Stories By 'Pratik Mainali'
You are destructively sentimental in your early adolescent days. You were young, that was for sure, but everything else was pure confusion. Neither a child nor an adult, you too might have been a confused but brooding mass of energy as I was.
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I spent my formative years in the village of Surunga, in the district of Jhapa, on the fringes of a forest. A road was the only thing separating our home from the vast expanse of green. I remember the tall slender trees, with branches jutting towards the sky, creating a cloud of green overhead, the gnarled tree trunks hoisting upward; the faint rustle of the leaves. The ground would always be covered with dead leaves.
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The sound of thunder woke me up in a sudden shock. My eyes were soft with sleep and my body limp. As I threw away the blanket and sat upright, a flash of white came zig-zagging down the sky, striking the earth and rattling everything. For a second, the room lit up and its every detail became visible. I looked at the clock. It was 4 am. A loud rumbling followed soon after and my heart swelled in excitement.
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Tags: collegian
We’re so sorry, sir. The boys mistakenly wired your phone to Mr Karki’s,” said the man in charge, timidly. He couldn’t even look Raghu in the eye.
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He walked on the deserted streets, feeling his jaw tighten as the dusty wind brushed against his face. He dipped his chin under his shirt, dug his hands deep into his coat pocket, narrowed his brow, pursed his lips and kept walking.
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