The last Martian watched mournfully as gun-wielding Earthlings and smog from brand-new factories smothered his once beautiful red planet. He bitterly remembered the day fifty years ago when a satellite from Earth landed and then left with a Martian soul. Breathing his last, he lamented “Your homecoming doomed us, Elon.”
Yogita Khandge wrote this story.
In my brown country, I am ridiculed for being black.
In the country of white, all my countrymen are called brown.
We apply creams to make our skin fair, and the white ones tan their skin brown.
God told me he was tired of us, so he now paints skies.
Yogita Khandge wrote this story.
The only part that showed was her beautiful eyes. She never uttered a word, but her eyes screamed as she watched, and she was judged to be the most “vocal.”
So they slapped and kicked her, blindfolded her, threw her in a dungeon. They could not bear their own nakedness.
Yogita has worked for 25 years in a rural financial institution and now uses writing as a means to open her heart.