Issue 3 on Mehlima Bookden

Midnight Run - Part III

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

The night had changed hands.
As if something unseen
had taken hold of it.

Near the quiet edge of the street,
beneath a dim flickering light,
a small figure lay still.

Breathing—
but uneven.

A soft whimper touched her ears.
Almost lost to the wind.
Footsteps approached.
Hesitant. Slowed.

Lily appears in stress.

She had not meant to stop.
Not here.
Not tonight.
But something in that sound, fragile, aching yet held her in place.
She stepped closer.
Her eyes adjusted.
And then she saw it.

Memories that linger

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

The old man woke before the sun, as he always did, though there was nowhere he needed to be. The kettle hissed softly, a sound that once meant a busy morning, now just a habit that filled the silence. He sat by the window, watching the same street he had known for years, yet each passing figure carried a memory instead of a name. A child running past reminded him of footsteps he used to chase, laughter that once echoed louder than the present. Even the wind against the glass felt familiar, like a voice that had spoken to him long ago and never quite left. He moved through his day slowly, not because time demanded it, but because each moment seemed to hold something waiting to be remembered. In the quiet rhythm of his routine, the past did not feel gone — it simply flowed through him, steady and unchanged.

Between the noise

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

The classic story of a city so bright,
Where every glow stretches into the night.
Cars move on without a pause,
People pass by without a cause.

Between the noise and restless streams,
Drift quiet breaks in crowded dreams.
On a corner beneath a flickering light,
Something lingers just out of sight.

Not loud enough to call or claim,
Not clear enough to carry a name.
A fleeting pause, a softened stare,
A moment held, then left somewhere.