“My precious, I write to you with a heart full of serenity, for the mere thought of you stills my otherwise bustling day. Countless clouds have gone past the sky since I last breathed in the aroma of your company. And what charming days were those spent walking beside you along the silent stream of spring. I have missed you with each morning and every sunset and would do all in my power to see you again and to speak with you. Tomorrow, I shall send you my royal escort to cordially bring you to me. I sincerely wish that you would oblige to my humble request. Yours, Lucius Psellus” Princess Celina...

Fear had set in her heart… She lay in the darkness, motionless – but the pattern of her breathing gave away her peaceful demeanor – ragged, semi-awake. She turned on her side to emit a series of hacking coughs. The form shifted back into its original position, having emitted an SOS through Morse code – each cough followed by a jerky ragged breath. The room was pitched in reassuring darkness, except this girl. There was no light anywhere about her, yet a reel seemed to be playing in her head… Eyes sealed shut, while her eyeballs seemed to roam under the tightly shut...

I awoke early that morning. The fog still hung low over the lake. The sun rising slowly over the mountains. While the morning dew still held it’s place on each blade of grass. Millions of tiny diamonds reflecting the sun; scattering its light in all directions. The birds chirped there songs in the distance. Letting all the world know the morning had arrived, and the world was once again free from the darkness night held. Shadows crept back. The amber light of the sun Shot high into the air obscured by an overcast grey sky. Everything was once again coming alive with energy. Every breath...

When someone asks you a question, do you measure how long it takes them too respond? The tone in there voice, pitch, intensity, volume? Do any of these things register with you? Which syllables are stressed, and which are not? Should those syllables have been stressed? Would I have stressed those syllables? Did there voice drop in volume when answering there question? Did they speed through there long monologue of an answer.; so that you would have no chance to interject. Did they respond in a slow, and measured speech. As to project an air of confidence, and seeming self-assurance? Did they use...

e-book by Chris Cade Review by Keith Beasley Spiritual Stories may be a comparatively new genre, but as more and more of us seek for meaning in our lives, it’s an important and rapidly growing one. It’s also one that really enables and encourages those new to writing to have a go: it’s healing and it’s liberating. In this guide, Chris clearly and enthusiastically helps us to create . . . and grow. As co-founder (with his wife) of www.spiritual-short-stories.com, Chris Cade has done much to bring Spiritual Stories to a wider audience. This site is not only used by countless new writers but...

In hindsight the strategists just had to agree: the plot had been brilliant. Optimistic, in many respects and, as with pretty much any plot, devoid of the broader picture or awareness of the real nature of universal life . . . but brilliant, none the less. The idea, originating from the Kremlin many suspected . . . in the days when ‘The Kremlin’ had generals and politicians from Warsaw to the Whitehouse trembling in their boots. Now, of cause, it was the Beijing back-rooms from which germs of ideas would spread . . . that would have NATO chiefs scratching their furrowed brows. But...

With sky rocketing cut-offs for admissions in the University of Delhi, students seldom could find the desired college for the desired course. After attending classes at the ‘undesired’ college, they often plan to migrate to the best one in the University as the current one fails to suit their personality. Moreover, social stigma urges them to be placed at the best college, for they could represent them loftily in a social group. These are the topper students of their respective schools, who find themselves ‘out of the place’, when exposed to the globalised world. With increasing globalization,...

Not worth it Just pretending A sound I’m hearing Evryone’s stopped believing But I never will I’ll never be part of their pages I’ve got my owns to fill My own unspoken rages Quiet you don’t see me Truthful you don’t hear me But you just know it’s here The time’s not gone It’s just arrived We’ve shaken hands And now we’re giving chances Not wasting each other Believing in another We’re building up the dream We’re starting up a new lead It’s the tomorrow that came early And some old day that still lives on Regrets shattering you surely Conflicted you are but you shouldn’t...

In days and time when I can really think , I find myself sulking for new horizons There is hope ,solidarity and the tingling enigma of a patriot Then comes a place in time where the parent of enthusiasm is perpetual hope. I see reflections staring back at tangled theologies. The urgency within me , the craving of a breakthrough. In betwixt the realms of hope is the holler against negligence. Submerging in the eloquent verity besieged in my soul. Hoping against hope Fighting against fights Conquering back the essence lost against time Rekindling morality Invoking solidarity I walk , I walk...

From the land of the ever-growing pyramids A special breed of hominids From the lands of the south With shrub strands held in mouth From the coasts of the west Where pure gold resides best From the deserts of the east Where the sun rises for man and beast To the center of our land Where we cut out every tear gland “WE ARE COMING!” From the lips of schoolkid raising an answering finger To the tongue of the mother tasting stew made with ginger From the ear of the hunter listening for hoofsteps To the eye of the pilgrim taking footsteps From the screams of the woman birthing beneath a...