Essay
The Junked Doorbells
An intimidating squeal at the midst of the night left me awake. The shout was repetitive and via the window mesh of my room I tried to figure out what was going on. I could make out a man’s figure, though blur, shouting uncontrollably with few people trying to get hold of him. I surmised him to be a drunkard, dismissed the matter and slid back into my blanket. Only after few minutes of him being dragged inside did he appear again shouting more profoundly and this time, the words & the figure more clear. “I could see him, he’s a ghost, he’s here, he’s talking to me, he’s not leaving me alone, What do I do’, these were the words landed to my ears while I was discreetly trying to ascertain the matter. Both of my brothers were also awake and one was already struck with fear. The figure on the road still shouting horribly, started marching towards neighbouring gates and thumped them as hard as he could. One gate after the another, ours was no exception. We were tenants dwelling on the first floor of the house so the banging at our entrance didn’t reach clearly to our now wary ears. Ten to fifteen minutes into the dreary scene and finally no voice was heard and no figure appeared thereafter.
By Maitri Painuli2 years ago in Critique
A Family Nobody
Does anyone out ever feel like they are a family nobody? Actually, this is about me and that is how I feel 95% of the time since moving South. My sister moved me and my mom down here to help my mom, but underneath the reason was to try and get her first daughter's now ex-husband out of the house for he was lazy and not a really nice type of person some would say two-faced most of the time. It has now been 12 years since moving down here and my mom has gone to heaven and now, I am pretty much alone.
By Mark Graham2 years ago in Critique
Birthday Parties
What is a birthday? Birthday parties is how we celebrate the day that someone was born, and I know that we all know that but does the person really want to celebrate that day or would just like to be remembered on the day of their birth. We all do not like being the center of attention and I am one of those that would like just to be remembered somehow. I do not want cake or presents, but maybe a special card would be nice though. I know that I am or was a teacher and they are the center of attention in a classroom but that really is not the same as someone singing Happy Birthday to you and you really know that they really do not want to be there.
By Mark Graham2 years ago in Critique
Why Rich Kids Lack the Virtues of the Poor
Recently, I had a conversation with a colleague of mine. Upon conversation, the topic of our future arose. We pondered extensively on what we wanted to improve in ourselves. I wasn’t surprised by his quick response. He exclaimed that all he wanted was luxury (clothes, networking, mansions). Now, my colleague has always been a man of envy. Since we met, he has been throwing tantrums about all the sports cars and luxury brands he adores. On certain occasions, he would compare his clothes to mine. Whether it was for validation or a deep stem of insecurity is unknown. But, his overall persona is the pinnacle of consumerist ideology.
By CARLOS Alexander Guillen2 years ago in Critique
Book reviewing
For the past few years, I have been a volunteer book reviewer for several online sites. Honestly, I was looking for a paid position to review books for say Publisher's Weekly and a few other companies, but they have never let me know one way or another. Being a book reviewer, one learns a lot and it does get lonely at times as does being a freelance writer but that does not bother me. Books are great company for me. Books are our friends.
By Mark Graham2 years ago in Critique
Kingdom of Nepotism, Oligarchy, and Hidden Ambitions (KONOHA)
The Kingdom of Aethelred hummed with a discontent that vibrated beneath the surface of its forced merriment. King Edgar, a man of portly stature and even grander ego, sat upon his throne, a monument to excess in crimson velvet and ostentatious jewels. Around him, courtiers tittered and bowed, their smiles as thin as the fabric of their loyalty.
By Moharif Yulianto2 years ago in Critique








