A short story by Lydia Kwa
She was sleeping on some dirty newspapers and there was a puppy lying next to her.
I was beautiful once.
Again, she is late and again, her husband sighs.
You could call my dad a lot of things, but he wasn’t troubled. It’s other people who were troubled by him, especially Mr. Banayat.
The old woman hears the sound from her bedroom and her heart drops.
There would always be the whispers.
I have always liked staring at the moon.
There are too many trees, there’s too much green and I haven’t had coffee in 5 hours.
A biraddali will not back down.