Devils Odd finger

"Everything around here is so dark," I muttered as I stepped off the Mega Bus. It's strange when someone you haven't spoken to in ages calls you out of the blue and asks to visit, but it was even weirder when I agreed to see him. As a self-professed loner, I found solace in my own company. So, when a text from Rajesh, a long-lost friend from my college days, interrupted my solitary musings, it was a welcome surprise. His message, 'Can you come to Middlesbrough, mate? Something here might interest you,' piqued my curiosity, and I agreed to the unexpected visit. When I got no response from Rajesh after texting him, a sense of unease began to grow within me. Despite that feeling, I made up my mind to go see him. It seemed unusual for him to suddenly call me and ask me to come over, and when I tried to call him back, his phone was switched off. This heightened my fear that something might be wrong. Convincing my mother to allow me to return to a place filled with ...

 Ever since I embarked on my very first train journey, I have been spellbound by the enchantment of travelling. There is an ineffable rejuvenating quality to the experience that uplifts one's soul. As a budding artist in the film industry, my work necessitates constant mobility, giving me daily opportunities to connect with new individuals and gain invaluable insights and understanding of our world. However, the gratification from work is intermittent. Ask any junior artist struggling to make ends meet, and they will express a singular ambition – the desire to achieve stardom in the acting realm. Until that aspiration is pursued, they persist in unwavering determination. Returning to the subject of train journeys, they have provided me with an invaluable opportunity to observe and comprehend diverse individuals. This skill set will undoubtedly serve me well in the future as a successful actor. On these journeys, I have encountered a myriad of individuals – from free-spirited vagabo...

“How long do you need?” “Sixty minutes.” “Twenty pounds, incall.” “Okay. What about my car?” “Wherever you feel comfortable, but payment first.” “Sure.” As his lips touched mine, he unhooked my bra. I held back the tears that threatened to spill. Never in my wildest nightmares had I imagined taking such desperate measures to survive in a foreign land. Back in India, the immigration agents had painted a dreamlike picture of life in the UK. They assured me that a visitor visa would solve all my problems, promising employment opportunities that would allow me to send enough money home to provide my parents with proper meals—not the leftovers I brought from the hotel where I worked as a waitress. They said I could give my younger sister the joy of wearing new, branded clothes instead of the second-hand ones we could afford from charity shops. But their promises were nothing but smoke and mirrors. The reality hit hard when I arrived. I had prepared myself for the biting cold weathe...