Ginger drafts...

Anusha climbed the stone stairs to get to the assembly hall. Pacing diagonally through the great hall, she found a place by the corner beside the other women. She was suffering from a severe headache all night long; in the magical moments of the crack of dawn, she managed to get some sleep and was presently late to the daily summoning. The mustached officer in khaki trousers swiped his finger in air; Anusha rose up cursing and coughing. She reached his desk and folded her arms before her. The officer crossed his legs, unfolded a paper from his shirt pocket, ran his finger over it, and rolling his eyes to meet her, showed her the adjoining room. In the room, a lady in pin striped trousers was looking through the window that overlooked the railway track. Now a train scurried about from east to west. Stepping into the lady’s elongated shadow, Anusha waited. The lady had dyed her hair brown and wore a nice pony that rested on her nape ever so beautifully. She turned around to face Anush...

‘Apparently, the N62 neutron star of our galaxy is exhibiting strange fluctuations.’ I rode into my metal girded sandals, activated the tracking device, and stepped out into the open. Mother darted off to the window and threw an apple downstairs. I flung my gown up like a net and apprehended the gravitating fruit. Mother waved her chapatti dough stained hand and I reciprocated with a smile that reddened my puffed cheeks. Climbing up the leather upholstered narrow staircase of the school bus, I flung my head back and waved again. I thrust my ID card into the swipe machine and the rubber padded glass doors opened to reveal an empty bus. Just as empty as I thought it would. On Sundays, the school bus swished past the empty streets like a hungry whale with an empty stomach through deserted waters. Settling down on the last row near the window, I thrust my hand into the blue button and the monitor came alive. What was on? It was the video recording of the school principal from the day ...