Letter LINepal, 25 April 2015 Dear Mother, I hope you will be…erm…okay. I guess?This will be a different letter from the previous ones.They cannot be ….
Author: Joya Choudhury
France, 1890 To all who read, Unleashing this formidable curse must have been Pestilence’s greatest work of art – its defining masterpiece. Maybe even its ….
United States, 2003 To all who read, Let’s travel back slightly. Travel to a time of curses and lynching, where mankind became their most depraved. ….
England, 2020 To all who read, Such a frightening year. Yet, we chase the money. We cannot outrun our own selfishness. We will fall from ….
My long life full of strife has made me a witness to humanity’s tragedies. You see, dear receiver, I am something that transcends your war and your diseases. Yet, this cursed era hurts me just as much as it hurts you. Know that this is a terrifying time. Such a time where love is locked up and touch is hidden away from all who need it. How can we forget the bittersweet tastes of the past that have overshadowed this lonely era?
Usually, it’s just grey. A phantom grey with the ghost of what could have been haunting my one decade of living. Barely living. Surviving – maybe.
They say, having a disability ‘builds character’ which is true (to an extent), I had grown confidence. Recently, I am hyper-aware of my disability. It is as if I have only begun using a wheelchair and I am adjusting to this new wheelchair-bound life. It is as if this human-surveillance world is something new to me…
Spasms of unrelenting misery assault my body. Wreaking havoc with its unsympathetic weapons created for ministrations of torture. My attacker mercilessly holds me captive in my own frame. A prisoner to a biological and physical default with no key to unshackle me. My own body believes me to be beyond redemption, accusing me of crimes I have not committed. Unbending when it comes to compassion, it enforces unjust punishments upon me…
In, out, in outOut out, inout, in in.Breathe Eyes – ripTear at me and leave me bare.Holding in aWhimper. My body attempts toMould itself.Into the crowd ….
His feet shuffle forward, struggling to move across our blinding white bodies. We who have been exposed to so many emotions: rage, honesty, loss. We ….