Published on May 7, 2026

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Breaking Apart

• Post author By tbrg
• Post date May 7, 2026

Breaking Apart

Everything was always so wrong about it, yet it fit like the perfect puzzle. At such a young age, having such thoughts led one to question the environment that stimulated those behaviours and attitudes. I was too small to have made sense of its implications, but now, as I’m older, I’m learning more.

I’m Aizenore, I’m nineteen, and my family has just been through something. It’ll become apparent soon enough, but let’s talk about how my childhood almost completely contradicted the fate of my family, yet in some sense heralded this storm.

Every month, I would get toys, those detailed figurines of characters and animals. The mech-robos had a special place in my heart. Elaborate storylines, vast worlds, and clans canvassed my room and became a part of normal life. The only time in my life when it mattered not whether you were a fairy, a dinosaur, or Frankenstein himself. Harmony was the essence of my voyages, that and defeating an evil galactic overlord. Most of the plots included certain characteristic features, like at least one prison break, one messenger, and a royal couple.

Now, this couple, in hindsight, there was something always wrong about it. I don’t know how, as an 8 or 9-year-old, I felt so accustomed to it. I’ve never really seen a child so comfortable with infidelity. As I grew up, I finally learnt that it was a sin, but no god ever punished the Prince for being with the fairy, nor did the Princess say anything to him. Only once I turned 17, I began to introspect on what that possibly meant about my psyche.

What followed in the next two years only exacerbated my mental dilemma. Things started getting tense between my parents. My brother, Nathaniel, couldn’t handle the heat at home and spent days at his friend’s place. Me? My dad tried to drag me into conversations, defend his work, deny my mother’s ignorance and fight for togetherness. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t, not for these contorted people.

Dad’s friend had died one of these days, and on the day of his funeral, Mother thoughtlessly filed for divorce. Dad experienced misfortune after misfortune; he was fired, his old friend had hurt him, and another had just awoken from a coma, for which the hospital fees leaked through his pockets. That old friend, Tessa, was the first person he went to after the divorce was finalised. He didn’t tell me, but I knew something unsavoury had happened. Honestly, I had a nagging voice in my head that told me there was something between them once before, one-sided as it was.

One day, as I was coming back home, a week or two after the split, I walked into the living room to see Mother entangled with another man. Absolutely fuming, I stormed up to my room and began to stuff my things in a suitcase. No way I’m staying in this dump, I’d much ratherNathaniel, and I go with Dad. This brings me back to what I mentioned earlier. The infidelity.

Both my parents seemed to have dabbled in the matter and … so have I, unconsciously. Does that make me a horrible person, too? I’ve had such thoughts. I don’t want to grow up to be like them, I won’t, right?

As I grappled with these thoughts at the airport, I heard Nathaniel, “Don’t worry. You could never be like them.” I turned.

“I know what you’re thinking, you won’t be like them. Those games you played as a kid did not determine your morals. It may be in your unconscious, but that’s all it is. Don’t let it influence you. You can choose your own path”

Oh, how kids grow up. He’s so mature now, giving me advice. “Thanks”, I smiled, “I really want to know more about it, and I will. I needed that.”

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The Cloud of Rurest Sweetness

• Post author By tbrg
• Post date May 7, 2026

The Cloud of Rurest Sweetness

There lived in a small town Maya, a very lively girl with a great sense of humour. One thing that fascinated her the most was “candies”. I am going outside to meet my friend ” said Maya in exclamation.

Now comes Riya Maya’s best friend. “Hey! Maya look what I got for you”, said Riya and took out of her bag a big case which had a note with an image of a witch standing with a cotton candy. Her peculiar nose and her grin looked strange, but Maya ignored it and saw cotton candies loaded in the case. She staggered in ecstasy and ate a piece of the strawberry cotton candy. Her mouth burst with flavour; it was extremely delightful and melted in her mouth. She liked it so much that it didn’t even take her a minute to curl her tongue to the last bite.

“Where diid you get this delicious delight from?” asked Maya.”It is from the ‘Witch Cafe”, answered Riya. “Witch Cafe something like that even exists? It is quite weird though, said Maya in suspicion. Riya spotted the cafe on her way to her piano classes.” Well, it’s time now. I must be home.

We will meet at the Witch Cafe only.” said Maya in confidence. Next morning Maya was shocked to see that the case earlier filled with treats was completely empty.

Clueless, She found it very mysterious and terrific. She associated the witch note with the incident and assumed the witch was tricking her. Suddenly, she heard a “thud”. Maya ran towards her mother’s room and saw the same note, but the witch now was holding a card inscribed with, “Good girl you must be here soon!” She ran to her mother and spoke out the whole incident But her mother believed Maya was in a delusion. “It is happening because you don’t sleep on time and are now day dreaming.”

Maya could not relate because she was stuck in the illusion of the witch. She immediately called Riya and the story takes a sharp turn. When Maya arrived at the witch cafe with Riya, it was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. The aromy of sweet treats was strong , with miniature landscapes made of confectionery. Maya went to the side of shelf where there was a highlighted hole. She peeped through, but Riya screamed, “stop!”. Turning towards Riya, Maya was shocked as Riya’s face started turning pale and hole became enlarged.

