And if the snow could scream, it would. It bled already, like a woman prematurely losing the life in her womb, the carnage dripping down the barks of the trees, the scalding hot blood melting the thin layer of frost as it snaked down the wood. The whole forest reeked…

And if the snow could scream, it would.

“Run, Carmine.”

That voice was in my head, instructions from my own common sense. My feet fell heavy and hard on the damp foliage. I wanted to be swift. In my head, I commanded my muscles to obey but my body was…

I hack away at the street console that the RA has sanctioned me to fix. This one is old and rickety and wouldn’t budge. I’ve been at it for three hours now and running the calculation in my head over and over again, I’m certain this gig has already cost…

Photo by Phuong Tran on Unsplash

“What did you say Eugene did now?” I ask Zel raising an eyebrow in suspicion because I hope it’s not what I think it is.

“He went ahead and cut my hair short, see — ”

Oh, I saw.

“What did we talk about setting boundaries, Zel?” I catch myself…

Quentin’s shoe scuffed against cobblestone. His foot tripped on the damp floor and he was about to fall but the old man gripped the back of his t-shirt and pulled him hard. A chill went up Quentin’s spine which made him notice the thin layer of snow on the road…

Photo by Mel Poole on Unsplash

Writing, essentially, is a string of choices you make about how to deliver information. You can SHOW a detail or you can TELL a fact. Often times, the best way to deliver this information is to conceal it. Or, more accurately, to hint at it. Often times, what’s not on…

Aashi Dhaniya

Stories. Sometimes of words, sometimes of people.

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