March's End

She can feel it slowly growing. All in existence is born of thought. It starts slow and deep, pounding, hiding somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Expectations lead to disappointment, which inevitably gives birth to resentment. Everything buried from years past mutated into fertile embryonies, vibrating, taking on a life of their own.

As March's end nears, thoughts of isolation waver. A new world awaits those who are willing to embrace its damp offerings. Fruitful grounds to transplant the seeds vaulted away, protecting them from winter's crystalline grasp. New vessels to transport thoughts. Pollinating all those she will touch.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The Never Ending Work

She looked at him constantly, with eyes full of stories, desires, and expectations.

He was not used to it. Nervous, he kept ignoring her.

She called to him. Scared, he turned back to look.

She murmured, "Gimme an hour of happiness." He saw she was wearing a sari, shabbily tied, covering her sparsely. Her eyes were full of coal, lips beaming out in red. She was wearing socks in Calcutta summers. He could not stop himself from questioning her.

She smiled and replied that it was the only piece of clothing that she didn't have to take off to work.

From Guest Contributor Manmeet Chadha