My story The Perpetual Traveller has been published in an online literary community called New Asian Writing and I am very excited about it. New Asian Writing compiles short stories, essays, novel extracts and poetry from Asian countries. At the end of each year they publish and Anthology of short stories in print. New Asian Writing has a collection of enthralling short stories by both aspiring and published authors. What is interesting about NAW is that it houses short stories from all corners of Asia. So you might be reading a story about a culture you have not read about earlier. Please ready my story there and enjoy it and please do not forget to leave a comment.

Thank you and have a wonderful day!

http://www.new-asian-writing.com/2369/the-perpetual-traveller/

I stood at the edge of the forest both enticed and reluctant. Behind me the village beckoned. Houses with chimneys from where wisps of smoke coiled upwards promised me home and hearth.  The warmth of home and hearth lulled me to take a step back. But a deathly cold air escaped the forest and fanned my hair. A deep chortling laughter rumbled somewhere in its belly. The rumbling vibrated causing the moss under my feet throw up tiny stones and tickle the roof of my feet. Of all things dark and sinister, of all things evil and mean that awaited me in darkness anywhere, this one was certainly the blackest and I took a step forward nonetheless.

All the chapters in The Daisy Lemmas Riff have been awe inspiring, projecting a magnitude of creativity born within such wondrous minds. To keep up with the mystique of each chapter, I hereby present my own. Please forgive me if I may have deviated from the central theme.

You are not accustomed to me, but I am. I have watched you, followed you and sometimes protected you. You are most dear to me and I require you to see me now, without losing anymore time. I bid you to come by the bridge over Black’s brook after midnight and we shall meet. Come alone.
Your well wisher
A

‘They say that shadows of deceased, Do haunt the houses and the graves about, Of such whose life’s lamp went untimely out, Delighting still in their forsaken hosts’. – Joshua Sylvester (Poet, 1563-1618)

I have seen that many of us are simply appalled by the very mention of ghosts. They do not possess the nerve to talk or hear about a haunting. I do not know whether it is  the concreteness of death, that a ghost of a dead person perplexes them so, or it is that, the thought of waking from the dead as  a possibility baffles them to such a great degree, that a mere mention of ghosts or a haunting sends them bolting for the door.