STOPHERE📍

  pinterest.com Saying it louder It would make things easier Understanding takes time There is no point   Living in illusion 🔮 CREAK

  www.deviantart.com Tell me, girl Tell me the truth That you're in love And you aren’t Feeling blue 😘 THE DESOLATE STRETCHES OF THE MIND

  giphy.com My name is Alfred Harold Hill. I am a cartographer for the British Army, Highland Rangers, and XXV Company. And I am dying. I am writing this journal to preserve my identity and to let others know what happened and what we went through. I have no idea how long I can write, as only a few candles are left and the inkwell is half empty. It is November 12th of 1891, the year of our lord. Outside the log cabin, a snowstorm has roared for the past three days. There are four to five feet of snow all around, the passes and routes erased beneath the relentless snowfall. I have tried to escape the log cabin only three times, only to turn back, defeated by the snow. I am 24 years old, my rank is first Lieutenant and it seems like yesterday when we journeyed from the army camp at Dehradun, three months to this day, a Platoon of thirty-five men and with me, and I am the last one remaining, the others dead, or as the Bitak would say, ‘Lo sall Jo kumi haar Jeenu.’ disappeared into...

  reddit.com He plunged the knife deep into the man’s stomach. The stabbed man screamed a sound like he had never heard before, something like speakers tied to his ears. The scream made him take a step back involuntarily; he was astonished that a human body could scream in such a manner, and the vocal cords could scream so loudly without tearing themselves. It was unbelievable. He pulled the knife out, having to exert himself, as the seven-inch blade resisted the pull, the sinews and muscles and the body fat resisting the pull, trying to hold back the blade. It was a tug of war between his hand and the stabbed man’s stomach. However, he was an expert in the art of stabbing; he twisted the knife a little and, with more force, he wrenched it free. The man screamed again as the knife left his body, blood gushed out of the gaping wound, and air seemed to rush in and out. Holding his stomach, the man lurched backwards and screamed again. The sound seemed to explode in the air, reverbera...

  GAUTWORLD Tears stain your pillow And you sob in the night Here I sit trying to smile While tears blur my sight Tears don't matter now 🍂 THE DESOLATE STRETCHES OF THE MIND

  giphy.com Iztak Salal knew that he must do his work very quietly, very patiently; he must not draw any attention to himself or to what he was seeking. The book, which he carried in a bag, was slung across his chest, and he could get himself killed if seen by the right eyes. It was a book of medicine, an ancient book, but written for Ayurveda, written for Hinduism, for the knowledge of Hindus only, and he was aware of how Hinduism functioned. The Hindus were a tight-lipped people, hardly sharing anything with those around them or with the world at large; sharing knowledge was the last thing they would ever dream of. For them, Islam was not only a strange religion but an aberration. Somehow, in many ways, in things big and small of daily life, they tolerated Islam; for one thing, Hindus were known for their infinite and world-weary patience. Iztak Salal knew that if not for the book he had found, their paths would never have crossed. But now he must cross that wide chasm betwee...

  giphy.com Popular magazine editor Anita Suresh died last night in a car accident in Mumbai. She was the founding member and chief editor of the popular women’s magazine, “Patralekh” She survived by… What the hell! What is happening? Niti grabbed her head; suddenly, she felt an intense band of pain. Breathing hard, she collapsed on her bed and closed her eyes, massaging her forehead. Two rejection e-mails and two deaths, this is unbelievable. 💻 Niti Sehgal, a writer who was disappointed when her work was rejected by publishers, never knew she had a hidden talent within her. To know more about Niti's hidden talent, read ''SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES''. SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES