Adam Ant spies A Aligns with the other ants Alpha morsel calls
Balanced on their backs Bony shoulders now do haul Burdened with the spoils
Carries, insect thief Crumbs of alphabet larger Curbs its little life
Delicious letter Day’s insect diet broken Doubled abdomen
Enlarged belly forms Endangered, about to burst Escalates and booms.
Fumes spread and disperse Four odours now lingering Filmy veil of smoke
Giant anthill sees Great gastronomic chances Gather now to grab
Heavy letters move Hanging on broadened ant backs Heads small and unseen.
“I can scarcely speak.” Ichabod ant states gravely. “I ate all the letters.”
J still lives, hidden Just because the ants don’t want Jarring words and jokes.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
What should be happening? No one really understood. Disorda was in chronic trouble -always experiencing an apparent disorder epidemic. Residents put the wrong bins out for disposal. Colleagues were 6 minutes late for committee meetings. Children wore mismatched socks and pinafore sections. There was a constant outbreak of activity-at a highly unacceptable level. The situation couldn’t be allowed to deteriorate. Officials convened an emergency council meeting. Prevention far outranked the reaction of Disorda’s townsfolk. For ANY chaos.
The department’s measures initially sounded - sufficient. Residents planned journeys, maintained contingency food supplies, and notified each other of schedule changes. Everything was - orderly. People approved the initiatives. Prevention, of course, was better than any cliched cure. They issued directives: “Failure to predict unexpected outcomes will result in severe consequences.”
So the Department of Chaos Prevention expanded its initiatives. It created forms for:
Changing one’s mind. 2)Arriving unexpectedly; 3)Cancelling appointments; and 4)making unwarranted purchases. One had to provide 72 hours’ notice before commencing spontaneous activities. It sanctioned Approved Spontaneity. A resident received a warning after making an unauthorised decision not to have her usual noodles for dinner. Another received a court summons for undeclared sneezing. The resident had failed to make reasonable efforts to expect it. Of course, unauthorised decision-making fell - By almost 98 per cent.
So Disorda experienced a cultural shift. Its people stopped deciding things - on their own. A shopkeeper’s refrigerator leaked until the water reached knee-height, but he waited for authorised maintenance assessment. A teacher noticed a hanging classroom fan but would not move the students before authorised approval. The caution applied especially to council employees. Extreme caution.
Then, the town encountered chaos worthy of its name. A water main burst in the town centre. A flash flood of water poured across the road. “Shouldn’t the water supply be shut off?” A Disorda-ly resident asked. “Well…” The municipal worker hesitated. It would amount to an - Unscheduled Infrastructure Intervention. The water continued rising - dangerously. But it hadn’t offered advance notification. “Why don’t we just shut the valve off?” Someone suggested meekly. Everyone shot him dirty looks. At last, the worker discovered CP-47: Permission To Respond To Unexpected Circumstances. A collective sigh of relief. Until they read the instructions.
It contained one crucial requirement: Nature of anticipated circumstance. The municipal worker couldn’t complete it. The event had been impossible to predict. “Ridiculous!” The Disorda-ly resident protested, summarily shutting the valve off. An official agreed - with rehearsed sympathy. “Unfortunately, extenuating events fall outside our existing framework.” After all, regulations were - regulations. He issued the Disorda-ly resident a citation for Unauthorised Emergency Intervention.
The Disorda-ly resident garnered - unusual sympathy. The Department was forced to intervene. It conducted a review that found its procedures - insufficiently comprehensive. Additional safeguards had to be put in place. They promised that such disorder would never happen again. A new body was formed to oversee its procedures: The Department of Chaos Prevention Prevention.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
Kelvin worked late amongst tropical, blood-starved mosquitoes as World Mosquito Day fell. The hour grew late; he was trying to get much deserved shuteye after a trying week at work.
But it was that darned bloodsucker. It kept performing aerial acrobatics above his head.
But had it —
Wrapped —
In his hand.
SQUASH.
A bloody smear on his palm. The airborne assasination succeeded.
A ceremonial, almost reverential silence followed.
And a soft murmur:
“Happy World Mosquito day.”
Then —
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
On the window pane.
So — the Insect Rally began —
With a clipboard-bearing mosquito taking notes.
An officer of the International Mosquito Welfare Association.
He had buzzed over to pay homage to the registered celebrant of World Mosquito Day —
Who had become —
A Helpless Victim.
He adjusted his black armband with the dignity that only professionally trained insect bureaucrats could muster.
“A serious matter.” He noted on his clipboard, the approximate size of a cellphone.
