The Child is Chosen: a Story of Omelas With a clamour of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city. Omelas, bright-towered by the sea.1 Joyous processions make their way down cobbled streets, passed moss-covered gardens to the banderole festooned race course at the Green Fields. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd, alone, playing on a wooden flute. People pause to listen, and they smile, but they do…

He looked up to see the height of the bridge frame which he had to climb and jump from to show Steven that he was also daring like him. But, deep inside he knew that he was not. The rusty iron rods and chains more than 50 years old seemed like were trying to hold onto their lives, as nobody paid attention to this bridge ever since it was built. Not being the popular route among travellers, only few vehicles…

It’s my last year of high school and, thanks to all these early mornings, I’ve become more of a coffee person. Sorry Baba. I still have tea whenever I visit my Dad. Today, as I sat in my father’s kitchen, I cupped the large mug filled with black tea, one quarter homo milk, no sugar, and lifted it towards my lips. I sat and gazed upon our newly added artwork that hung above our kitchen table. Cool toned colours filled…

“I make most of my money off of real estate, y’know, flipping houses and stuff. Last house sold for two mil. I’m pretty good at it I guess, and I love the money. I also compete in the world series of poker, won nearly two hundred grand last year. You’ve probably seen me on TV and stuff. I try to stay low-key though, out of the public eye. My line of work, y’know, it goes up and down though, y’know?…