this story is about myself journey. My name is Sumit Rajbhandari. I am from beautiful country Nepal. Form my school level i am interested to study management course and experience foreign sr study and environment .Currently i am studying at University of Sunderland in London. i am enjoying my studies and exploring this country. I do part job for working experience. Hope i can get skills and talent and get ready
The button glared at her from the opposite side of the elevator. Her eyes were strained from staring at it. The harsh elevator light that made the button cool cold and hatefully professional. It made the emotions associated with the button written in neat braille and caps lock seem to be resolutely finite.
She had been standing in the elevator for too long now. It was now or never. She shook herself. Ignored the panic bubbling in her thoat, choking her, and clawing in her belly, and stood straight.
Her sweating hand pointed her slim finger straight, and she jerked...
I jumped when I saw the mouse scurry across the kitchen floor. The counter sagged and groaned as I sat up on it and screamed. My husband came in and asked what the matter was, so I told him I just saw a huge, black rat. He eyed me suspiciously, but then began to search for it. I pushed the dirty dishes away and pulled my knees up to my chin and remained on the counter.
My husband was down on his knees, looking under the stove.
"It came from over there," I said, pointing towards the pantry.
"You sure...
When I see these flowers, and this man standing here (that's me, by the way), and I see all the men with guns walking behind me, I'm supposed to say that the flowers remind me of a lady. I'm supposed to taste the dust in my mouth, remember my comrades who gave their lives, understand the difference between pride and loyalty, duty and identity.
Mostly, I remember not knowing where I stood with any of these things; thinking that this was the process to figuring it out.
We're all figuring it out, aren't we? To know where you stand is...
The cover image for the book was not exactly what she had envisioned. Then again neither was the book really. But she was published, that's what mattered right? True she had used a pen name, but she knew the book was hers. The words on the pages her doing (well most of them anyway). But that image. It really didn't have all that much to do with the story in the book. Would people be disappointed when they read it? Would it make it more buyable as the publisher claimed. Well it was out of her hands. Thank God she...
Half naked and desperate, the child climbed the thin bars of the door, her cage, staring at the world outside. Her right leg crooked over the horizontal bar as she tilted her body, dark eyes staring longingly at the world.
"Get down from there!" her father snapped angrily. "You're gonna hurt yourself."
"When can I go out, Daddy?" she asked, turning to look at him imploringly. "I want to go out! You never let me do anything."
"You don't want to go out there, babygirl," the man said gruffly. "It's a dangerous world. There are mean people out there that...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. But was pushed away, rudely by a tall man. He walked in, I had seen him before. Years younger. The features were still the same. He walked straight for me, not hesitating. Called to me: "Jacob.". The voice too was familiar but different somehow. His eyes were my father's, the nose too. But it was not him, nor was it my brother.
He talked fast: "I have to prove something."
I didn't know how to reply, I couldn't place him. That face, I felt if I...
It is muddy. I went for a walk and there was mud everywhere. Even in the woods, which are supposed to be haunted, But I dont care. I am suicidal so if I get killed by a ghost or a goblin, it's no skin off my back.
I entered the forest and I got mud all over my slippers. Up ahead there was an animated scarecrow holding a scythe. "Hello," I said. The scarecrow cut off both my legs. Blood flew everywhere. But then my stumps started to itch and throb and vibrate. From them grew pogo sticks. My legs...
There were two hot girls at the side of the bar. I walked up to them.
"Hi," I said. "My name is Patrick and I do not want to get laid."
"That is very admirable," one of the girls said. "Especially since I chose this dress because it shows off my ample breasts."
"Both of us are ovulating," the other girl said. "That means that our bodies want babies even though we, as social creatures, have no desire to be mothers at this exact moment."
"It is a good thing I have no desire to father children with you," I...
You can count me out, I said. I am not doing it. No. I left this years ago. I have a life now, I told them. No more of this stuff for me- I'm out now.
Of course, they pleaded. They always do. But I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders in movements perfected over the years. Please, please, please! We'll give you anything you want.
Never any creativity, really. It was all the same thing. They were small. They wanted to be big. How did their little prods affect me? They were merely molehills aspiring to be mountains,...