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Adwitiya Borah
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Words and Art: The Old Guitarist
‘Let’s do
something fun tonight’, she told me just the way she tells me every other
night. I looked around my sad little room- its fading yellow walls, dirty gray
curtains, tight shut windows, worn out books with a layer of dust on top of
them, and an old g...

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Words and Art: The Race
Run along,
kid- don’t be afraid. Your fears will show you the way. And although you’ll never find your home, You may choose this path: There’s only one you get. No no, don’t look down! Don’t scare the monster under your bed. Just climb down the vacuum to th...

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Words and Art: Apathy
Let the
world burn, honey There’s no reason to be sober For God is, but long dead The mindless have taken over. Come. We’ll do something fun today Walk through the hungry, Blow smoke on their faces! They’ll look at us with sunken eyes Wonder: is apathy more...

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Words and Art: Ordinary
And now I
know how- To blend in To move with the crowd Do what everybody else does Embrace the ordinary Because ordinary is so beautiful! Laugh. Smile. Walk. Talk. Die. Like trees rooted to rules But at least they keep us breathing. Sigh. You’d never know, ...

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Article: This Love Thing
how it’s going to be now: you shall expect me to love you and I shall break
your heart, again and again and a few more times after that. I’m weird around
love, you see; around the whisperings and the butterflies, the red roses, th...

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Words and Art: Distorted
Distorted If my face
could take the shape of all that my mind is going through, I guess I would look
like a hurricane: disastrous on the circumference. Or maybe like the feeling
you get when you stand dangerously at the edge of a cliff: a mixture of fear

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Love Stories, Sometimes.
Love Stories, Sometimes. “I fell in
love with the way the curves of her slender body complemented the curls in her
hair and the glitter in her smile. She had large kohl-lined eyes, long nails,
the fairest skin and a voice so sweet it could put a nightingale...

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Article: Broken
BROKEN She picked up the shards of her
broken heart and laid them down in front of me like a corpse laid down for
post-mortem. Well, she had very little of it left and even amongst those most of
the pieces were damaged. Eyes swollen from having cried for

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Short Story: Dialogue
DIALOGUE The alley
was dark and eerily quiet. A  street-light  on the corner flickered for a while and
eventually gave up. Two figures, each standing up against a wall, stood facing
each other. One of them was tall, some six feet tall. The other was four. T...

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Short Story: Can I be a Dreamer?
Can I be a dreamer?                                      “Jena,
don’t put your hand out of the window!” her mother scolded from the front seat.             Jena
sulked and put her hand inside. “Why not?” she asked.             “A
car might hit you.”        ...
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