Joined: 15 June 2007
A young woman dashed across the street, her bag held over her head in a futile attempt to protect herself from the onslaught of rain. Her run was short, less than a minute long, still she was drenched by the time she stood at the door to Madiha's Masti. She wrung her dark hair, trying to make herself appear more presentable before giving up. It was not as though she needed to impress the person she was meeting anyways, and it was cold outside. She needed coffee, she decided as she pushed open the door. The bell chimed above her, and a familiar head of brown curls exited the kitchen.
The owner of Masti greeted her cheerfully. "So, the usual?" Madiha's eyes twinkled, handing her regular customer a towel she had procured.
The other woman smiled gratefully, putting her bag down onto the counter and slipping out of her orange jacket. She rubbed herself down briefly before asking, "Is she here yet?"
Madiha did not need clarification. There were only a number of people who frequented her cafe as often as this group of friends, and only one other member of said group was here at the moment. "At your table."
Another smile was flashed in her direction before the young woman picked up her stuff and walked towards the table by the corner. One hand held the towel to the base of her neck as she continued to dry her hair distractedly.
"Have you seen this rain?" her friend greeted her, staring out in awe at the sleek of water pouring from the heavens.
She shot her friend and incredulous look. "Seen?" she scoffed. "I was caught in it, genius." She sank gratefully into the chair opposite her companion. "Why'd you call me here anyways?"
A smirk graced the other woman's face, her striking grey eyes gleaming. A rumble of thunder seemed to coincide with the wariness that grew in her friend's heart. The weather complemented her mood. Something was going to go wrong. Lightening lit up the sky, casting their faces into unearthly shadows.
"I have a plan," her friend placed her fingertips together. The darker haired girl was half-expecting suspense music to play.
"For?" she prompted.
Grey eyes lit up with mischief. The other woman did not know if she should be worried or excited. The pair leant forward across the table and began to conspire. They missed an oddly dressed man take a seat the table next to theirs. He leant to one side, his hat obscuring his face from view.
He left only when they did, gleefully swinging their hands in time to the song they sang. He walked quickly in the opposite direction. He had information.
Elsewhere, a young man put a leg onto his desk, frowning at the file in front of him. His secretary paged him, and his frown deepened. He would give anything to have a hot secretary.
"Sir, you have a phone call," the tinny voice informed him.
He grunted in reply and picked up the phone. "Bass," he greeted curtly.
The pen he had been twirling slipped out of his fingers as he sat upright. "Is that so?" he breathed, his lips tilting upwards. "Good work Humphreys. Remind me to give you a raise."
He paused. "Alright then, remind me to start paying you."
He hung up the phone, his work forgotten. He stood up, letting the papers fall to the floor. He was gleeful, the rain doing nothing to dampen his mood. He glanced out the high-rise building to the sprawling metropolis beneath him. The Upper East Side was going to be quite shaken up with this news.
A doorbell rang in an apartment close by. A woman hastily switched off the gas and set aside her cooking before rushing to get the door. She opened it and a figure furtively stepped in, looking around suspiciously. The hat and trenchcoat were a dark brown, and completely wet.
"What the -" she looked in confusion at the man in front of her.
The figure help up a hand. "I have information for you," his voice was husky, and the hand did not match the whole picture. The 'man' had dainty hands, too small to belong to a male. The voice too, sounded fake. The woman rolled her eyes and yanked off the hat. Long dark hair tumbled down a familiar face.
"Meera," the 'man' whined. "Tum puri effect kharaab kar rahi ho!"
"Ravjot," Meera started. "Why are you wandering around dressed like a guy? Aur woh bhi, inn kapron mein?"
"Main kissi ka peecha kar rahi thi," Ravjot stated matter-of-factly. "And when you hear what I have to tell you, you'll be thankful."
"You were following someone?" Meera asked incredulously. "Why?"
"Kyunki mujhe shaq tha," Ravjot paused for dramatic effective. "Aur woh shaq sahi nikla."
"Kaunis shaq? Kaisi shaq?"
"Bhavna and Nonee are planning something." Ravjot declared. "I overheard Nonee call Bhav to Masti, and got suspicious, so I followed them there today."
Meera wrinkled her nose. When those two decided to plan something, things went horribly wrong. "What are they planning this time?"
Ravjot hesitated. "Woh kya hai ki, tumhe acha nahi lagega," she bit her lip.
"Kya acha nahi lagega?" Meera was getting annoyed.
