Books costs money. Magazines have a price. I can't decide what stories on the web should cost, so I'll leave that decision to you! How much was this story worth to you? Is it worth the price of a burger? Or the price of a milkshake? You decide! Your support motivates me and helps me pay bills.
Write a comment ...
It was Bhaskar's one hundred and twenty-third day on the Asteroid Base Kubera. The reason Bhaskar knew this is because he was reminded of it the moment he entered the workshop.
The people of Earth had seen the end coming for millennia, and because they were helpless to stop it, they put all their efforts into escaping it.
The story of More Than Human was written by me (Vimoh) and the artwork was generated using Runway ML and its Infinite Image tool.
The Way of Brahma was the first short story published on VSFF.
The last witness is a Hindi audio story about a world betrayed by its gods.
The red-eyed man climbed the tall mountain to seek the wisdom of the master.
An old vulture sits on a branch, his eyes dim, his hearing all but gone. He watches leaves fall and smiles, thinking of the life he has had. It wasn't so bad.
Lakshman had a bad feeling about this. He looked grimly at Vibhishan.
हनुमान अकस्मात् उठ बैठा. उसे यहाँ जानकार कुछ संतोष हुआ की वो आकाश से गिर नही रहा था. वह आसानी से जागने वालों में से नहीं था.
Once it rained real hard. A river swelled and washed over its banks. Entire villages and towns were submerged and their people fled.
Raghu the squirrel was old. He was older than most squirrels he knew, a fact that didn’t rest easy on his heart.
The goat chewed absent-mindedly as a small group on the other side of the stable made merry.
The cave was dark. What made the darkness worse, Aladin thought as he felt tears roll down his cheeks, was the fact that he was going to die in it.
The crowd in front of the temple swelled in ways only a temple crowd could swell.
श्रीदामा लंगड़ा था. इसलिए अपने मित्रों से पिछड़ता रहता था. जब भी वो भरसक चेष्टा कर उनके साथ भागता था, उसकी थकान भी दोगुनी हो जाया करती थी.
Standing atop the tall tower, Veer Das couldn't decide if he wanted to be happy or sad that it was a full moon night.
Keval drew his breath in and aimed the arrow at the target. He switched to a version of reality where nothing except his target existed.
Once there was a king who was young and ambitious. He ruled his land responsibly and was loved by his people.He wasn’t very happy therefore, when one day, the wise court astrologer foretold his death. His exact words were, “Ten years from this day, you will die. And you will die a sudden death.”The wise one had never been wrong before. The king considered his age and decided that life was not fair. He was to die at thirty!The king grew angry with the wise one. But he respected him too much. So instead of having him executed or imprisoned, he limited the old man to his house and forbade him from making any more predictions.As the years passed, the king grew sickly with worry. In all but appearance, he was already dead. The thought of death occupied all of his mind. Nightmares of bloody battles haunted his nights. Seven years remained.Then one day, a travelling merchant came by to pay his respects. The king sat through the formalities looking his usual wooden self. When the time came for the meeting to end, the merchant asked, “What ails you my king?”“Haven’t you heard citizen?” replied the king. “I am a dead king. In seven years, I will die. At the hands of what monsters, I don’t know.”The merchant considered his words and realised nothing would console the young king. He looked about and asked a guard out aloud, “When are you going to die?”“I don’t know,” said the guard.The merchant asked him, “Will you die tomorrow?”“It is unlikely. But anything can happen. Anyone may die at any time.”The merchant next addressed one of the ministers, “When do you think you will die my lord?”The minister was silent for a while. Then he said, “I should very much prefer to grow old and die in peace. But that is not for me to decide. I could die any day, if the gods so willed.”The merchant turned to the king at last, “When will you die my king?”“In seven years, as you very well know,” said the king, now slightly irritated.“What if you were to face off with a hungry lion in a ring tomorrow? Will you die then?”Realisation pounced upon the king out of nowhere. “I won’t,” he said.“What if you took your forces against that dastardly warmonger king to our north? Will he be able to kill you?”“No,” said the king, beaming now.“For the next seven years, neither man, nor god – neither disease nor sword… will be able to harm you. You will die on a day seven years from now,” said the merchant, “But that day is not tomorrow. Nor the day after, or the one after that.”The king rose to his feet and looked around. The court house looked different somehow. The courtiers looked different. They all spelled possibility.There wasn’t much time. The king decided to get busy.
The air rang with unpleasant metallic sounds as the fearlord Xoth twisted Fobo’s prized bicycle into a tangle of unsightly waste.Fobo remained on his knees. Any attempt to stand straight in the presence of the horrible Xoth would result in his guards shooting him. Dying would be pointless, he believed. His cousin still owed him money. There was hope in the world still.After long painful minutes, Xoth dropped the mangled bicycle in front of the kneeling Fobo and laughed a high, cold laugh. Fobo remained silent.“There lies your precious piece of work metalworker. I have destroyed in minutes what you spent weeks on. What do you say to that?”Fobo looked up to face the terrible Xoth and flinched upon seeing his face. Then he said, “I can fix it.”“It will take you weeks just to get this mess sorted out,” said the ugly Xoth and kicked the remains of the bicycle.Fobo nodded, “True. But I can still fix it.”The impolite Xoth laughed again, “All those painfully long hours of careful work, all over again. Does the prospect make you afraid?”Fobo shrugged, “It does, a little. But what am I going to do? This is my work. This is my life.”The fearsome Xoth leant a little forward and spoke to Fobo coldly, “I will return metalworker. When you are done, I will return and destroy your work, all over again. You will feel this pain… umm… all over again.”Fobo sighed, “I was kind of expecting that.”“Then you give up? You vow never to make another bicycle again?” asked the morbidly hopeful Xoth.Fobo smiled a weak smile, “I don’t think so. No.”The haughty Xoth stood up and declared, “You will never rest in peace metalworker. Each waking moment of yours will dread my coming, and your nightmares will show you broken bicycles.”“You know me too well Xoth,” replied Fobo. “Things are indeed as you say they are. But there is still much in my life to make me happy. My cousin owes me money.”It was well-known that the monarch Xoth had no family. He had executed all his cousins for fear of them usurping his throne. He raged silently for a moment.All of a sudden, Fobo was lifted off the ground by his collar. The angry Xoth breathed fowl into his face, “I could kill you right now metalworker. You will be dead and then you will make no more bicycles.”“Indeed you could,” gasped Fobo. “And if you really want me to stop making bicycles, you will need to kill me.”Xoth dropped Fobo. Fobo coughed a little and said, “You have no other choice.”The lost Xoth knew the metalworker was right. To kill him would be to prove him right. To kill him would be the same as being defeated by him.“I will always make bicycles,” said Fobo, unaware of what went on in the defeated Xoth’s mind.
Write a comment ...