averagejane38.wordpress.com
The wings on your back | Just a little thinking...
https://averagejane38.wordpress.com/2010/08/30/the-wings-on-your-back
Just a little thinking. The games children play. A loss and a detachment. I just called to say. The wings on your back. The man who stayed awake. Children’s Stories for Adults (13). Not so much fiction (5). Just a little thinking…. Tea with the birds. The little fluffy cat. Visitors to my site. The wings on your back. As she grew older, she learnt to fly, higher and then still higher. She flew far away from home and her wings grew larger and stronger with each passing day. People saw her flying joyfu...
page210.wordpress.com
White Roses | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/2012/01/25/white-roses
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. January 25, 2012. As a little girl I loved white roses. I’ve grown up now; I know better. When I see a white rose, I ball my fists and pull away from the vicious, spewing thorns. This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 25th, 2012 at 10:17 pm and posted in fiction. The Face on the Poster. Reality Check ». Cha: an asia...
page210.wordpress.com
The Grainy Video | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/2011/11/18/the-grainy-video
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. November 18, 2011. Read my piece, The Grainy Video. On Every Day Fiction. This entry was posted on Friday, November 18th, 2011 at 12:39 pm and posted in fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. The Face on the Poster ». Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Gently on my mind.
page210.wordpress.com
The Face on the Poster | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/2011/11/20/the-face-on-the-poster
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. November 20, 2011. The Face on the Poster. He wonders what the artist was thinking while sketching this one. Was he given a low down of the crimes? Did he have a victim fill his head? Did he judge, frown in disgust at the deeds of wrong piled up, creating a monster? White Roses ». Leave a Reply Cancel reply. You are comm...
page210.wordpress.com
Creative Non-Fiction | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/wanderlust
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. The flying carpet is so passé. I opted for a flying suitcase. It’s worked out well so far – Flying Suitcase. 5 responses to “ Creative Non-Fiction. November 4th, 2008 at 4:26 am. You are very kerouac-ish. November 11th, 2008 at 9:27 am. Abhginav – it’s a long road to Kerouac! November 13th, 2008 at 11:59 am. Gently on my...
page210.wordpress.com
After Her Accident | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/2011/08/18/after-her-accident
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. August 18, 2011. This entry was posted on Thursday, August 18th, 2011 at 7:58 am and posted in fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Buy One, Get One Free. The Grainy Video ». 3 responses to “ After Her Accident. August 18th, 2011 at 8:43 am. November 17th, 2011 at 6:53 am. Stay Off My ...
page210.wordpress.com
Everything | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/2013/05/07/everything
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. May 7, 2013. She is broken. Her head hurts; her whole being hurts. The world, she realizes, is moving too quickly; were once she could shrug it off, now it wears her down. I have everything, she reminds herself as she loses her grip and slips into an abyss; as she drowns without a fight. In Exile ». RT @ Abhinav Bindra.
page210.wordpress.com
neha | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/author/page210
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. July 25, 2013. Read my piece, In Exile. May 7, 2013. She is broken. Her head hurts; her whole being hurts. The world, she realizes, is moving too quickly; were once she could shrug it off, now it wears her down. February 13, 2012. I wanted my world to be delicate and pure and perfect, a world made of ice and lace. When i...
page210.wordpress.com
About Me | Blue Ink Stains.
https://page210.wordpress.com/about-2
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. I am a freelance writer from Mumbai, currently based in Zagreb. In a previous life I used to write advertising copy. Now I write about my travels, create fiction and smile a whole lot more. If you have a question or a comment, feel free to drop me a line at flyingsuitcase[at] gmail [dot] com. October 18th, 2007 at 2:21 pm.
page210.wordpress.com
Blue Ink Stains. | I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. | Page 2
https://page210.wordpress.com/page/2
I grew up in a pile of books, and for the most preferred fiction to reality. I still believe the rabbit hole exists, and this is my attempt to find it – through flash fiction and shorts. August 11, 2011. Buy One, Get One Free. The boy looks bored. His eyes are cold and black, and his mouth is fixed in a sneer. He intimidates her, much like the kids who huddle by the corner of her building. She avoids eye contact even though his eyes follow her. He doesn’t offer any help. It comes to a bag full; the boxes...