sagar dhital
Bio
I'm a creative writer in the way that I write. I hold the pen in this unique and creative way you've never seen. The content which I write... well, it's still to be determined if that's any good.
Stories (35/0)
Coming Home
He was gone to that other place. The place where he could hide and they couldn’t hurt the real him. Alex heard them coming. He had been alone for hours. He hid in the closet. Maybe they wouldn’t look there? They searched the house. He pulled clothes off hangers and hid underneath them. She opened the door.
By sagar dhitalabout a month ago in Horror
Cherry blossoms
The sun is easy on his skin as he rolls over in bed. It creeps in through the blinds and touches his lashes, plays with his hair. The girl in his arms opens her eyes; she looks at him, carefully unraveling herself from his arms, trying not to wake him. She gets out of bed and goes to the window, and when she looks at the sky she knows that this is their last day together. She opens the window and breathes in the chilly morning air fresh from the scent of cherry blossoms. A dove sits on the tree under the window, but it is alone, looking around the big world. The girl turns around and goes to the bathroom, gets ready. She puts on concealer, mascara and lipstick. Her makeup is rushed, cakey but she doesn’t care. There is no time to waste. When she returns to the room the boy is sitting up and when she looks into his eyes she can see that the glow from them is gone. She looks around; the flowers from the table, the books by the bed disappeared as well. The room seems rather empty now.
By sagar dhitalabout a month ago in Fiction
Dancing after death
The graveyard around St Peter and St Paul church in the sleepy Kentish hamlet of Charing, a ‘Blink and you will miss it’, village on the main road which runs in a shallow valley of the Kentish Weald, is notable for the large number of children’s graves, each marked by a tiny headstone, and which are mostly unmarked with a name or date. There are over one hundred and thirty, almost all dating from about the same period in history. Most folk miss this interesting place, as Charing is a village which boasts a high street of buildings dating back seven hundred years or more, a Palace, once the home of archbishops from nearby Canterbury, the large meadow named Clewards which was once the site of the fishing lakes for the Palace, and the now hidden but still extant ice well. Clewards meadow tumbles it’s erratic way from the market place, down across the past lake beds to a spring of fresh water, which in the time that King Henry stopped here for a few days at the Palace, back in 1420, and on his way to ‘The Field of the Cloth of Gold’ in France, fed what was then a large moat, a protection for both the palace and the village too. A triangle of trees and grass, outside of the two rustic cottages here, marks the place where once stood the village stocks and gallows, on the old road to Ashford, the market town just six miles away. The gallows long gone, this area still has the remnants of sadness hanging over it. The church, built around nine hundred years ago, in the time which I have known it, has lost some of its detail around the arch of the fine porch and doorway, to the effects of the twentieth century and acid rain, but the interior is much as it has always looked, though these days a congregation can be counted on the fingers of one’s hand, and for most of the time it is left open, cared for but deserted by humans, the odd bat fluttering about at dusk, the mice beneath the pews, and black crows squawking at the break of day, being the only noise apart from the rumble of traffic from the motorway just across the hill. So Charing is a slow dreary place these days, - no longer is there a bustling market by Royal charter in Market place, but for those in the know, Charing still has some fascinating secrets, and ghostly happenings, though only the older residents can nowadays still recall or tell the tales. As the first of May approaches, yes, May Day, it brings to mind a strange occurrence which, still to this day fascinates those who live in the centre of the village, and which is known in the hamlet as the ‘Night of the Dancing Feet’.
By sagar dhitalabout a month ago in Education
A Journey through Simpler Times
In the whirlwind of today's fast-paced world, it's easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle of modern life. But amidst the chaos, there's something comforting about reminiscing about the good old days, about the times when life moved at a slower pace and joy was found in the simplest of things. So, let's take a leisurely stroll down memory lane and bask in the warmth of nostalgia.
By sagar dhital2 months ago in History
The Story of a Wise Man and a Powerful King
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a king named Alexander. He was a great ruler, known for his bravery and his vast kingdom that stretched across many lands. But amidst all his power, there was a story that taught him a lesson he would never forget.
By sagar dhital2 months ago in Education
Echoes of Originality
It seems like you're grappling with the idea of individuality and originality in a world where everything feels copied and homogenized. You're questioning whether your thoughts and creations are truly your own or just a product of what you've seen and absorbed from others.
By sagar dhital2 months ago in Poets
Understanding and Supporting Your Moody Teenage Daughter: A Parent's Guide
I’m so so ashamed of this. My daughter is 13. I adopted her last year. She is my husband’s biological child, but the biological mother hasn’t been in the picture since my daughter was 18 months old. I genuinely love the girl and want the very best for her, but holy hell I don’t LIKE her.
By sagar dhital3 months ago in Humans