Stories about short stories

When they sold my pain for their gains

My scars were still fresh. One could see blood oozing out of my fresh and painful wounds. These wounds are what my age-old enemy bestowed me with. My enemy has got numerous weapons, some pierced through me, while some made numerous holes in my body. Holes may fade away, injuries may heal. But what was done to me, to my inner world, will never fade away. It will never heal. My wounds were still afresh; they smelled like agony. I was withering with pain while my family members decided to hold a grand party and enthral their guests with entertainment, entertainment and entertainment. ...

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Unafraid

“Sir, it’s him again” “How many times has he come already?” “This is the seventh time, sir”. “Okay, might as well listen to him now. Bring him in”. “Yes, sir”. The man that came had a hunched back, as if the world around him had shrunk and he had adjusted accordingly. Adjusted perfectly, actually. It was the most comfortable hunch he had seen. “Salam sahib”. “Haan, what can we do for you?” “It’s about my son, he’s been detained by the police for over three months, and he hasn’t committed a crime. We just need your help sahib”. His personal assistant (PA) flinched around him, “Sir ...

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Series 7: Dada Baba and me Part 4 ‘A conversation with death’

Salima left, and took my sanity with her. I hate to admit it but for someone as arrogant as I am, my world turned upside down after an ordinary girl left it. Or so it seemed. I had never seen the side of her that I saw that day. I did not blame her though.   A series of unfortunate, unforeseen circumstances had led to that moment. My weakest moment, perhaps. My drug addiction. My love confession. Everything might have hit her like a freight train. I don’t know how she felt because I never got the chance to ask her. ...

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A love story

Wedding celebrations are a long event in our family. Like any Pakistani family, we were knackered, relieved, and thankful on the last day of my sister’s wedding festivities. By the time all the guests left, we found ourselves nestled around the big boxes of sweets and presents in the wee hours of the night. My father in his preferred seat on the rocking chair. Everything looked in order as the living room was cradled by the slow December breeze of Karachi. I looked into Shereen’s eyes. We had been engaged for six months now. I was just about to ...

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Lub pay aati hai dua bann kay tamanna meri

On December 16, 2014 The Express Tribune blogs desk received many submissions from grief stricken people from all over Pakistan. These people wanted to show their solidarity with the families of the victims. They wanted to mourn the deaths of the students and teachers from the Army Public School, who were brutally massacred by the TTP in Peshawar. Due to shortage of space, we were unable to accommodate many, but we understood that this was a traumatic event in which every Pakistani’s protest should be recorded. So, this post was created as a window for people to come together and ...

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