The Polling Place
Christina Pacosz

There it was, again. Ping. Metallic. Soft.
Like finger cymbals the Gypsy women had worn on their long fingers when they danced at funerals on Fort Street. Not a Gypsy in sight in the winter darkness on McDougal Street and certainly too cold to dance.

Literary Award
Har Prasad Sharma

Literary Committee was present in a room. A poet took entry for the interview by keeping aside the veil of the door. One member of the committee asked indicating him to sit “How many books have you written, Sir?” “Three books, on diverse.....

Island
Sarojini Sahoo

It was an unusual day. That dew-soaked morning Arundhati was not alone. Leaving her house, she had seen Mr. Rawal, an officer of E-6 rank, Mr. Tiwari (E-1) and Mr. Mishra (E-5) pass by in front of her house, shabbily clad, hair ......