Free Ebook - flash fiction (quickie)

Chique A young lady seeks shelter inside a church after learning she is pregnant and has cancer.

Another freebie

First Breath "Neither woman considered assisting my mother with the knife buried to the handle in her chest. They raced to the hysterical, screaming mistress, whose hands now wore dripping red gloves."

Chique, a short short story

Flash fiction E-book, Chique: Walking in My Own Shoes, is FREE!

Working on the redesign of my website here. The image, Fire Next Time, if the overall theme - I am designing the site with it in mind. I have much to do. And I love it!

Resolution

I don't usually make them but I made several affirmations before the clock struck midnight for the new year.

One thing I excluded and have neglected . . . this site. So I resolve to revamp it. Soon!

Show it or clothe it . . .

"When a man cannot see a woman, then what is he going to harass her for? Nothing," said Abu Donya, a taxi driver, whose views are shared by many Egyptians. "So imagine if all women wear niqab, things would be better," he said.


Show it or clothe it, men will still wonder about what lay behind the habits of women.

Take a look inside

. . . Mya's story

On the day I was Born

Before anyone could predict her actions, the mistress rushed into the kitchen area of the one room shanty, retrieved a magnificent knife from one of three drawers and returned to my mother’s bedside. Withholding mercy, she plunged the knife into my mother’s rapidly beating heart. Deep, deep down to the handle, exerting a grunt and anguished cry with the effort.

The woman helping to bring me into the world let go of my head.

My birth was delayed to comfort the murderer. My head was in the world while my body was not. My head was in the world while my body was not. My head was in a whirl, in a whirl, in a whirl. My head was in the world. My body was not.

Neither woman considered assisting my mother with the knife buried to the handle in her chest. They raced to the hysterical, screaming mistress, whose hands were covered in blood.

The unnamed midwife rocked the mistress gently like a baby, patting her quivering shoulders with the hands that had cradled my head. “Shhhh, shhhh, shhh”, she shushed while rocking the woman to comfort.

My mother’s eyes, I am told, were wide open, fixed.

Sensing my mother’s demise, I breathed a breath and let loose my first cry.

My head was in the world.

..... ! ! ! .....

Dedicated to YOU who spread lies for malicious intent and aggravation. To YOU who've nothing positive to bestow upon the world. The fingers you have pointed, now point back at YOU.

Psalm 120
1 In my distress I cried unto the LORD, and he heard me.

2 Deliver my soul, O LORD, from lying lips, and from a deceitful tongue.

3 What shall be given unto thee? or what shall be done unto thee, thou false tongue?

4 Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper.

Word on the street: I

"All this over a chick!"
He said it as if a woman's life is less than things => cars, money or land. Entire nations rise up against other nations for a little piece of property but a chick ??? Ain't worth it.

a mini-Excerpt from a work in progress

“Then what are you, if you are not like him? Do you drink too?”
He smiled but it was not a true smile, it was a mask to hide something he did not want her to see.
“Y-you are like him,” she gasped. “You are a monster.”
He smiled again, revealing a veil of a face that frightened her.
“No different than you. No different than nature intended or anything else of this world. Would you call a lion a monster for how he dines? Or you, and the religion you service, do you not drink the blood . . . of Christ?”