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The Portrait Of A Landscape

This is a portrait without an easel, a painting without a canvas, floating freely in the seat of memory, unfettered by the constraints of reality. It is emblazoned in my mind, a haunting creation of an artist’s craving. It sits in the sea of my consciousness, this portrait of a desolate scene. It

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The Boy Had Changed

There were tears in his eyes, he realized that now. He must have been crying after he heard the screams of the girl from the other side of the forest. He couldn’t have saved her. There was no way to do that. He didn’t even know who she was, but

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Maurice

Maurice   I’d always loved toy dogs. Ever since I was a little girl, I always wanted one. But dad would hear nothing of it. Mum hated dogs and that was it. I mean, what harm could they do? They were just tiny creatures needing love and they also kept company.   Take for example the Pomeranian. Its

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SANDHURST

How do you tell the dead they are no longer alive? How do you plead with the beast that the mother denied? - From the tales of noon It was hot. But not scalding hot. Just hot enough to bring consciousness back. The ground beneath felt loose and almost soft, but also rough

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TRANCE

#Fiction Trance ====== It was beautiful, the sunset. It had an aura around it. Explaining it with words wasn’t a very easy thing to do. Especially the sunset up on the hills Ada had always treasured. It really was beautiful. One had to experience it to really understand just how radiant it was. Ada giggled. A radiant

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Mother’s Unconditional Murder

  His mother was my mother’s best friend. They did everything in common from gossiping and backbiting to calculating when their period cramps would fall through. The calendar dates were always marred with biro stains which I couldn’t fathom what it was until much later in life. Momma was always speaking in whispers around her. Momma told

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Dont Cry

#Fiction And so it begins, guys and gals. The very first entry to Don't Cry. Let's tune in! ====== #1 of 17 ====== B -- Where had things gone so wrong? Where was that fork in the road that he had taken a wrong turn on? How did it all come to this? Segun thought about these questions

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Voices In The Night

I've been in this village for two weeks. Two weeks of waking up to a brown rooster crowing close to my window. Two weeks of watching the hills bury their heads into the clouds every morning as thick, white fog hang a little above the hillocks. Two weeks of piling

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