The Message

He woke to the hum of the three tonne truck outside his home, unloading or loading bricks or wood or whatever the landlord is crazy enough to get at nine in the morning everyday. It was nothing new. Ever since he'd moved to this side of town, or rather this side of the village, this is how his daily routine had been. He couldn't remember exactly when he had gone to sleep, but could remember that he had had a good night's sleep. He had come in late last night. It was his job, basically. It was all Roger Federer's fault. If he had not dragged on a match he was already losing into a tiebreak every set, all of them could have gone home earlier. But it was not to be. (click to continue reading...)

(This story has been chosen for the New Asian Writing's 2013 Short Story Anthology, so i am obligated to give you the link to the story on their website, to prevent duplication of content on the web)

But all said and done, i am definitely chuffed to have a short story published for the second time. :)