By: Janani A phenomenon that surfaced first in the early 2000s, the “not like other girls” rhetoric finds its roots […]
The love-hate relationship
: An older brother is a father, mother, friend, teacher, annoying personality, wrestler, adviser
for life, motivational speaker, your remote control and a stand-up comedian all in one.
Marie Skłodowska Curie: The woman that defied ‘normal’
By: Johann Cancer awareness day is recognised every year on November 7 in honor of Marie Curie, who was born […]
Ascension of my own reality where I reach a place which is fantastical and perfect is something I personally love to indulge in. However, how safe is this haven, as I look into my circumstances and ascertain the merits of an ascended reality.
Stories Under The Sun
The thing about the sun is that you don’t talk about it.
It is enough to bathe in its presence,
To feel its rays on your skin even when you’re not looking.
It is enough to know it sustains you even when it is beyond
Your hemisphere’s line of sight.
When Barbara’s daughter died, she thought her world had ended; until she noticed something just a little strange with the antique porcelain doll she owned. Insanity or paranormal activity? What’s real and what isn’t?
A sociopath, an arrogant bloke, a mind bending psychopath, but most importantly an extraordinary detective. In this piece, dive into the lore of Detective Sherlock Holmes, his companion Dr. Watson, and the creator of both characters, all the novels and their intriguing stories, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Bound By Darkness
What happens when your fears take over you? The darkness inside, prompting you to do things which you normally wouldn’t do… Would the darkness leave you or grow even more after it consumes you?
This is the story of the rise and fall of a fictional town named Pronounsville. The people here are strange and unassuming and this story is about how their naivety cost them the only thing that set them apart from any other place on the planet. Real or imaginary.
MEASURING IN LIGHT
I had started to count kindness on my fingers. If you were like me, you barely got enough of it to fill in one hand, but I took what I could; I still do. I had learnt to lick it in scraps, taking whatever I could and storing it in a jar made of hope and I took a bit more out of it than I should have every time I was told I wasn’t enough. Which was every day.