by Ajay Vishwanathan

The sight of yellow against white was beautiful, triumphal. The bubbles started forming, swirling, bursting here, some more there, as the stream steadied. As I watched the conquering act, many clamored to get to where I was and I wished they would be quiet. Distraction could be its undoing I thought, while I focused on the little miracle unfolding in front of me. It had started as a stubborn drop, then another, then a nervous spurt, fidgety, then another, gruelingly staccato. A jubilant smile quivered on my lips when it was over, as I sighed with relief, zipped up and flushed.


Ajay Vishwanathan, published in over forty literary journals, finds release in writing. He works with bugs that he cannot see, and on experiments that might find a cure one day. He lives in Georgia with his lovely wife and lovable twins.