I scroll down the stories I wrote since 2018.
They are good stories. Maybe a bit rough on the edges but good stories. They are like my unborn children.
I feel bad for them. They are forgotten bits of my personality.
Or this short fictional story:
This one I wrote while waiting for an aeroplane. The anxiety was killing me, writing the story helped me a lot:
This one is my favourite, I do remember writing it:
And this story is one of my first attempts to write in English:
