Amateur historian who loves travel and lives in Asia. I write 'what-if' historical stories, speculative fiction, and travel essays.
Twitter: @LizinBali. LinkedIn: sinclairliz
Klotho looked up from the thread she was spinning, and squinted as a bright, golden radiance filled the sitting room. Typical of Apollo, she thought, to show up in all his godhood. No wonder mortals were so awed when he appeared to them. No wonder they fell in love with him.
What I remember most about the slap is how the sound, like a shot, echoed across the dojo. I wouldn't feel the soreness, the tenderness, for a second or two. I was stunned. My body froze. I gaped at my teacher, trying to register what had just happened, but he'd turned away. I'm 58 and I had never been intentionally hit across the face before. By accident, sure, in sparring, or being jostled at a concert, or on a crowded dance floor or whacked with a tree branch. Never on purpose.
Normally, I don’t go to the Fresh Taste supermarket in the Bugis MRT station complex. It’s too upmarket for us. Min and I usually shop at the small Golden Flower Chinese grocery where dried noodles are always on special for fifty cents. Budget people us, lah.
The Tea Club and Barrovian Society
“Tell us the Christmas story, Grandpa,” the children chorused. “The one about the ghost.” The old man settled into his chair before a roaring fire, shifting and stirring as his arthritic joints complained. His gnarled hands rested on his lap, cradling a mug of cocoa. He looked down and thought how once on that long-ago winter in the fields of France, his tin mug had held a Christmas ration of rum, and the hands that held it were young not old. His lungs were shot, ruined by the gas he breathed on the battlefields all those many years ago. Cold weather made him wheeze and cough. That part of the story he wouldn’t be sharing with them.
Ten Things I Hate About You
Dear Mr. Sanderz, Do you want to know why I call you Mr. Sanderz? That was the name written over Winne the Pooh's door. My use is ironic. You're like Pooh would have been if he was a mogwai and someone fed him honey after midnight and he turned into a Gremlin. You have claws, sharp teeth and a bad attitude.
If you want to fall in love with the world, really fall in love with it, watch a birth. Better yet, move to a developing country, work as a fundraiser for a birth centre for poor families, have no experience of birth yourself, and then watch a baby born into water.
"And the CNN Hero of the Year for 2011 is ..."
I looked around the spacious living room. The entire administrative staff from the Bumi Sehat center was crowded in, pairs of people wedged into chairs meant for one (Indonesian style), sitting cross legged on the floor, stretched out on the massive carved Chinese teak bed or leaning against the wooden walls of the joglo, or traditional Javanese wooden house.
Part 9: Karma is a Bitch (literally)
This is the last installment of the first Vocal Creators Saloon story series. Before reading this piece, please be sure to read the first eight parts that precede it. Each is written by a different member of the Vocal Creators Saloon Facebook Group: