Indignation

The kid just ran out. I was only doing twenty-five in a twenty zone. You’re allowed some slack. He magically appeared from behind a van. I didn’t put the ice there that caused me to skid. I didn’t put a school gate by the main road. I wasn’t the one teaching road safety and I didn’t call myself on the phone, talking garbage. Yet I stand accused.

A hundred times his face turns toward me in slow motion, eyes widening, then everything becomes rapid, the exploding noise and flying glass.

Was no one responsible for a traffic patrol? So unfair.

From Guest Contributor Duncan Bourne

Rebellion

The pale-eyed, reed-thin child had asked a question, timidly, adding a please.

"No, you can't," said a stern voice.

“But why?” inquired the child. Her feeble voice squeaked.

“You needn’t know why. When I said no, it means no,” replied the gruff tones of the elder.

Silence settled down as uncomfortably as the calm before an impending storm. Resentment rose like gushing steam from a kettle and condensed as tears in those little eyes, now shining with indignation.

A rebel was born.

She clenched the stone paperweight tightly in her fist.

The elder, blissfully ignorant, failed to imagine the aftermath.

From Guest Contributor Sayantika Mandal

An avid reader and an aspiring writer, Sayantika Mandal graduated with honors in English from Presidency College, Kolkata and pursued a post-graduate diploma in English Journalism. After a two-year stint as a copy editor in the national daily Hindustan Times, she left to pursue her dream of being a full-time author.