Sheen - The Insomnia Diaries

A Short Story Peerzada Muzamil "A stone knocked me down unconscious, and slowly and slowly, I bled to death..." I had always felt that my love affair would not remain draped for ever, knew that they know about it and lash me. But they'd stone me to death, I hardly gave it a thought, it didn't matter whatsoever. You see, I was as intrepid as a lone bear on hunt, any consternation hardly bothered me and nothing prompted to change the course of my mad heart. But, you see, had I known I would be killed, I would have been more cautious and clandestine. How does it matter now, I am dead anyway, but allow me to  tell you, every night, I would melt away in her arms, making love to her. Every night she would clasp me into her arms and rejuvenate my soul; her moist lips would inebriate mine and till dawn we would make love to each other and stare into each other’s eyes.   I never knew why I loved Najma, but I knew I did and did so with exuberant intensity. Pro

A Short Story  "How could a sane person cut anybody’s throat and then shoot in his head unless the murderer is fuming in limitless anger" It was quite unusual, that was the fourth night that I could not write a word. Possibly, once again, I was going through, what men of letters call as “Writer’s Block”. Writing Sadovsky’s cases during such times proved to be my solace, but it had been more than a month that Sadovsky solved his last – The Lighthouse Murder case. The clock on my desk showed 3:45 am and it was heavily raining outside. My fretful attempts to write seemed abortive and after putting ink-pot and the pen holder aside, I was about to puff the lantern off. Before I ventured to blow off the lantern and go to my bed, I heard few knocks on my door. I was sure it would be Sadovsky, I went downstairs, twisted the door open, and him it was – deep blue eyes, sharp face, blonde hair and ghastly wet and bedraggled. Sadovsky was a detective – most famous in Zend

A Short Story "I had never in my life seen a dead body, in such a bad condition and that too reading a scrawled book..." R aining it was heavily and restive I was for I wanted to venture to have a stroll. I wouldn’t fain go out as the atmosphere was not congenial for having a walk. It was quarter to seven in the evening that the intensity of the rain dwindled and I finally left. The streets were wet and empty. Sidewalks were wet and empty too. The Shops were shut, offices closed and restaurants deserted. I could feel the cold raindrops penetrating through my clothes and biting my skin. My clothes were bedraggled wet, and after walking a few hundred yards towards the bridge, I decided to walk beneath it to prevent myself from further rain, if only for a while. River was swollen, furious, and I was worried about the water level, and I was worried that floods, to obliterate the entire city, might come once again. While I was walking beneath the