Maya searched for clues and found a book headed “6,5,4,3,2,1”. In the book was the percentage of your happiness the most would be at “6” and least “1”. She could hear children playing and laughing. The hole became so large that they both went inside and Boom! it was a slide that took them to a would where witches were turning into angels because of magic sparked by Maya. Maya spotted a jar in the cafe where Angels were trapped and set them free and the act of Riya fainting was done by the angels only to draw Maya’s attention.

“Thanks for setting us free,” said an Angel. They went to the happiness meter and turned it to “6”. Riya and Maya both sang, ate, and played with the angels. The clouds in the candy world were actually cotton candy. The angels requested them to stay and Maya and Riya were so lethargic that they agreed to sleep in the comfortable beds.”Maya wake up! wake up! Maya slowly opened her eyes and found herself in her room. Her mother asked. “Why are you shocked?”

Maya realized that all these incidents, from the cafe to candy world, had just been a dream.

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The Merchants of Mirth : In pursuit of Shadows

• Post author By tbrg
• Post date May 7, 2026

The Merchants of Mirth : In pursuit of Shadows

December thirty first, a bone chilling winter evening that gradually transitioned into a chilly and unusually dark night welcoming cliché new beginnings for some and dull realizations for others.

“Two masala chai cups to the bachelors over there, table five. And hey you, put on a seemingly amenable face on today ,alright? The two must be awfully lonely and listless if they’ve ended up here on New Year’s Eve.”

Nodding reluctantly, Arvind marched up to the table but stayed longer than he’d anticipated, covertly eavesdropping on an interesting and somewhat relatable conversation.

“Oh yeah mate, I come from a noble family alright, not bad myself. Got a dignified vocation, earn a couple hundred thousand a month. My bed keeps me snug, the food at home is enough and my fancy suit earns me a spot in society.”

“Oh my, your life looks meticulously structured ,good sir! Why then, do you look so dismayed? Oh and please don’t tell me you’re another hypocritical influencer pretending to celebrate a humble New Year’s Eve on Instagram when in reality, you’ve got some grandiose party planned for tomorrow. Ugh, I’ve seen way too many clients do that while I was driving them to their capacious farm houses.

And hey, I’m just too disconcerted as to why you booked me for six straight hours in the first place…… Why would you want to enter the new year with a broke Uber driver like myself, who you’re paying just to hang out with you?”

“Well Mahesh, listen up boy. As enchanting as my life might seem to you, it’s bland and devoid of any actual feeling. Not only am I an average man with a mediocre life, I’m also living in a totally new city, miles away from the people I call home. How my heart aches for them! I had to waive off all that was dear to me so I could move out, earn a big buck for the family, see my parents looking truly elated because of me, for once. But this job, this rat race, this hustle- it’s all so draining, don’t you see? It runs my family, keeps me alive, pays the bills. But at the end of the day all I can do is give a call back home and lie to them about how serene and effortless my life is. “Money doesn’t buy happiness mate”

“Oh but it does” Mahesh said, nearly yelling. “With the money I’ve earned today, I’ll buy Mr Ramu’s famous patties and cream rolls, the ones that make my little brothers and sisters feel at the zenith of their emotions. I’ll go to the market and buy a new pair of slippers for my father, he’ll feel like the king of the world, flexing them to all his colleagues at work tomorrow. I’ll finally buy that yellow saree my mother always eyes at the bazaar but never admits that she wants, hoping no one noticed. I don’t make any glib promises, I don’t see myself cascading my family with riches. But I promise to ascertain I set them to sleep looking contented every night. Besides, money didn’t just buy my happiness today, it bought yours too. After all, you’ve bought me with just a little cash for the night, haven’t you? “Ishan was slowly beginning to realise how poor he really was, all he had was money. This quiet contemplation however, was interrupted by Arvind’s entry to the scene.

“Hello! Here’s the tea you asked for, sorry about the delay I was busy with…… uh,work.”

Ignoring Arvind, Mahesh exclaimed-

“Oh, it’s time , happy new year!”

Ishan passed a meek smile and said “Go home friend, you’ve done enough. I’ve already transferred the payment online- go, be happy.”

“But the —- tea?”

“It’s on the house boys!” yelled Kaka uncle’s voice from behind.

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SACRE BLEU

• Post author By tbrg
• Post date May 7, 2026

SACRE BLEU

CHAPTER 1: DISCOVERY

The doorbell had rung at half past nine in the morning, interrupting my ponderance over the most recent killings in Brazil. The mailman seemed to share my astonishment over the receipt of a letter all the way from Caracas. The contents of the letter might have allegations of being peculiar to the common man, however, a plea to hear the voices of the members of an institution that was outside of the limelight at such a grave time was exciting for a man of my profession. It was an establishment of a gated community (or a mutant of its sorts) run by the government. I phoned up my supervisor, Penelope Alcatraz and informed her of the potential of a masterpiece that might emerge from my visit there. Being her most French self, she was determined I undertake this cue and author a piece in the forthcoming newspaper. So, I boarded the flight, with questions of circumstantial weight about the discovery of this organisation conveniently called, ‘The Home’.

