STOPHERE📍

  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

  GAUTWORLD A ndy C ostello wipes his face using a wet tissue paper. His eyes are on the signal, anxiously waiting for it to change, fidgets in his seat as the signal stays red and all around him, cars honk in protest of the signal, and he too leans on his horn, joining the cacophony. Andy was thirty-five years old, and he was a successful Architect. However, this year had been the worst year of his life. After a grumbling and abusive seven years of a non-workable marriage, he divorced his wife, Janet. It had been a bad marriage right from the start. Finally, it was over as the divorce had come through last month, and he was happy, not only happy, but relieved; he was glad that Janet agreed to the divorce without making any nasty scene. The Lord knows that he has tried to save their marriage. However, Janet had become unmanageable. Every day, she picked fights with  him over stupid matters, trying to accuse him of not taking care of her when he tried his level best to mak...

  pinterest.com She says it’s OK!  If I play with the gun She says it's fine If it clicks on time She says it’s cool  Fire each bullet Into a soft heart She says , ‘Don’t worry baby’ ‘Nothing’s going to last,’ 🔫 CREAK

  pinterest.com There will be a time For the birds to fly high There will be a time For life to pass with a sign ☮️ THE DESOLATE STRETCHES OF THE MIND

  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...