Fiction Park

A confession

I used to be a Byronic hero plagued with melancholic and pensive temperance.

Saurav Bikram Thapa, Mar 26 2017

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Dangling conversations

“….with certitude, Dai, I confide in you that I shall commit suicide at some point of time, plausibly at twenty seven, not because I would get all depressed or heartbroken but that, I would feel enough of love. Maybe too much love will kill me,” I said, rather dryly.

Saurav Bikram Thapa, Mar 19 2017

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A river runs through it

It was raining when Sagar was born. His mother, Saraswati, had walked up to the little prairie north of the village to fetch some grass for the goats.

Sachet Regmi, Mar 12 2017

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HER

He was a lean, tall man with a big black moustache, in his late twenties. He had a full head of black hair, almost a mullet but not quite. His skin was swarthy and you could not call him handsome. He was just a tall man.

Priscilla Prerna Rai, Feb 26 2017

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The Hotel

The flight landed in Kathmandu on November 25, 1:00 am. I had come to Nepal to conduct my psychology research. I looked forward to meeting all kinds of people and learning about their inside-world.

Runa Maharjan, Feb 19 2017

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The right way to say ‘I’m sorry’

Most people say “I’m sorry” many times a day for a host of trivial affronts—accidentally bumping into someone or failing to hold open a door. These apologies are easy and usually readily accepted, often with a response like, “No problem.”

JANE E BRODY, Feb 16 2017

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Fragility of life

One day, back in 1990, I lost my mother to stroke. One of my relatives had come to get me during the lunch hour at school. When I reached home, I found my mother’s lifeless body on the floor, draped in a white fabric.

Tushar Subedi, Feb 12 2017

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A house in Kathmandu

They decided to move to Kathmandu when they realised their love could no more blossom back in the village.

LB Thapa, Feb 05 2017

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When the earth beneath me moved

The first time I discovered that my father cared for me immeasurably was when we went hiking together.

Santosh Kalwar, Jan 22 2017

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Into the abyss and back

It was a sunny morning in Pokhara when I called my wife to tell her that I was leaving for Jomsom.

Anusha Luitel, Jan 08 2017

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Homecoming

Kathmandu’s dust had taken a toll on him. His asthma had flared up the first day he landed at the airport.

Barsha Paudel, Jan 01 2017

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