Historical Fiction
Journal of Mohandas K. Gandhi
May 10, 1930 – Yerwada Jail, Pune Rain on the Ashes Today, the monsoon arrived. From the narrow window of my cell, I watched the first fat drops fall on the scorched courtyard, turning dust to paste, softening the world. There is a smell that only comes with the first rain—wet stone, broken soil, and something like release. The rains do not ask who is free and who is captive — they fall upon us all. And as they fall, I remember once again: nature itself is never colonized.
By Alain SUPPINI9 months ago in Chapters
Her County: Finale
PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 The mouth of the wooden cathedral gaped as the thick, dark oak doors parted, pulled aside of their own accord as I stood upon the threshold. I looked from the hollow, dark depths of the entrance hall, swallowing what little moonlight was cast upon my back, to the heights of the edifice, bulging and buckling under its own mighty weight, with three large and open circular shutters. Unsure, I turned around to Meabh and the others, still by the fire, watching me. Their unblinking eyes stirred a twinge of unease in my chest, but they didn't appear apprehensive, nor glowering. It was more out of fascination, as though I was about to do something extraordinary. I returned to the opening, reminding myself what was at stake, and stepped into the shallow, dim island of light.
By Conor Matthews9 months ago in Chapters
Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities
Realizing the tricky trees were not going to loosen their grip, Kia Ford and the Peacock decided to achieve a goal, seek out the trucker boys for twiggy removal advice. When the pair reached Portman Road, they noticed the hard-working individuals looking blue and decided approaching the working-class representatives.
By Marc OBrien9 months ago in Chapters
Journal of Mohandas K. Gandhi
April 25, 1930 – Yerwada Jail, Pune Salt in the Wind This morning, a crow landed on the sill of my barred window. It did not caw, nor move quickly, but observed me as I turned the charkha. I greeted it softly. It remained, and we shared a few minutes of silence together. In some ways, I felt it was bringing a message — or perhaps simply bearing witness. Even the birds now seem to know that something is changing in the air.
By Alain SUPPINI9 months ago in Chapters
Journal of Mohandas K. Gandhi
April 20, 1930 – Yerwada Jail, Pune Roots Beneath the Surface The silence before dawn is not emptiness — it is a gathering. In it, I hear the whisper of millions who have not yet spoken aloud, but who are preparing to. Their resolve stirs like sap rising through the roots of a tree, unseen yet alive. Every morning now feels as though the country is stretching before it begins to walk.
By Alain SUPPINI9 months ago in Chapters
Calico Jack. Content Warning.
1782, CHARLES TOWN, SOUTH CAROLINA Annabeth stares ahead at nothing, a vacant look in her eyes. Slowly, a small smile appears on her frail, wrinkled face. “Jack…?” she whispers, as if she’s seeing someone who isn’t really there. “Oh, my Jack… My heart has missed you…”
By Luna Jordan9 months ago in Chapters
Journal of Mohandas K. Gandhi
April 10, 1930 – Yerwada Jail, Pune Threads in the Wind The wind is stronger today. It presses against the bars of my window like a traveler trying to deliver news without a name. It carries the scent of dry earth, sweat, perhaps even distant jasmine. There is dust in the air, but also something else — a rhythm, a thrum, as if all of India is breathing just under the surface.
By Alain SUPPINI9 months ago in Chapters
Journal of Mohandas K. Gandhi
April 2, 1930 – Yerwada Jail, Pune The Viceroy’s Silence I now write from behind stone and steel. Three mornings ago, they came at twilight — when the wind still carries the scent of sleeping earth. Two constables, pale and wordless, escorted a higher officer who stood at the door of my hut like a ghost from another play. I had already folded my mat and finished my prayers. I invited them in, offered warm water and silence. They declined the former and misunderstood the latter.
By Alain SUPPINI9 months ago in Chapters
The Sage and the Sovereign: Sheikh Ahmad Sirhindi and the Tatar Prince. AI-Generated.
Prologue: The Land of the Tatars Long ago, in the vast steppes of Central Asia, the Tatar Empire was ruled by a mighty king whose name history has forgotten, but whose legacy remains etched in cautionary tales. His kingdom was wealthy, his armies feared, and his word was law. Yet, his greatest sorrow was his son, Prince Altan—a young man whose arrogance knew no bounds.
By Zain Ul Abedin Khan9 months ago in Chapters