Meera blinked. "Again, and slowly this time.
"They're matchmaking," Ravjot said. "You and a friend of Chuck's. Chuck doesn't know," she added. "Or didn't. I'm pretty sure Dan's told him by now, and he'll do something, you can be sure of it. Especially since he and Nonee had that fight last week."
Meera rubbed her forehead. "Didn't that last disastrous attempt with Asma and Eric teach them anything?"
"Well, it's not as though they knew about Farhan," Ravjot commented. The glare she received from her friend made her shrink back. She mimed locking her mouth and throwing away the key.
"And then the whole situation with Sameer and Shifali," Meera went on. "They almost broke them up!"
Ravjot let her friend rant, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking up.
"Ab tum chup chap kharey rahogi ya kuch kahogi bhi?" Meera demanded.
"Tum bol rahi thi, toh maine socha," Ravjot trailed off. "Adi ko phone karey?"
Meera nodded. "That could work. He is one of the few people who can control those two."
A crash of thunder punctuated her remark, causing Ravjot to jump and shriek. Meera smiled grimly as she picked up the phone and dialled the familiar number.
"Hello?" It was a female voice that answered. Meera was stunned.
"Radz? What are you doing with Adi's phone?" Aradhna sighed at the other end.
"Adi's ranting about how his sister is trying to meddle in his life again, and he's convinced she's plotting something," Aradhna sounded bored as she explained things to her friend.
"Nonee is planning something," Meera informed the younger girl. There was a beat, then muttered curses. "And Bhav's helping," she added. The curses grew louder and more inventive.
"I'm putting you on speaker, I think Adi needs to hear this as well." There was a beep sound, then Meera heard Adi's voice.
"What's the brat planning?" his fury was palpable even to Meera, and she was far from where he was.
"Don't worry Adi, it's got nothing to do with you," Meera soothed. "This time."
Aradhna spoke. "It's you isn't it?"
Meera sighed. "Yup. Lemme put you guys on speaker, Ravz has the information."
Ravjot bounded over to where Meera stood. "Radzie!" she squealed. "Are you and Adi dating?"
There was silence for a second before the two girls could hear peals of laughter over the line. The laughter was dying down when there was a muffled snort from Aradhna, and laughter broke out again.
"So no then?" Ravjot was disappointed.
"Absolutely not," Aradhna giggled. "I'm still on the BhavAdi bandwagon thank you very much."
Adi's laughter stopped abruptly. "You're supposed to be on my side!"
"I'm on the side that allows me to have the most fun," Aradhna retorted.
"Guys, focus," Meera scolded. "What do I do?"
"Go on the date," Aradhna replied promptly. Meera gaped in response. "Oh, close your mouth sweetie, and hear me out." Meera dutifully obliged while Ravjot wondered how Aradhna could see them from wherever she was with Adi. "Whenever the two of them attempt to matchmake, they follow the same framework. First, they'll arrange an event whereby the two they're trying to hook up will meet. Then, they'll arrange for the two to be left alone. And then, they spy on that couple."
"So, what?" Meera queried.
"So, you pretend like you don't know what's going on," Aradhna answered. "When whichever one of them calls you up, you agree to the plan, act normal. Then, when the day comes, you embarrass the heck out of them at the date."
Meera felt the beginnings of a smile. "That would be fun," she mused. "Can I call Chuck to help? He already knows."
"Chuck is one of the best people to help you," Aradhna admitted.
"And it's one of Chuck's friends that they're setting Meera up with," Ravjot piped up. "So he can help Meera, inform the guy beforehand."
"What's his name?" Aradhna asked, curiousity peaking.
Ravjot racked her brains. "Nick? No, no, Nate! Nate Archibald."
Aradhna gasped. "Nathanial Archibald?" she squealed. "Oh he's so cute, and so sweet."
"You know him?" Adi asked her.
"Yup, pretty well. He's a good friend of Blair's."
And that did explain everything. Aradhna had been living with Blair since their first year at New York University, and even after graduating from NYU, and Blair's engagement to Dan Humphreys, the two still stayed together. So it was obvious that she would have met this Nate.
"You know," Aradhna mused. "You and Nate would make a cute couple."
"Aradhna," Meera's voice held a note of warning.
"I'm just saying," Aradhna defended. "But now we have a plan, I'll talk to Blair, you call Chuck, and we'll send Adi with Starbucks to Bhav so that she'll spill the nitty-gritty details."
"Why do I have to go?" Adi asked.
"Because, one smile plus a dark chocolate mocha frappe and she'll love you for life," Aradhna explained. "Bye Meera, Ravz!"
"Bye you two," Meera replied. Meera hung up the phone only to spot Ravjot giving her a weird smile. "What?"
"Nothing," her friend sing-songed. "Can I stay here tonight?"
"Oh-kay," Meera gave her friend a look.
Ravjot skipped off towards the spare room before spinning around. She grabbed her head. "Head rush," she said. "One more time," she twirled quickly and once again, held her head with a hand. "That was fun," she giggled.
"Did you want something?" Meera asked in amusement.
"Oh, yeah," Ravjot giggled again. "I almost forgot. I need a change of clothes." She tugged at her wet shirt.
"Grab something from my closet," Meera told her friend, picking up the phone and dialling.
Ravjot nodded and turned and skipped off again, singing something under her breath. Meera shook her head and waited for someone to pick up the phone.
Three Months Later
Adi had an arm wrapped around his fiance, the beam on his face almost blinding. Or so his friends teased him. Bhavna's cheeks were flushed, and she kept stealing glances at the ring on her left hand. Aradhna shook her head in amusement. Another couple caught her eye, and she grinned.
Three months ago, Nathanial Archibald and Meera Dave had met up on a blind date, only the people setting up the blind date had not told them of the fact. Still, thanks to some pretty good spying on the part of Ravjot, the two had been warned in advance and had managed to turn it into a double date by dragging Chuck and Nonee along. The entire meal was spent with Meera embarrassing her younger friend, and Nate subtly egging her on. They had parted as friends, but two days later, Aradhna had gotten a phone call from Nate asking for Meera's number. They had never heard the end of it from Bhavna and Nonee.
Nate now bent forward slightly to whisper something in his girlfriend's ear which had her giggling slightly. Blair and her new husband only chuckled at the picture, Dan hitting his long-time friend's shoulder lightly to gain his attention.
"I cannot believe you Chuck Bass," Nonee seethed from somewhere close to Aradhna. The young woman sighed, wondering what had happened now that had the couple arguing before deciding that it was none of her business.
She made her way through the crowd to the balcony, cursing Bhavna for making her wear a dress. It was a pretty dress, but still, she never wore dresses and Bhavna knew that. Her shoulder hit somebody and the glass in her hand tilted. There was a wet brown stain on the young man's once pristine white shirt. Aradhna gasped. She opened her mouth to apologise.
"Dekh kar nahi chal sakti kya?" the man snapped, eyes blazing.
"Hello," Aradhna retorted, anger overriding common sense. "Galti ho gayi. Lekin tumhe aise baat karne ki koi zaroorat nahi," she sniffed haughtily. "Sadoo kahi ka."
"Sadoo?" the man repeated. "What do you think of yourself? The mistake was yours and you're insulting me?"
"I would have apologised if you hadn't been so rude," Aradhna replied. "But now I'm glad I ruined your shirt," she bit out. She turned on her heel. Her hair hit the man on his face, and he frowned, but she did not notice as she stalked off.
On the other side of the room, Bhavna exchanged glances with Nonee, identical smirks on their faces. Meera sighed and shook her head. "No," she said firmly.
"Come on Me," Nonee pleaded. "It worked for you?"
"And everyone else you tried?" Meera raised an eyebrow. "Your track record is horrible. So, no."
Bhavna attempted to look for backup from one of their other friends but Asma was curled up next to her husband on a chair, one of her hands resting on her now-showing belly. Shifali and Sameer, Prem and Zahra were at the table with them, and the six were deep in conversation. Ravjot was flirting, somewhat successfully, with a friend of hers. Saksham was playing with her hair, and Bhavna had a feeling Ravjot had no idea what she was saying. The rest of their friends were scattered around the room, and they were more than likely to sabotage this plan then to help.
Nonee sighed, defeated. "Fine," she groused. "I won't matchmake A with Adi's college friend, despite the fact that Mayank and A are perfect for one another."
Meera just looked at the younger woman. "You had better not," she remarked. "Aradhna knows many things about you that would interest Chuck," Bhavna chuckled. "And about you," Meera added drily. The smile fell from Bhavna's face.
Meera shook her head and started towards Nate. She could only hope that they would behave.
It was another rainy day. And like every other of its kind, it came like a sheet of gloom that covered the entire city of New York. Whenever this happened, people tended to withdraw into spaces that would lend them some cheer, which is what most of them did that day too. But in a secluded, slightly cluttered street, there was one little group huddled at their doorstep, who knew no semblance of cheer at that moment. Angela's husband, Will, had died that morning, along with their daughter Hailie. The two of them had dropped her at the door of the Legal Aid office, and she had never seen them alive again. She couldn't forget their faces in the dim glow of the morgue, their eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling as she stood at a distance. Walking out of there, the prospect of facing the world outside had been so frightening that she had almost closed her eyes for fear of what she would see, as though all she ever cared about was in the room she was leaving, and everything outside was just too trivial for her hollow heart to care about, and too hard for her waning strength to bear. Back home, just as she had begun to crumble under the weight of ceaseless thoughts of what she'd have to face at the funeral and after, she had felt a hand tenderly slip through hers. She had looked up warily to see two faces, both with an expression that spoke straight to her heart. She was not the only one to have lost two people she loved that day. She was staring at the faces of her twins, Mark and Chris, two men, still boys to her, who were shedding silent tears for their own grief, as well as their mother's. And it was that sight that broke her, more than anything else. Tears came before she had time even to reach for Chris, who was the one holding her hand. The three of them had sat there in a tight embrace, each attempting to comfort the other as well as himself, in a collective grief, and a collective search for solace.
Mark and Angela now stood huddled at the door, seeing off friends and family members who had arrived to pay their respects at the funeral. The only remaining guest now took his leave, and Mark turned to his mother with a sigh. "You're drenched, Ma. Get inside before you catch a cold." Angela barely heard him. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, "Ma'" She started, looked at him, still a bit dazed, and said vaguely, "Sweetheart, you're drenched'get inside before you catch a cold." They heard a light splashing as Chris came into view, sprinting towards the house. "Here, Ma. Got Dad's stuff from Mr. Greene's office." He looked at her face, lined with so much pain, "It's getting heavier, the rain. Let's go in, come on," he turned away, and went into the house before either of the other two could notice the tears in his eyes. Mark, who hadn't needed to see, gave his mother's hand a gentle squeeze, and went in after him. She stood there, absolutely still. From being a mad rush of thoughts and images, her mind had now gone to being a complete blank. All the guests apart, it was one particular face that kept coming back to her, as she recollected the events of just a few minutes ago. She had seen a big, luxurious car drive up to the door, and had watched a man in a black suit step out of it and make his way into the gathering. His face had at once seemed familiar, although she did not initially understand why. The lone White man in a sea of Blacks, he had drawn quite a bit of attention, not just because of the conspicuousness of his skin, but also because of the expression of very obvious discomfort and contempt he wore as he searched for the woman he was looking to find. Having spotted Angela, he had walked up to her and asked her to step aside for a word in private. He had then addressed her thus: "Mrs. Glover, my name is Ethan Powell, your husband worked for me, he'was a part of my factory workers' Union. So sorry to hear of your loss. Strange how life can take a sudden turn' I have not been in town for the past three days, and thought of coming by here personally to pay my respects. I hope you do not mind, I'ahem'have brought you a little something which, well," and he had handed her a sheaf of crisp bank notes. Silent for a moment, she had looked from the money in her hand to him, and had been overcome by disgust. She knew this man, Will had spoken of him quite often. Will and many of his fellow factory workers had been struggling against his thoroughbred racist policies, denying them promotions or a pay rise for years together, and treating them with the utmost contempt. She had handed the money back to him, and had quietly asked him to leave. His face had flashed a look of absolute outrage, that a Black woman should have the audacity to look him in the eye and tell him to leave. But a woman who has just lost two reasons to live doesn't care much for audacity, or pompous, arrogant men looking down upon her. It was only after he had left that she had realized that his face was familiar for more than one reason.
She raised her eyes up to the sky. Was it true, what everyone said? What everyone had said at the funeral? That there was a Higher power, watching over you? All she could see was heavy, grey-black clouds. Even clear blue sky seemed like a long lost dream. Where was this Higher power? Where had it been when they had needed it most? When Will had sat around for a job for two years, denied so many opportunities because the colour of his skin didn't match that of the people who worked there? Where was it when this very colour had cost him his life, in a silent by-lane, at the hands of seven drunk, white men who had held him down and violated his 12-year-old daughter, murdering her right before his eyes, and then beaten him till life left him too? She put one hand to her head. Too many questions. She turned around, and made her way back inside.