To get to Isla La Tortuga, I took a local boat to arrive at my destination that would alter my faculties greatly. Knocks on that metal door of the home were answered through a vision panel by a shrewd woman aged by her time unjustly. I uttered with blatant confidence,“I’m here to interview Ms. Mila Monterey, a woman from this address.” A fly nearby was startled by the sharp clang of the panel by the iron hand, with a speed that even light couldn’t keep up with. Shameless and relentless, I redid my moves as if part of an otherworldly play. The only difference: “You may only go about your business if I oversee your every interaction with them” ,her rejoinder followed with much more fervour than I anticipated.

CHAPTER 2: INQUIRY

There they sat, clad in an emotion I couldn’t quite place. Melancholy filled the room as their eyes glinted with hope that only myths described.

“Who’s he Madre?” The man asked as the woman in the other corner tread closer to me. “I’m William Sancter from the Global Publishers. I’m here to interview you all about the ongoing activities in this abode.”

“Finally! Someone! Mila was right!” The women cried hysterically. Madre, shoved her into the corridor behind us. That’s when the dials aligned for the man.

“Meet us at midnight in the garden outside. Chaos might finally meet an end that humanity might have waited for even if it shall only encompass vain.”

I had been pacing enough that the earth had mistaken me for a quake. Could I really create an expository for the world to come to a casting of hope? As war engulfed every nation and anarchy became society’s trademark, people who were involved in neither seemed to slowly disembark on famines and all that was a consequence of destruction.

The clock had struck 12 when the man, Robert Blamouth, disclosed to me economic viabilities for a dying home. Vanessa Cyril created a cure for psychological despair. They ended with one statement.

“Mila has the cure for the most important sphere – The Governments.”

CHAPTER 3: REVELATION

As I tread with the caution of a soldier, I found a hatch just outside the dreaded place. I opened it to find a woman dazed only capable of noticing me.

“Mila?” She gave a faint reassurance as I untied her.

I finished writing my piece disclosing all the information. Penelope replied, “Sacre bleu!”

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The Blank Canvas

• Post author By tbrg
• Post date May 7, 2026

The Blank Canvas

“Sometime the expression of inner turmoil & shrieks is…silence”

The power cut was sudden. Above, the ceiling fan began to slow with a cranky groan, its blades dragging against the humid air just as the rhythm had died in Nirav’s own mind, leaving no resonance between him and his consciousness. Out of a billion glowing windows in the city, his was the only one where the light didn’t just flicker—it faded. Nirav Jain was losing a wealth no bank could hold: the raw thoughts born from a past of too much comprehension. He wasn’t just a fifteen-year-old boy in a dark room; he was a painter whose colours had finally turned to white, mirroring the blank canvas beside him that held no sign of paint.

Nirav stared from the window, watching the chaos of traffic—a thunderous surge of cars rustling for position like scarab beetles. Even with the uncertainty in the sky, the darkness of the night was engulfing the sun’s radiance, mirroring how Nirav was introspecting within his own character, seeking his true self in the withered darkness of loss. The weather grew unpredictable; a sudden, violent gust caught the frame, slamming the window shut with a crack that echoed like a gunshot in the hollow room. Nirav hardly heard it, lost deep in a trance. He dwelled within an abstract world that was full yet blurred, difficult to comprehend, yetrecognizable to him with a hurtful clarity. His pain was not about the death of a loved one, nor any stereotypical teenage drama caused by peer pressure or bullying. The paintbrush, forbidden by the bonds of his principles, sat isolated in a corner beside a canvas exposing a silent act of murder: a chaotic splash of cobalt blue and a rain of red strokes falling from the firmament, touching the foundation. This was the painting he had finished a month ago, surrendering his entire memoir into the bristles. The work seemed to stare back at him, forcing him to recall mistakes that had never even taken place. It was an act of self-sabotage, where his outdated, orthodox principles were hacking away at an unleashed creativity that screamed to be showcased rather than enclosed.

Outside his door, Mr. and Mrs. Jain—his “guardian angels”—were busy with their own errands.

Nirav always wore a mask of smiles that tricked them all, yet his inner turmoil remained visible in his art. His hidden self was confined to that room with the door closed; elsewhere, everything was a familiar routine. His mother, who never failed to understand her child, had failed this time. Both parents were perfect in their own spheres, providing him with whatever he wanted, yet Nirav kept himself in a pitch-dark, confined cell, convinced the world was too toxic to appreciate his unidentified thoughts. Because he believed his conflictwas beyond their scope of comprehension, the only witness to his turmoil was his painting. Unknowingly, he stood up and marched with determination toward the blank canvas, resolved to create a masterpiece by pouring out his pent-up emotions. Suddenly, the room lit up. The fan began spinning again with its original velocity, dragging Nirav back to the persona he never truly was. His mind fell silent, and his painting followed suit. Yet his internal conscience continued making noise—more disturbing than the traffic outside. The room became his mind and Nirav became his thoughts; he lay back on his bed beside the canvas, which remained blank, unlike his mind, which roared with turmoil.