Posted in Featured, Fiction Fridays

The Ghost of Death

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Photo credit: weheartit.com

The hair on her neck prickled, she got a feeling that there was something hovering, weighing on her. She shook it off-she was NOT superstitious, forget she grew up under a superstitious mother. Still doing the dishes, she began to whistle a happy tune and bob her head from side to side.

Instantly startled by the heavy pounding on her apartment door, just behind her, she dropped the dish she was holding. For some reason, her heart pounded and the banging on her door persisted, a tiny voice whimpering ‘please, please, help me!! He’s coming’

She turned, heart pounding, frozen. But a force pulled her towards the door-what if, what if she could actually help? What if she put herself in danger? As thoughts raced in her head, she heard it again, a sob, a whimper, just against the door, please help….

She just got into action and unbolted the door; a small, disheveled girl pushed past her but that wasn’t the scary part, she was covered in red. She turned to stare at her, to ask the questions if her lips could utter them and the girl cried ‘he’s coming, he’s coming’

If only she knew then, what she knew now, she would have bolted out the door, herself, leaving the girl behind. She wouldn’t be staring at the hard unforgiving lid of a coffin. The clawing certainty she was going to die.

‘Who-o-o?’ she asked. There wasn’t need for an answer, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. This time, she didn’t feel a presence hovering. This time, the hot, sticky, heavy breath behind her neck was real.

*****

I’m sharing this post written by my friend who entered for a competition. Please vote for her by clicking here. 

PS: I dedicated the Fiction Friday Posts in November to my friends who wrote for the competition. Please be kind and vote for the stories you like. ❤

Thank you! 🙂

Have a fabulous weekend!

~M.

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Posted in Featured, Fiction Fridays

Fiction Friday

Iridescence

iri
Photo Credit: thekidshouldseethis.com

Too many waters have indeed passed under this bridge. The red-brown of walls and hues of indigo on paths to dyers’ homes have become the stuff of funerals, the despondent and those dreadful workplaces.
It has been three days since the burial and ten since I found my youngest son’s body in a pool of faeces and vomit. I have grown tired of being asked how my heart is faring. How does a heart fare at times like these?
My oldest child would not look me in the eye; he fears I may recognize the mix of grief and relief his’ carry. If only he would look cautiously, he will see that it is not his secret alone to keep. I wear mine in dark corners of rooms.
Efuna, I do not pine for you. We made a pact we both must honour.
Adulthood makes fools of us all; it makes martyrs of some and beasts of others and we each have a hand in which we become. You should have chosen carefully. My child, a woman’s life is difficult. She bears the weight of her children’s choices. It is only fitting that she be allowed a veto in such lives; adults or not.
So I strolled into your room and requested your audience, I said to you “a child’s fingers are not scalded by the piece of hot yam which his mother puts into his palm”, I presented you the empty calabash; that ancient symbol of a people’s desire for a life that has outlived its usefulness. In a final demonstration of self-piety and perhaps cynicism, you accepted and here we are. Why the tugging?
Efuna, I am the mother-duck that has left behind her corrupted late-budding duckling. It is the way of things that surround us.

*****

Here is another lovely story by one of my friends  for a competition. Please vote for her by clicking here. 

PS: I’m dedicating the Fiction Friday Posts in November to my friends who wrote for the competition. Please be kind and vote for the stories you like. ❤

Thank you! 🙂

Have a pleasant weekend!

~M.

