This is the first issue of REWRITE READS. What can I say? We didn’t have a theme for our launch issue, but the writers were encouraged in their submissions to rewrite the narrative. The nine stories in REWRITE READS #1 do that in ...
I was four when I saw my father cry for the first time. He came to pick my brother and me up from our place in Kingston, Ontario, to take us back to Toronto to spend some time with him. Toronto was about three hours away and Mom wasn’t ...
They were at it again. It was the stickiest day of April – fireworks and praying palms intermingled in the heat as the celebrations of Vaisakhi closed in on Bata 2, Gali No. 12, Ganesh Nagar, New Delhi, 110092. Two floors of ...
I am a watch – an impressive one at that. The kind that does not tick or tock. Her father picked me up from the jewellers on Mansour Street, the only place in town that you would have found me back then. You could never buy one ...
11/11/2019 So much of what we’ve been taught about literature, about writing, has come from people who do not look like us. When we see ourselves in the books that we read, it is often a very limited experience – it is about a ...
“Shh. They will hear you.” “They won’t. Nne says they never hear us.” Oma and I are perched on the tail of a leaf on the outskirts of the tree’s walls. The leaf gives a slight sway beneath our weight. Our eyes sweep in the sea of ...
Leslie stood in front of me damn near-nude, wearing a pair of sheer black panties and her bloody heart. I assumed Leslie was speaking metaphorically when she said she wanted no barriers between us. Yet, here she was in my bedroom ...
As I think back to how I viewed my dad when I was a kid, I remember he seemed to me to be as majestic and intimidating as a Canadian Sequoia. I knew for sure at that tender age that he was the tallest, strongest, oldest thing in the ...
Adrian knew it was time to leave once the furniture started insulting him. For months, the whole house had been groaning under the weight of unspoken complaints. It began the day after the funeral – a few creaking floorboards, a ...
You’re fifteen. You finally get your first period. Your aunts congratulate you on becoming a woman. “Alhamdullilah,” they say, as if the tender breasts, moody dispositions and carbohydrate cravings are things to celebrate. You wonder ...