notregularblogger

The cool iron walls surrounding the island was stiffening my muscles. I had been here for two hours and I was already feeling homesick. Every time the tides hit one of the walls, the entire building would vibrate, which didn’t receive my vote of confidence. “Why is this facility still open? I thought it was closed and wasn’t allowed to be used for anything other than tourism,” I asked the head of the operation Alcatrax. “Now, now Ms. Coral. One question at a time please. Also, your agency didn’t specify the level of clearance you have on our project here. You said you were an intern?” “Ye-yes Mr. Broadway. I’m just starting as a journalist, currently working as an intern at The Unriddle.” “Ah! One of the upcoming properties in journalism. You should be proud your parent company handed you this massive project.”   It seems more like they pushed this job onto me, MR. BROADWAYYY! “So, now that I’m here, do you mind if I ask some questions, Mr. Broadway?” ...

My Dad, Donald, was a good man. He was known as ‘Angel of the sad’. A well-deserved title, due to his habit of travelling and helping people out. After a successful venture as a doctor, Cardiologist to be exact, he indulged into something that could be referred as a doctor’s nightmare. After successfully operating on a child, he found out that the heart was not the right match. Somehow, the child’s parents pulled strings and acquired a heart which didn’t suit the child’s body. That resulted in child’s death couple of days later. My father was enveloped with guilt. He had quite a fortune, which he ended up giving to the child’s parents for their grief. My father was penniless, and thought it was good enough for him to start from a scratch. But it wasn’t. He thought a life couldn’t be compensated through monetary means. At this time, The United Nations heeded to his thought and approached him for a new initiative they were launching. “Vishnu Next Door” was launch...

I was in the kitchen chopping onion when water in the pan started overflowing. I rushed to its side and removed the lid. The pasta didn’t come out of the pan, a relief. I went back to chop the vegetables when I realized that we didn’t have any pasta sauce left. “Mad, go to the store and get me some pasta sauce.” “Yes, Mam,” I heard in the background. It had been three weeks since we came to Nepal. Since we were unclear about the present status of our objective, we decided to shift the focus on Mad’s health. She was forced to rest until she could walk again properly. In the meantime, we found a small house to rent in the middle of the town of Kathmandu. We wanted to be done with our objective and go home as soon as- A cellphone call broke my train of thought. It was Mad’s. Maybe she took my phone and was calling on hers to contact me. I let go of the knife and wiped off my hand on the apron I was wearing. Her phone was on the bed covered with sheets. I found it ...