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The Loquat Tree
Every time he closed his eyes, he was taken to the loquat tree by the broken gate. One he climbed every Friday morning as though it were a watchtower, and he its lone sentry, overlooking the city.
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Refugees
You had to drive under an old bridge to get to the school. A real relic of the past, misplaced in the brutalist Islamabad of the 80s and 90s...
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The corridor goes nowhere to the left. Come to think of it, I think I'm still going.
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Bamboo
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About the Journal
When Tigers Smoked is an online journal for new authors and artists who have not found a home for their work.