* * *
It was nearing twilight, as two men sat across a table at a Caf, conversing in urgent, hushed tones. They made an odd pair. This was one of those Cafes frequented by rich, luxurious men and women. Rich, luxurious, and White. The presence of a Black man was therefore something of a revelation. And that too, brought in by one of their own kind: a well attired White man, who sat at the other end of the table. They appeared to be arguing about something, with animated gestures and expressions, although not a word of it reached anywhere beyond the only occupied table next to theirs, where a man sat alone wearing a heavy black coat and a hood that hid his face from view. He was drinking in every word of the conversation. The Black man was saying, "I've been keeping an eye on her. After you met me at about 1.30 outside my office, I went straight to her neighbourhood. She was still busy with the funeral, I don't think she's up to anything so far." The White man nodded, "Hmm'but keep an eye on things for some more time. You never know. They aren't always as savage and stupid as they look." After a few more minutes, the two men stood up, and made their way towards the door. The man in the coat followed. He walked a few paces behind them, and kept himself as clearly out of their vision as he possibly could. The two men parted ways just as the lane ended. The Black man went off on his way to the right, while the White man got into his car and drove off towards the left. The man in the coat made his way towards his bike, and rode off in the direction of the car.
Powell smirked as he placed the receiver back on the instrument. His man had done a good job, a second time over. Strange, how handy these middle class kinds could be at times like these. Would do all the dirty work for you, and clean up the mess too. Arranging for the end of Will Glover, on of those absurdly principled men who become an insufferable pain after a while of vain negotiation, had not been an easy task, but Dan Stevenson was a man of resources. He had arranged for a perfect lynching incident. No questions asked. This happened everyday in some by-lane in the city. How many of these miserable creatures could the police track after all? Pity the 12-year-old had been collateral damage. Minor miscalculation. Had given the group a fair share of fun though, perverts that they were, the lot of them. Things were fairly settled now, as far as Glover's family was concerned. Stevenson had even hired one of their own kind to spy on them, some Black private detective who'd not look an oddity in their filthy Black neighbourhood. And by the account he had given, these people seemed to have accepted the lynching as a lynching and nothing more. Pathetic, miserable vermin, Powell thought to himself. What could they do to a man with his kind of power? Here he was, in a suite in the city's most luxurious hotel. As far as everyone knew, he hadn't even been in the city when it had happened. There was no way they could pin this on him. As he sat there, musing over his success, the calling bell rang to the room right across the corridor from his. The door opened halfway, to let in a man in a coat. "I have the information."
It was nearing midnight, as Powell sat with Stevenson in the warehouse, waiting. Stevenson had informed Powell that his Black detective had finally unearthed a pathetic little scheme to go to the police. Something about knowing that he was in the vicinity when the incident had occurred, claims to an eye-witness and some such balderdash. Powell could have laughed it off. He had made sure no one had seen him when he was there, at the corner of the by-lane. He couldn't trust anyone, not even his White middle-class associate. He had to ensure things were carried out perfectly, and so, had been in his car, as a silent and inconspicuous spectator. But Stevenson had pointed out that it's always better to be cautious. He had a point. Powell asked him to do the needful, as usual. And he was there at the warehouse with him, to oversee that things went the way he wanted them to. Stevenson had arranged for his Black detective to approach Angela Glover as the son of a friend of her husband's who had also been killed by Powell, and to call her to this warehouse under the pretext of giving her some information that could help her link Powell to her husband's death. She had taken the bait. The Black detective was here too, waiting for the fish with the hook. Powell made sure he stood as far away from him as he could, and didn't have to look at his face, which he had thankfully almost entirely concealed under a hood.
