Stories By 'Chandra K PJR'
The sun poured out onto the streets. The wind, crisp and dry, howled like a fire storm. And if you blundered to venture out in the sun, you could feel the fiery fingers of heat slip towards your throat to strangle you.
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He was a prodigy: At the age of three he could read Eliot, at four he could play Mozart and by the time he was eight he could breeze through calculus. His teachers feared him and his friends shuddered with envy at his very presence.
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There once was an old man who lived alone in a little cottage—a humble abode, roofed with layers of straw, and its walls plastered with mud. During the summer, the sea breeze would caress its cells
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