Posted in Featured, Fiction Fridays

Fiction Friday

Hotel in the Middle of the Street

hotel
Photo Credit: ghostcitytours.com

So I desperately flagged down a taxi. To the driver, I said ‘take me to the cheapest hotel here.’ After what seemed like days, he finally reached a hotel in the middle of a vibrant street, bursting at its seams with shops, kiosks, food stalls, and lots of what looked to me like vagabonds.
How did I get here? First off, in an unsafe hotel on a bustling street. Lastly, in a petite room with only 3 stupid channels. I spent my whole day cooked up here gasping for some oxygen and praying that I don’t pass out or that I don’t get jacked. Thinking back on the fact that the only meal I’ve had was an oatmeal bar. I guess that’s why I am not in grouchy bear mode. Smirk!
I just can’t sleep. I keep tossing and turning from one end to the other of my bed. I keep hearing footsteps go past my room. Now this was a real doozy, all that stood between me and any impending danger was a flimsy wooden door. The night seemed against me, the heavy, cloying heat dragging my skin. I think a movie is on, “7 pounds”. I am looking at the screen but they are just images flashing by.
The real movie was in my memory. I remember her; her lovely heart-shaped face. The one I thought could do no wrong. Forever was her name, or so I thought. I remember her face, her smile. That cold, rigid smile as she pulled the trigger, never breaking eye contact with me.
And then my breath stops. I can feel it, as I hear a set of footsteps stop right outside my door, waiting. Is this what bass drums sound like; my heart beating heavy against my chest.
And then—
SMASH!!

*****

This was a story written by a friend of mine for a competition. Please vote for him by clicking here

PS: I’m dedicating the Fiction Friday Posts in November to my friends who wrote for the competition. Please be kind and vote for the stories you like.

Thank you! 🙂

Have a pleasant weekend!

~M.

Posted in Awards and Challenges, Funny

Ten Minutes Challenge

Pause. I’m moving too fast. I’m trying to beat the clock and still have a perfect piece… impossible right? Yeah, I know. I don’t know what to write about… this isn’t the first time my mind is going blkank on me. Haha, I just saw that error and it’s talking all of me to stop muself from going to correct it. Dang! Another error. I hate them! I wish I could correct every error in my life. Every mistake I’ve made. Coulcnt there be a big eraser somewhere? These errors are driving me nuts. I hear I’ve got OCDs but is this one of them? Trying to make sure everything is perfect. Including the people I meet. I mean, don’t laugh so loud. Be courteous. Why are you always talking? Can’t you just be… perfect?

Am I perfect? Probably…not. It’s no surprise I push myself to insatiable points. Beaying myself up about every mistake. These things drive me crazy. Perfection. No one really attains that in a world that seeks to constantly remind us of our imperefections.

I’m grinding my teeth oover every red line on the screen which indicates a word spelt wrongly. I could take my time- but I’ve got only ten minutes. This is ridiculous! I should probably quite this. I quit trying to spell ‘quit’ correctly. I’ve quit a lot of things. Things I just wasn’t perfect in. like really, why do it when you wouldn’t do it perfectly?

Haha, reminds me of school. I’d cry my eyes put (out0 for…aarrrgh! I missed the sepelling of ‘out’ and a freaking bracket sign. Just three minutes left ion the clock, I bet I haven’t made any senese. Haha, welcome to my mind.

It’s an incredible web of loose thoughts flung around, some tied in knots and others- just wild and free. I hate that this piece isn’t perfect. I hate that life isn’t perfect. I hate that you’re not perfect. I hate that I’m not perfect.

But there’s beauty in it all. There’s beauty in an incomplete and somewhat uncoordinated piece. There’s beauty in that smile that seems feign and in that laugh that drives me insane. Theres beauty in imperfections. I’m driving myself to the point where I’m fine with my imperfections and not so crazy. It’s time. Don’t I have a few seconds left? Maybe one..two.. dang!

Time: 10 minutes. Word count: 392

This post was written in response to a blog I read where writers are challenged to come up with a post of about 500 words in 10 minutes.

PS: It took everything within me to publish this with all its mistakes. I’m sorry it’s messy and imperfect! 😦 But that’s the ‘fun’ part of this challenge 🙂

Rules

  1. You are to time yourself in 10 minutes
  2. place a stopwatch by your side as you type
  3. backspace or delete button is a no no
  4. You must not edit what you type

Anybody want to try? 😀