‘Get out,’ Ranjini said in the coldest of whispers as she swept into the hospital room where Pranil lay unconscious.

It was my fault. I had dunooned Pranil into playing social cricket so he could escape Ranjini’s constant bickering. He’d been out on the boundary talking to some girls when Akaash had played a shot like the Master Blaster and the ball had knocked Pranil to the ground with such force that I knew something had gone horribly wrong.

Ranjini had every right to blame me. I mumbled an apology and traipsed miserably to the waiting room to wait.

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For 100 consecutive days I will write and post a short story (about 100 words) incorporating a randomly selected word from Afterliff: A new dictionary of things there should be words for.

Today’s word:
dunoon v.
To inveigle someone into a game you know they cannot play.

Tomorrow’s word:
nelling ptcpl. v.
Incessantly trying on clothes.