Fiction Park

Something to fight for

The clouds gathered in the sky, obscuring the sun and washing everything in grey light. He glanced at the darkening sky, gathered his tools and started walking home. He had shivered all night without a quilt to keep warm in the winter air. This is why he had desperately hoped that it would be a sunny day. In the morning, the sunlight had cut through the mist to reveal a bright and beautiful expanse. But before too long, clouds had gathered and blocked the sun, draining everything of its warmth and colours.

Ajay Mishra, Jul 15 2018

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The Batsman and the Bowler

The 52-inch LED television on the wall opposite the entrance to the recreation room is showing a live broadcast of a One-Day International cricket match between India and England. The room is full of people, but few watch the game.

Sudeep Sonawane, Jul 08 2018

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The Officer

Goloman stood five feet tall and his head was shaped like a potato. For ten years, he had served as a secretary to the Department of Rights and Duties; the appointment for which was acquired by his late father who upon his retirement from public affairs had invested skillfully towards establishing important personal connections with important kangresis.


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Maili Dema

Last year, my Maili Dema died. Twice. Literally. The family was waiting for her two children to arrive from Kathmandu for the final rites, and that’s when she woke up—after 14 hours. She was already wrapped and put aside in a different room. Apparently, they heard her mumble, she was wide awake when they saw her. “I wonder if she had already been awake for god knows how many hours and they only heard her then,” sobbed my mother.

Kriti Rai, Jun 24 2018

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A clenched fist

Even the creator is biased. Not everyone is bequeathed with equal beginnings into this world. Some, it seems, are naturally blessed as victors while some are their preordained victims.

AADESH SUBEDI, Jun 17 2018

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The great escape

As the sun shone brightly above her, Bini’s body struggled in the heat. She could feel every inch of her body sweating.

Abha Dhital, May 27 2018

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She had a dream

Neither the girl nor the conjectures ever interested Sameer though. She was not to his liking—but the poems were beautiful


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Dust to dust

We met for the first time in a tempo. We didn’t speak or anything; our eyes met, and that was it. Her curly hair so perfectly framed the broad cheeks that were covered by a surgical mask. Blue, I remember. It was blue; and mine was green.

Subash Chapagain, May 13 2018

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Jhyalkhana: glass prison

The room was full of guests and the atmosphere was of abounding extravagance. As women in sparkly clothes hovered around Laxmi, I walked straight up to the dulahi and handed her the gift. “Badhai chha! Don’t forget us now that you got your life partner,” I teased. In response, she just smiled and her eyes sparkled. She looked beautiful in a bride’s attire. It seemed like the traces of coyness accompanied by beaming hope only added to her charm.

Sulochana Manandhar, May 06 2018

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The moralist of Bhaktapur

The copper gilded finial of Nyatapol Deval gleamed in day light before fawning tourists who, fascinated by the nuances and mystique of Newari architecture, continually snapped photos with visible glee and smiles on their faces. Tourists, sporting Aladdin trousers and Thamel’s printed tops, made their way to Taumadhi Tole which had only just welcomed the arrival of spring with the Bisket Jatra. The tole felt restful with a gentle breeze dancing westwards.

Saurav Bikram Thapa, Apr 29 2018

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Any given Saturday

He sees a two-wheeler pass by every thirty minutes or so, but that’s all the noise there is. He likes it this way. He likes quiet days, even when it’s particularly harmful for the business

Abha Dhital, Apr 22 2018

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