Nonfiction
Karachi Chronicles Chapter 10
Our social currency is somewhat pegged to the strength of your nickname. Personally, growing up I’ve had a few including Bazza, Layba, Layknot, Leahy.D.D. and the staple Leahy. However, none of these come close to some of the classics we have at my club. We’ve got the relatively risky Nuts, Pubes, Ballbag and Mootface. There’s also the more politically correct yet catchy ones like Hooter, Teach, the Plumb, Donka, Lizard Man, Ship, Jesus, the Real, Patrick, Choofa, Yowie, Rowdy and Bluey. Personally, I’ve gotten the odd Scientist or Bobby (Willis or Sideshow) but have not yet graduated to full blown “what’s that bloke’s real name” status. Trust me, I’m not channelling my inner George Costanza*, because I know a lifetime nickname is only one stuff up away.
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After the explosion in the mailroom left me with minor injuries, I saw an unexpected opportunity to escape my role as a mail clerk. With boldness and a touch of mischief, I inquired about a reassignment—one that would take me far beyond the confines of the mailroom in the dungeon at the Department.
By Mia Z. Edwards3 months ago in Chapters
Memoir | The Mysterious Government Official | Part IV of VI
The incident of the sack detonating on me in the mailroom quickly made waves across the U.S. Department of Prominence, taking center stage on CNN and various local news outlets in the Washington, D.C. region.
By Mia Z. Edwards4 months ago in Chapters
Love After Liberation : A Journey of Trust, Wholeness & Second Chances
The first date after heartbreak feels like stepping onto a stage you never rehearsed for. The hum of nerves is louder than the music in the café. The sound of your own laughter feels foreign - too cautious, too careful, too rehearsed. And when silence falls across the table? You hear everything: your heartbeat, your doubt, the ghost of a voice whispering, What if this ends the same way?
By Yvey Essen4 months ago in Chapters
Love After Liberation: A Journey of Trust, Wholeness & Second Chances
The room is quiet, but my heart is not. It beats with the memory of old wounds and the faint echo of laughter that once filled my days. In the stillness, I hear it - a whisper, soft as a prayer: Could I love again?
By Yvey Essen4 months ago in Chapters
