Autumn

Every day I am faced with my own mortality
I see it in the dying leaves of fall
The old people I meet in the subway
The young people I work with constantly 
Reminding me that my time is imminent.

So every day I kill myself a little
Not with poison
Not with knives and guns
But by walking, talking, breathing
Every breath I take wearing down
My lungs a little
Every move I make Using up my body
Microscopically at first but the older I get 
Exponentially the damage grows
Till one day when I’m 96 I will take one 
Breath and my lungs will fall asleep.
My heart will pump one. Last. Measly pump
My muscles, already atrophied and exhausted 
From a life time of lifting mugs
Overflowing with emptiness and living will
Let out a sigh of relief as they expire till
All that is left is my brain
Consciousness barely clinging to fleeting life

What will become of ME?
Will I ever be I again?

A Case of Exploding Mangoes

Think Pakistani Catch-22. To call “A Case of Exploding Mangoes” that however, would be to ignore the unique stand alone piece of fiction that it is. Ali Shigri, A young soldier in General Zia era’s Pakistan army seeks answers and retribution for his father’s apparent suicide. Satirical criticism of the military state, this novel is not only hilarious but a rather interesting and beautifully written study on the army world and its idiosyncrasies.

Le Cancre

Splish. Splash. The water resonated mockingly as he swished away at it in his bathtub. Another loss. His team was never going to reach the playoff with this abysmal performance. No worries, at least now he’d have time to finish his model Iron Throne. He never cared much for volleyball anyway. Joining the inter-house team was just an easy way to gain extra action hours for his CAS requirements. He already had well over forty and no fucks left to give. To hell with playoffs, to hell with it all!

He chuckled. He did have quite a flair for the melodramatic. Not a month had passed since stood on the cafeteria tables, face painted blue screaming in protest over the school administration’s latest attack on the student body.

“THEY MAY TAKE AWAY OUR EXEATS BUT THEY WILL NEVER. TAKE. OUR FREEEEDOOOM!”

The room erupted with cheers as let himself fall into a welcoming sea of  undulating hands and ululations. It took five school guards, three teachers and thirty minutes to reign in the budding anarchists. Two week suspension and prep isolation. Not the ideal result, granted, but the exeats remained. A job half well done.