Kelvin was thereafter charged with
Unlawful and aggravated swatting;
Developing and maintaining a citronella environment;
***Indiscriminate application of Insect Repellent. ***
Kelvin refused to attend the ridiculous court.
But that was not an issue.
The court came to him.
The lights in his home flickered.
The white ceiling became black —
And moved.
The buzzing intensified.
From outside Kelvin’s window, a black, humming cloud.
12 mosquito jurors lined the window ledge. A Judge Mosquito settled at the top of the curtain. A prosecuting mosquito settled on the window pane.
Kelvin reached instinctively for his repellent.
The Judge Mosquito slapped her wings together.
“Any attempt at repellent use will be met with harsh consequences.”
Kelvin had to sit amongst mosquitoes —
Without harming a single one.
The prosecuting mosquito had in his hands —
Damning evidence.
The prosecutor’s proboscic twitched —
Too eagerly.
***Exhibit A: Pungent repellent. ***
Exibit B: Citronella candles.
***Exhibit C: A swatter, on which lay the bodies of previous victims. ***
An audible gasp rippled from the black cloud still hanging on the ceiling of Kelvin’s room.
Kelvin banged his fists on the table in protest.
He jabbed his finger at the offensive victim, now laying
in quiet repose in its swatter chamber.
A Buzzing Bailiff summoned a witness.
Who reluctanly attested:
“The deceased had been warned not to suck the blood of humans.”
12 wings convened for 12 hours.
When it finally returned, the courtroom fell completely silent.
The verdict was unanimous.
Not guilty by virtue of self-defence.
Kelvin put his face in his hands in utter relief. The black cloud left the ceiling slowly, still buzzing.
Kelvin lay back in his reclining office chair, relief loosening his shoulders.
Almost completely.
One mosquito stayed.
Bearing a cellphone-sized clipboard.
He closed the case file, then buzzed over to Kelvin.
He froze in front of the now-freed accused —
And hovered beside his ear.
And in a low, buzzing whisper, as he drifted from his ear to his arm —
“Court fees, sir.”
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
Being the party wallflower was a drag — something that Edwin knew too well. He could clear a conversation circle —
Without even trying.
The office party fell two days before Christmas Eve, the usual end-of-year celebration.
Before he’d even tried to share his anecdote, a listener had remembered another urgent meeting.
The foul restroom became a source of respite for another.
The wall clock gained a new admirer. The number of minutes it took before he could leave became particularly sexy.
Edwin noticed. Very much. He sensed, rightly, that people were tolerating rather than enjoying him.
And decided that it was time for a change.
On the way home, an advertisement by a Public Speaking Guru caught his eye —
Become a scintillating conversationalist.
And underneath it the irresistible promise —
Never bore another soul.
Edwin reached for his cell.
The package the Guru sold him was —
Unconventional.
Scintillating in and of itself.
It contained a few silver tablets and a cryptic instruction —
Take one tablet before any social engagement.
So the night of the gathering —
Edwin swallowed one with gusto —
And became more magnetic than Magneto.
He was magnificent.
Astute. Everyone wanted to listen to his wonderfully charming anecdotes.
Laughter broke out —
At the right moments.
People crowded round exits —
Refusing to leave.
He started wearing studded suits that —
Sparkled.
His 70’s hustle was a hit at every gathering.
He had studs multiplying —
And was electrifying.
Edwin swallowed another tablet before the next party —
A little too eagerly.
He scintillated.
Again.
But cheeky, malfunctioning executive functions decided —
The anecdotes had to lengthen.
And became too long.
Midway through one, his mouth circled —
And paused.
For seconds too long.
Then —
Zap.
A spark got his tongue.
His mouth circled again.
Zap.
He pulled out all the stops to remain interesting. Circled his mouth once more and —
Zap.
Every pause electrified. Literally. Edwin filled pauses with silly jokes, unwanted trivia and lame stories.
“A real entertainer,” someone said.
Burning from his now almost permanently circular mouth, Edwin agreed.
His sparkle became the office must-have.
At the next dinner party, his tablet became —
Relentless.
Edwin just couldn’t stop.
The studded suits drifted between courses, with flowing anecdotes to complete them.
People chewing cheese? They needed cheese trivia.
Drinking a Martini? That poor soul needed a 007 joke.
Soon, the guests’ fascination turned to —
Fatigue.
One finally snapped.
“Edwin?”
He paused mid-sentence.
“Shut up.”
But his mouth continued circling. He sparkled furiously.
So Edwin stopped being scintillating.
The office accepted boring —
When needed.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
Reading. A habit that the bibliophile in me has never been able to vanquish.
