Author: Madura Muraleetharan

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

“Hello?” The world holds still with her. Then she hears it, the beating on the other end. She puts her hand to her heart, and sure enough, it is in sync. She breathes for a minute, or at least she thinks she does, before slamming the phone back down. They couldn’t have known. Three cities, seven houses, and twenty different numbers later, they couldn’t have known. They do though. She looks out her window at the liquid blackness of the night. Not even a star pierces its light down. She shuts the curtains. She turns off the TV and the grey light of it that flickering around the room sinks away. She switches off the lamp and is plunged into the same darkness as outside. She knows what she’s doing is stupid. They know her number. They know where she lives. As if sitting and waiting will push them away.
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I think she knows that though. She knows it, and that’s why she sits and waits. She’s grown very tired, you know. This life of fox and rabbit doesn’t work for her. She doesn’t even bother crouching or hiding. She sits in conspicuous view on her sofa. Then she hears it. The tapping at the side of her house. She doesn’t move to hide. She doesn’t shiver. She moves her hand towards her heart and her body slumps with resignation. The tapping continues, traveling along her house without breaking its beat. It reaches her front door. She hears the knock and still does not move. So I knock again. I can hear her footsteps. She twists open the knob. When the door creaks open, I take in her face. She is tired, but not afraid. In the end, she doesn’t even scream. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

It’s a wonder her eyes are brown when she has lived her entire life in blues. It blurs the corners of her vision and maybe that’s why she wears glasses. Those are pink though. It’s there in the smudged corners of her memory, the colour of her sister’s snot streaked shirt when she would sniff into it. The words flying out of her parents’ mouths would be blazing and red, but she only remembers the cerulean-soaked tune of her sister’s shakey lullabies in her ear. Now, with work-worn eyes, her parents always smile at each other, and her sister lives miles away in a cramped dorm and never texts. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

Nobody knows about the bodies in my walls. There are so many of them. Their rotting stench ghosts into and infests my very mind. Some of them are raw, fresh. I can feel their warmth through the layers of insulation, drywall, and paint. Their downtempo heartbeats pulse throughout the whole room. A whimper. A sniff. A final beat. You can practically hear their eyelids latch closed, their eyelashes brushing their cheekbones. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

To start, I’m grateful for the fact that I can even feel grateful. I like that I’m in a position where I can look at my life, nod my head, and tell myself that I’m doing pretty okay. My gratitude can’t be limited to a simple list; in all honesty, it encompasses every aspect of my life so far. From the minute I wake up in my suburban neighbourhood, to the second my head hits my pillow after talking to friends who I genuinely appreciate while listening to music that makes my heart beam, there’s not a single part of my life that I can truly feel horrible about. I’m grateful that my biggest issues are occasional rusty marks and insignificant social slip-ups. You would have peace of mind cialis generic cipla and you may feel your man is not attracted or interested in you anymore. When a patient suffering from a ”bad back” receives a diagnosis of ”pinched nerve” the doctor is the best option rather than trusting the sites so always take help and proper guidance from the doctor as they help you out with the best medicine and best solution. viagra in india price This mechanism of action boosts the buy levitra online blood circulation in the veins and arteries are increasing that makes the strength and stamina in the mind and makes the radioactive component attack the cancer cells. 5.)Immunotherapy TreatmentAlternative Treatments to Chemotherapy People commonly refer immunotherapy treatment as biologic therapy. There are 2 sorts buy generic levitra of hyperuricemia- secondary and primary hyperuricemia. I’m grateful that every unfavourable moment in my life has whipped me into the person I am right now, and that every unfavourable moment in the future will make me even better. My day is sprinkled with tiny blessings that as a whole, make my life beyond a little liveable. As stupid and used as it sounds, life really is a beautiful thing when you stop and look at how it’s played out so far. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

I should’ve seen it coming. I should have known what they had in mind. On orientation day, the teachers managed to lure me in with the promise of Barbies, and I had unsuspectingly fallen right into their trap. Little did I know that it was an absolute scam. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER

The trees have sucked in their last breath and succumbed to the blazing flames of autumn. I grin. This is opportunity. This is chance. This is fall. You see, when I think about fall, I can barely feel anything but excitement. I feel there need be no explanation for this; it’s so achingly obvious why I would ever love fall. It’s the leaves. Oh, those dear, lovely leaves. I love the way they deliciously scorch against the autumn sky, I love their tantalizing smokey scent. Although most of the sexual getting viagra without prescription problems in men aren’t life threating, they are damaging enough for men’s self-confidence and their relationships as well. Compare prices and products with other websites to get a genuine product at cute-n-tiny.com cheap cialis the lower prices. As a result, many free cialis without prescription couples get deprived of the joy of parenthood. The medicine needs to be http://cute-n-tiny.com/tag/golden-retriever/ buy cheap cialis consumed only once every day. I love the way they dangle temptingly off the tree branches, and finally – oh, such a glorious finally – I love the way they taste. Their snapping crunch awakens all my senses and their dry finish sends them flying to places I never knew possible. All year I yearn for their crispy texture, and when fall at last arrives, all I can feel is excitement because I must eat all the leaves. Every single one of them. Not the slightest withering fragment shall be spared. I crave that feeling of vacuuming them down my cavernous gullet, of my smile carving its way across my face, that sensation of my stomach gurgling in protest as I munch onward. There are no second thoughts, no apprehensions when it comes to fall. It is my season of growth, of nourishment. And oh, how I do cherish it. Chomp. read more

Madura Muraleetharan (11) CREATIVE WRITER

The van groaned as it hopped rather than drove down the road. I’d woken up at 4 am that morning, and I was finding it impossible to manage to fall asleep while being jostled around. I was in Sri Lanka, and my parents seemed super convinced that we absolutely had to see the sunrise from a famous lookout point in Nuwara Eliya. read more