safely to their destination.Lexi been anticipati...
Pink Tights
Elvin lived in a two bedroom ranch house on a street filled with alternating two and three bedroom homes, each looking almost the same and each lined with boxwoods, trimmed exactly three feet tall. www.onedoor.ccA community ordinance required the use of a yard stick.The neighborhood association banned all planting other than what they considered appropriate. They also required approval before painting a house and the front doors had to be either white or for the daring, a sober shade of dark red.Elvin never felt confined or rebellious. He lived his life within established parameters. One morning, while eat...
Devil's Telepathy
It's been a long day and just as I'm about to crash onto my bed, a shiny piece of glass catches my eye. I lift it out of the pile of my postcards. It is a crystal, my crystal. This crystal had clung onto my neck, strung with a piece of black thread, for most part of my childhood. I had believed this crystal to be a wishing one, but never got a chance to find out. Now, at twenty-eight, I don't have much use for a crystal, whether an ordinary one or a wishing one. I shout for Natalie, my fifteen year old sister. I guess it's time to pass it on, maybe turn it into an heirloom and pass it down, ge...