Fiction

Short Fiction — The car turns on, engine roaring to life. Of course it would, its not even two years old. A part of me expected that it wouldn’t, that the engine would fail, leaving me trapped here, stranded with no means of escape. The feelings, they come, but with the constant busyness…

You sit on one of those long, stiff, grey couches with an intimidatingly pleasant view of the city square below. You’ve been there about fifteen minutes now, trying not to fiddle with your briefcase, or check Twitter. You flash a polite smile and raise your eyebrows in a silent hello…

Where fate crosses, reaches its bottom and prime, and never retains with time. —— “World affairs, howe’er glamorous, are but a big dream still! In our short, transient life just how many Autumns chill?” — A. The Loulan Beauty who didn’t get to leave in time has been petrified in the sand for thousands. The flush of two Millennials hasn’t cracked a wrinkle on the desert of Gobi. The prestigious poet Li Bai raised up a goblet and drank in highest delight whilst the last drop…