So when I came across an antiquated title entitled The Captive Reader in the corner bookstore, my curiosity was naturally piqued. The bookseller termed it The Most Captivating Book One Would Ever Read. His face beamed with suspicious relief when I bought it.
I made it my bedtime reading that night. I forgot supper. The messages on my mobile went unanswered.
I was captivated.
So captivated that I reached the ending — after perusing almost a thousand pages — at 2:13 a.m. in the morning.
The final phrase of the book —
The most captivating of all —
Now write.
I chuckled. But…
My laptop blinked unceremoniously.
A blank document opened.
I closed it.
It opened again.
I closed it again.
It opened with a bigger browser window.
I closed that window.
It opened ten browsers.
I slammed the laptop shut.
Then, an irritated click.
Then I heard…
Instructions.
Write Chapter One.
I was never any good at obeying directives. They grated.
So I refused it.
The lights flickered angrily.
I wasn’t too happy about being pushed around by a book. But I didn’t want one becoming my electrician. So…
I reluctantly typed a sentence.
The lights came on.
So I started to experiment.
Whenever I stopped typing, the lights would flash like Zeus was in one of his tempers. Or the coffee pot would percolate by itself.
I got so fed up that I tore a page.
And then…
The printer began to spit ink.
Rude editorial comments.
Weak opening!
Cliché! Cliché!
And that proverbial slap in a writer’s face?
Show. Don’t tell.
Type.
Tear.
Type.
Tear.
Type.
Tear twice.
I started a full-blown book-gument.
By sunrise, I was…
Out of words.
So I typed —
THE END.
And everything —
Stopped.
I heaved a sigh of relief.
But the printer, enraged, started to whir.
It spat a freshly bound book into the tray.
With the title —
The Captive Writer.
Book One of Eight.
I stared at the seven blank documents opening simultaneously.
Oh yes. I had been biblio-napped.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
Zed flicked his tail as he relished the leaves in his Savannah oasis. The black and white stood out; he swung the striped appendage with flourish.
His herd was —
Competitive.
Obsessed with being striped.
Its members participated in every known zebra competition to see who was —
The straightest.
The brightest.
The boldest.
And poor Zed detested all of it. His ambition?
To be gloriously plain.
As the situation would have it, Zed came across a few tins of white paint near the park ranger’s shed.
So he lifted a brush with sturdy teeth…
And went over every black stripe on his body.
He looked over himself from every angle.
The face.
The body.
The tail.
No black. No pattern.
No PERSONALITY.
PERFECT.
He merged with the herd, expecting to blend in.
It stopped chewing grass —
Then went stripe-crazy.
“Why…..you’re…unicorn-worthy!”
“Solid decision. Stripes were hopelessly old-fashioned.”
“Minimalist. I love it.”
My lunchtime, the white paint in the ranger’s shed had depleted.
Poor Zed. He’d never wanted attention.
But his humility got him just that.
He was now the herd’s unwilling fashion icon.
The entire herd turned from zebras —
To white horses.
And a rather pale Zed. He had another problem to solve.
He looked like everyone else…
Except for the constant congratulations for being…
The most handsome zebra.
The Savannah’s Fashion Statement.
The Stripeless Pioneer.
Then he noticed, in a neglected corner…
Black paint.
He dipped a paintbrush in it.
Stripes back on.
He walked confidently among his herd.
“Stripes!”
“Trendy!”
Zed sighed.
Behind him, a zebra clutched a paintbrush with his teeth…
And dipped it in black paint.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
Milo returned to Fulfilment, key tightly gripped. The Department of Purpose secured it for an inspection. But something was off. It clicked the baker’s elbow — No access.
— -
So the officials promptly tested it on others. The mailman. The teacher. Even the mayor. Everyone- Remained locked. Yielded zilch. Wouldn’t budge. So the Department’s report declared- Defective.
— -
Their labels fitted. Once. However… The baker now painted. The teacher baked. The Mayor? Was unimportant. The key recalled, but they… Moved on.
— -
So Milo smiled and put the condemned key in his pocket. Perhaps Purpose was — A temporary guest. He brought his findings to the Department, which promptly created: The Repurposing Division.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
FulfilFent was a town where everything had to have —
A purpose.
A reason for being.
The little township had an established Department of Purpose which examined possessions yearly.
A chair? For sitting.
A book? For reading.
Ornaments? For anything more than mere decoration.
Young goblin Milo arrived, bearing his grandfather’s old key. No one knew what it opened.
Then there was the key.
That didn’t seem to open anything.
Purposeless.
The Department confiscated it.
Its officials tried it on everything.
Doors.
Drawers.
Chests.
