S. Venugopal
Bio
writer, teacher, mother, nature lover, animal lover, dog lover, babies and children lover, adventure lover, ocean lover, flower lover. Lover of color and beauty everywhere. Art and music lover. Dance lover. Word and book lover most of all.
Stories (16)
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Winter In Zion
Skies pressed, gray and leaden, onto the peaks of Zion, flattening mountains. The air hung heavy with cold. My husband strode ahead, weighty boots leaving indentations in the snow. I stepped into them to trail him. His nylon pants flapped in the wind, revealing the contours of long, skinny legs. White vapors of breath curled from his mouth. He kept a steady, rhythmical pace as the path twisted, steep switchbacks coiling in impossible contortions. I fell behind. He shouted, urging me to hurry, the words whipping out of his mouth: we needed to reach the peak and descend before dark.
By S. Venugopal 4 years ago in Fiction
Hate Fractals
It’s your first July fourth in Santa Barbara. You arrive early to relax on well-tended lawns bordered by ocean. Sails unfurl in the distance. Bicycles wobble on nearby paths, bells singing. Your children play with friends whose dad has arranged to meet you at the park. The friends: a dark-haired girl the same age as your darker-haired daughter, a dark-haired boy the same age as your darker-haired son. They’re like siblings: same hairstyles, matching T-shirts.
By S. Venugopal 4 years ago in Humans
A Perfect Day
“It’s a perfect day,” the husband proclaims, “for hiking with the dogs.” He’s standing by the window, his forehead pressed against the hard glass. He turns, his face darkened by the dim interior light. “Old Cocoa’s getting a belly,” he says, but looks at his wife’s.
By S. Venugopal 4 years ago in Fiction
Neela's Lucky Penny
An Indian movie blared in the living room, too loud for Neela to mask by turning on the sink faucet. Her parents-in-law were losing their hearing. She considered going upstairs and sitting by her table fan, letting its whir drown the noise; gusts of wind in her hair always soothed her. Penny, her dog, wasn’t allowed upstairs. How could Neela leave her? She reached over to massage Penny’s belly.
By S. Venugopal 4 years ago in Fiction
Story of a Love Fruit
When she first saw him, she trembled green and raw upon a slender shoot. She knew she tasted unlike any fruit he’d eaten. He’d been walking in the woods as sun-dappled leaves cast on him a net of shadows. In a patch of brightness, she glowed softly, sending her scent to him. He plucked her.
By S. Venugopal 4 years ago in Fiction
Difference
He believed in the mind-body split. He was a scientist—an astronomy and astrophysics professor—and an ascetic. Remove yourself from temptation, from desire, is what he sometimes said when he wanted to provoke her. He said: Practice self-restraint, not indulgence. He said: I’m not ruled by my senses.
By S. Venugopal 4 years ago in Fiction
Desire
Leaves linger, clinging color to branches. They die, falling from trees outside my window. A cat rolls atop flaky piles. Amber and burgundy, maroon and sienna, fleck the cat’s sides. The cat flips upright, its back twitching, tumbles again. Pale, soft belly exposed, fur silvered, alight with sun. I haven’t touched a cat in years. What I feel when I see cats: loneliness, shame, the hunger of longing.
By S. Venugopal 4 years ago in Fiction
