Much tamasha…about something

Mama said, don’t let the boys near.

Papa said, not before the bull is in the shed.

Teacher said, I will disgrace you if I ever find out.

And me, I wondered what all the fuss was about.

There was silence, then there wasn’t.

There was singing, the sonorous humming of creaking springs.

There was silence, then there wasn’t.

There was drumming, the clanging beats of wooden boards.

Then there was silence.

Mama said it has one purpose.

Papa said it has another.

Teacher said both are plausible.

I wondered if they hadn’t missed something.

There was silence, the mind swirled.

Emotions danced a gig, the body rolled in confusion.

There was silence, the body weaved.

Fabrics lay in cords, hearts tied to bedposts.

Then there was silence.

I said, let words be spoken before the time,

And silence the reward of peace abide.

Devoid of mirrors with broken emotions,

or shadows of stringed-on by-standers.

Let words be spoken after the time,

And silence the reward of peace

on the altar of guileless love transcending a moment.

Mama nodded,

Papa reflected,

Teacher said, ‘of this sort I wholly approve’.

20190513_190116.jpg

 

 

 

Advertisements

Aurora;my light.

“Dinachi! wake-up.”

“Stop joor. I can hear you and I wasn’t sleeping.”

Chuckling “You were not sleeping, just shielding your eyes from the piercing darkness abi?”

“I have had a hectic night shift, I don’t think my brain has the capacity for these your riddles yet.”

“You’re the one with all the riddles oh, lying there screaming at grandma in your sleep. It was really creep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming, just admit you woke me up for a cuddle.” with a grin he stretched to make room on the couch.

With the flick of a switch, she retreated to his heart.

 

 

 


Written for Friday fictioneers are writing group/challenge hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It has been a while I have written a story and I loved writing this one hope you love it too. Please click on this link to read other stories and on this one to join the fun. (Have a go!)

360 degrees

I set my love to flight, I gave it wings to fly,

I set my love to flight, it came back battered and bruised

I set my love to flight, I found myself aglow.

tltweek125

Photo by Erik Witsoe via Unsplash

About the title: when we love, well they say it comes back to us.


Written for Sonya’s three line tales week 125.

Redemption from shawshank

At first it made no difference to me, gradually it started to grate on my nerves; soft words spoken solely for my ears.

Like a dripping tap it slowly corroded my heart.

You promised to be there for me, you never waived. Off course I didn’t believe you, why should I? And against my better judgement I let you stay, why? Why? WHY?

I found you veil  and soft at once. How is that even possible?

Sitting here on the sofa next to you watching shawshank redemption, it dawns on me ‘like Andy you drilled a tunnel through the quagmire called my life, but unlike him you weren’t seeking escape, you were bringing deliverance to a life buried six feet under.

One would think you spoke flowery words, how wrong they would be. No you spoke the truth but you never said them in spite or derision. You didn’t seek to save me for yourself, you sort to save me from myself.

You took that step and never looked back.


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely J.S Brand (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

 

Nella

At eighteen Nella learnt to trust everyone.

When Noel said “no one will love you like I do” she didn’t doubted him.

And how about Miss Willow, she helped Nella to embrace her status as a waste of academic resource; I mean how many more F’s could one student get.

She aspired to eat like cousin Emily, talk smart like Simon (their neighbour) and dress like the girl at the grocery store.

Life at number 584 was a strict regime of self value obliteration. With eighty-two items on her list of shortcomings, Nella clung to Noel’s words like a blind leech.


Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Kent Bonham, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

Slain

On the altar of hope lies a crimson heart

char my doubts,

pray the wind at dawn scatter my ashes 

unto distant shores of pleasant pastures.

it wails.

∗∗∗

On the shores of an abyss lies a patched mind

swallow my pain,

pray  the waves at dusk snatch my memory

into depths unknown from which none shall return

it wails.

∗∗∗

On the cross of forgiveness lies a broken body

salvage my wounds

pray the dew of heaven nourish my flesh

healing every crevice blotting out every scar

it cries.

∗∗∗

On the altar of love, a voice beckons … 

’tis but for a season’ this too …

20161026_124527

Gaping love

She asked,

Where are the scars on your heart,

the bruise on your soul.

Where are the welt marks on your back,

the weeping ulcers on your heels.

A prove of

how far you would walk 

how much you would endure 

how much you would weep

if you lost my love

He replied,

I would walk the deep to prove it to you

But I wonder, would your heart let you recognize it?

Would the image in your mind 

embrace the image before you?

Perhaps your soul craves a martyrs love 

before the love of a mere mortal.

20160927_190822

 

 

Look within

April four, 1954 marked the beginning of my journey on earth.

The second child from my father’s third wife, thus my birth wasn’t significant. Not being a son made it even worse, father took one look at me and stalked off into the bushes. Mother called me Nkejika, father called me Odiozo, I guess he was starting to accept the gods had caused his seed to never rise as planters only  incubators.

 Mother said he would learn to love us, my sister accepted it, but I couldn’t wait for the day when he gushed over me in love. I woke up every day hoping it would be that day.

I went hunting by myself, I laid the bounty at his feet. He mumbled his admiration.

I went to the maidens dance, the prince took an interest in me, not the heir to the throne, though. Father proclaimed his approval, I was indifferent.

I’ve spent every step of my life reaching for love, who’s to say this won’t be another level of deferred love?


Arrrrgghhh! I am so not feeling this story.

In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Joy Pixley (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

 

I love you.

I’m going to love you, more for the reasons you don’t expect and less for the reasons you expect.

I’m going to love you, because I promised to give my heart away just once. To fall, grow, stretch and blossom in love just once.

I’m going to love once, not because love can’t happen again but because I hope this once stretches to eternity.

I’m going to love you, ‘cos love is a choice. And on days when that choices makes me giddy, I know it’s simply a dividend of loving you through grouchy days.

I’m going to love you, ‘cos I chose to. And if a day comes when I stop loving you, make no mistake, I choose to stop loving you.

Love is … a choice

20160811_162254

Indigo

Indigo ’92. My boat moored at the pier, meters away from the bridge.

I named it after my girlfriend. She was a rare beauty, I mean both the boat and my lady.

I don’t do things in half’s, I demand the best at all times.

Blond hair, bold blue eyes and a surfboard belly, steady on land, smooth on the sea. I mean the girl, not the boat. My Indigo.

‘Honey did you put enough ice in the bucket, you know I like my wine quite chilled.’

‘Sure did babe.’

The last drops trickled down his throat as she vanished.

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright - Georgia Koch
Copyright George Koch

Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by George Koch, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.