“Everything must have a purpose!” A flummoxed inspector declared.
Then —
Click.
The key turned —
To him.
And a tiny compartment in him abruptly opened.
The department decreed that it warranted investigation.
They tested it on:
Bakers.
Teachers.
Even —
The Mayor.
Everything had a compartment—a neat label.
Then, they tested Milo. Who contained —
Nothing.
Who panicked frantically. What was he for?
Then he remembered —
No one had given him any.
He winced, then smiled. Perhaps being was purpose.
For now.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
While others slept, he created. His YouTube Studio playlist was probably longer than that of YouTube Vlogger Mark Weins’.
Productivity was a bedtime novel.
He often scrolled till dawn broke, standing firmly by the maxim that sleep was for losers.
Then, on a fine morning at 3:15 a m. —
A gentle, courteous knock.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The taps clicked like punctured malice.
Politeness was never so unsettling.
A sharply dressed Repo Man.
He knew this day would come.
“Good afternoon, Sir. I represent The Union Bank’s Department of Restitution. You’ve probably been expecting us.” The smile on his face was almost a sneer. “And according to what we have on record, you’ve accumulated substantial debt.”
Graham laughed.
He blatantly ignored the banker’s attempts to administer the necessary documents for the repossession of his home.
Then, he lost the ability to yawn.
The next morning, the coffee’s ability to rejuvenate him was —
Useless.
Soon, every sleepless night increased the Repo Man’s presence.
He arrived courteously. More punctually than the city bus.
And he claimed something —
Strange —
With each visit.
Then Graham’s dreams vanished.
Music no longer motivated him.
His sense of humour was repossessed pending —
Payment.
One receipt at a time.
Peaceful afternoons vanished.
Graham gulped cup after cup of coffee. His energy depleted with
each cup.
The more he drank, the more of himself he lost.
In exhaustion, he signed contracts his mind never read.
The collector arrived for his final visit.
He closed the ledger.
“We will collect your tomorrow…
Tonight.”
And for the first time, Graham declined the late-night demand.
He ignored the knock.
The collector never returned.
But his yawn did.
Then, he laughed again.
Sleep finally returned — in peaceful starts.
Rest started to accumulate interest.
Graham still focused on production.
But he no longer paid for it with Himself.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
The gargoyles blew back, wings extended in triumph, to Father Primwell after the night’s sordid inspection. One of them, Clutch of the Grotesque Claw, had a rather sombre report for the rest. “The townsfolk are starting to lose their grip.” “Oh, I see,” Fr. Primwell nodded sagely. How could he account to the Bishop if the people lost their moral fibre? “What did they do?” He questioned Clutch with a raised eyebrow. “Their grip is slipping. They drop - ” Clutch paused with dramatic seriousness. “Things.” “Things?” Fr Primwell furrowed his brow, puzzled. Then, he shrugged. Perhaps people were getting - Clumsy.
Our zealous gargoyles started improving everyone’s grip while they were - Asleep. Perchwick’s citizens rose each morning with extraordinary hand strength. And the improvements made an indelible mark on everyday life. Mugs stayed in hands - Permanently. Pencils snapped in half. Door handles broke. People shook hands - And left without them. Everyone admired one another’s newfound confidence.
The good Father Primwell began to receive reports of the gargoyles - Unquestioning discipline. The humble parish priest realised that what they believed to “get a grip” was - To get one. The gripping conclusion. And a humble catch phrase had become - A moral statute.
The gargoyles reported yet another successful campaign. But good Father Primwell didn’t praise them - Yet. Because the townsfolk still couldn’t release their mugs - Pencils - And bars of soap which they couldn’t abandon while showering. They needed to learn not to hold tighter - But to let go.
Instead the gargoyles tightened their grip—
Everywhere.
Their approach?
Enquiry expansion.
More inspections.
Increased observations.
Increased evidence.
At hand was a town-wide crisis.
So the campaign reached all corners of Perchwick.
It involved not just people.
But homes.
Offices.
Shopping malls.
The expansion soon reached fever pitch.
They fortified their grip —
On family life.
Friendships.
Responsibility.
The definition of ‘grip’ broadened.
It became a universal principle.
And increasingly literal.
Life in Perchwick became —
Inconvenient.
Not dangerous. Just —
Gripping.
They held on to stop signs.
Gripped one another’s hair.
Gripped one another’s shoulders.
And formed conga lines.
Dear Fr Primwell soon discovered that expansion had to include—
Wisdom.
Understanding.
Its reach had to broaden.
Judgment had to be —
Balanced.
A good grip — and moral solidification —
Did not have to include everything.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
