Every Mickle

The local Farmers’ Bank went belly up.

It was a cooperative concern, like many in the region. The Secretary of the Bank had taken a loan in her late husband’s name on forged documents. Almost all the staffers either embezzled or connived with the defalcators.

Investors, most of them traders and peasants, were shell-shocked. Some blamed themselves for their imprudence while others huddled indecisively.

Kali, the old woman who sold candles, also had a deposit in the bank.

As the bank’s director exited from his car, she confronted him.

“Where’s my money?” Kali yelled, catching the man by his collar.

From Guest Contributor Sathyajith Panachikal

Sathyajith. P.S has reconciled himself to the reality that it is impossible to be reborn in an ancient past with a smartphone and internet connection. Currently, he is trying in real earnest to regain the originality he had when he first chanced upon this planet.

Scriptless Dream

Alright, I’ll tell you about the dream I had last night.

Several older women – I guess your mum and a couple of your aunts – were trying to match you with a movie director. And I stood there, saying nothing, convinced he had nothing to offer you I didn’t.

Suddenly, we found ourselves in an undefined take away chip shop (remember, it’s a dream) and guess who’s there? That same director. You acted like you didn’t notice him, but somehow I ended up home with two meals just for me.

So, that’s why I don’t want to see that movie tonight.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 - Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury. He generally writes them barefooted and hatless.