22/4/16 (The End is Nigh)

Earth day, Dhaka, Bangladesh. Temperature  91°F (33°C). Normal human body temperature is 98.6°F (37°C). I’m sitting in my 12 feet by 10 feet room trying to come up something witty to spread on the interwebs but nothing surfacing. I woke up mildly depressed today. Read some amazing poetry before breakfast then blankness fell. Google told […]

At The Edge

In response to the prompt from Friday Fictioneers..

“Water,” she murmurs before all turns black.

Where am I?

Ashen ground meets a starry dark azure firmament in the horizon. A crowd of people is standing in the distance. Getting near, she sees two men sitting in front of a chess board.

“What are they doing?”

“They are in a stalemate.”

“How long?”

“You are new here, aren’t you?”


“Those without nation have to wait until the game is settled between the Rajahs.”

Her left leg is tangled in the wires; the barbs punctured her skin in several places, hooking her upside-down in the border between two countries.

PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

Some context for this story.

Enclave: A portion of territory within or surrounded by a larger territory whose inhabitants are culturally or ethnically distinct. 

There are around 162 enclaves in Bangladesh India border scattered among the two nations. It is one of the most violent borders in the world. People who lived in these enclaves belonged to no nations. Legends has it Rajah of Kuch Bihar and Maharajah of Rangpur used these enclaves as stakes in a chess game. Recently India and Bangladesh agreed on the exchange of enclaves.

Felani was a 15 years old girl who died during crossing the border. She was hanging from the wires untill she died of blood loss. She became a symbol of violence in the India-Bangladesh border here in Bangladesh.

Friday Fictioneers is a Flash fiction community curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff. Add your work here…

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Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

A madman at the end of world

I am reeling from two consecutive earth quakes, a first day of summer with the highest temperature in living memory and some healthy dose of real life. Lost track of what to do again. Stupid human life. All I can think about is Doom and Destruction. Here’s what today’s prompt brought out… 

He sits on a rock with an open notebook in front of him in the ruins of the world. He watches people on the road on their eternal exodus.

“What goes around comes around; Ferdinand circumnavigated the earth,” he shouts.

At night Vasimir engines light up the horizon; rising on pillars of bright smoke to the vault of heavenly bodies. He listens to the rumble, smells the propellants and in his sleep dream of alien skies.

PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham

“This is the tomb of Ozymandias.”

“It’s just some doodles.”

“The children will return.”


“Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair, huh.”




Friday Fictioneers is a Flash fiction community curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff. Add your work here…


Find many more amazing works here…



The Tea-Seller And The Djinn

I wake up to the distant rumble of thunder. It’s already dark outside. I get up and get into the washroom to splash some water in my face. My extended siesta has left me exhausted. After some time I’m outside on the road. Parts of my brain feel like they are still waking up. Need tea, I decide. It’s dusk. A wind howls through the city, trying but failing to cool the heated concretes and asphalts…

Old House

I used to watch the empty old house from my window; two stories tall and moss-covered. My nanny said it was an old palace of a Hindu Jamindar. My friends said a witch lived in it.  My parents never answered.jhardy

I dreamed of it in the bewitching hours. In my dream I flew, underneath everything small like toys. Then I was hovering over the ancient house. Three smiling girls clad in white robes rose from its dark green womb to meet me.

When they demolished it they found long hairs and bones. Adults spoke words like war, army and torture.


All the Funerals and Deaths

When she carried the dead child to the Buddha and told Him her sad story, He listened with patience and compassion, and then said to her, “Kisa Gautami, there is only one way to solve your problem. Go and find me four or five mustard seeds from any family in which there has never been a death.”

In this dark room my cell phone scree…