A car pulled up outside. They were here, Glover's wife and her son. He had already seen one of the creatures Glover had spawned, and alas, he would now have to set eyes on another. Stevenson and he were carefully concealed behind a huge iron instrument, while their man welcomed the woman and her son inside with a smile. He reached in for the documents he had promised them, and in one quick moment, had a gun pointing straight at the woman's head. Powell's insides coiled with pleasure at the sight of fear and outrage on their faces. He let out a laugh inadvertently. Now that things were where he wanted them, there was no harm in being a more direct part of the fun. "Well, hello Mrs. Glover, that your son there? Pity even he can't get you out of this one. I told you that day, take the money. You should've listened, and kept your little mouth shut. But no, you think you're so smart, trying to pull a fast one on me. I'll tell you what you really are: you're pathetic, the whole lot of you. Trying to disrupt Nature's order, getting your 'way' in a world where you don't belong'you and that husband of yours," he scoffed. Then he grinned, and said, "Oh well, I've set that one right haven't I. And all it took was a couple of phonecalls. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? Well, here it is. I was the one who had your husband killed. Murdered. Lynched. Take your pick. A few calls here and there, and that was it. And now, I'm doing the same with you. Which is, nothing at all. I never do anything, you see. I'm not even here right now, just like I wasn't in the city that day." Angela raised her eyes to meet his, and the look in them was one so full of loathing, that it unsettled him for a moment. He looked away and directed his gaze at Stevenson, "Go ahead. We're done here." But Stevenson wouldn't move. He was looking directly behind where Powell stood, with a very curious expression on his face. Confused, Powell turned, only to face a gun pointed straight at his own face. His own man stood facing him now, and slowly took off his hood. Powell was stunned. What he was now looking at seemed unreal. It was impossible. How could it be? His man and the lady stood side by side, and just behind them was the lady's son. And the faces of the man holding the gun and the man standing behind him, were exactly the same. I must be going mad, Powell thought. This was a dream. A nightmare he would snap out of in just a moment. But that moment never came. What came instead was the earsplitting sound of police sirens, and the many dark figures that now appeared from behind crevices and corners, running in their direction pointing guns and waving badges. He was saved. They approached the group cautiously and took the gun from the hooded man's hand. But just then, Powell felt a pair of hands grab a hold of him from behind, and handcuff him. "What are you doing?! Do you even know who I am? I'm Ethan Powell. ETHAN POWELL, you hear?! You can't arrest me, you filthy little piece of'" but he was cut short by a sharp blow to his head. This couldn't be happening. He looked at Stevenson, who had already been taken by a pair of officers. He cast about wildly for some kind of an explanation, and his gaze fell on the woman standing in front of him. She seemed to read his mind. "This isn't a dream, Powell. Don't look so disbelieving. This is very, very real. My husband was a good man, and you killed him. I was there. At the counter of the Legal Aid office in the next lane, and I saw what those men did from behind the glass window. I tried to get to them too. It was I who broke the glass that scared your men away. And I saw you sitting in your car, driving away as soon as they were gone. I recognized you the moment you entered my house that morning. I've heard all about you from my husband, Powell. And he's been struggling all these years to give his fellows a better life, with a better place to work, and a better cause to work for. A man like you could never stand that, could he? But his voice was not one to be silenced so easily. Even after he died. I had made up my mind standing at my doorstep, seeing the last visitor leave, that I would not let Will's death be for nothing. Chris had been exiting the same agency your friend here went to that day, and that's where he met him, outside the door. Strange how you claim to be so smart yourself, and yet unquestioningly hire someone during Lunch hour, when no one's working anyway? Your very contempt of me and my kind let you down today, Powell. You didn't know Will and I had twins, did you? You would've known something was odd if you had only been able to stand within a few paces of Chris here, whom your friend hired. But Black people repulse you too much. And this is what you get for it. We may not be as rich and powerful as you, but we can make a living well enough, and set things right where they are wrong, if it lies within our reach. Will's insurance gave us enough to afford a room in your hotel, and that's where we kept an eye on you, and made sure things went the way we wanted them to. As of this moment, there are about a dozen police officers who heard everything you said, along with a tape recorder in my purse just in case. Strange how life can take a sudden turn, right?" She gave him one last, disgusted look, and turned away.
It was another rainy day. But unlike every other of its kind, what it brought with it was not gloom. Angela and her two sons stood just outside their house, eyes closed, feeling the raindrops on their faces. They weren't cheerful, but they felt as though some little blockage inside their hearts had been cleared. Angela opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. It was cloudy and grey-black today too. But she knew, in her heart, that there was a clear blue sky behind it, and a sun that would rise one day, bringing with it a new dawn, for her, for her children, for her people, and for the world.
It is raining heavily in the city of New York. The pounding sheets of rain have infused a certain uncanny sense of foreboding in the city. Two people are sitting and communicating in a cafe. Another person is eavesdropping on them. He listens carefully, as he has to report every small detail to the person who has hired him.
HAPPY VOTING EVERYONE!
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Great, this is up which means my studies are going for a toss!
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Short Story Writing Contest - RESULTS!!
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|U-No-Poo||45||7424||14 January 2010 at 6:09am by karanrocks|
Great resources: Writing programmes and sites!
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DOTM: Writing tips and tricks
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