Thursday, April 30, 2020

fff#81

nolan died, then tony died, and i couldn't write. couldn't think.
my latest-ever-submitted flash fiction friday #81; [inclusions] trigger: blood, bite, sting, fight, swing.

not real. not true. tell yourself: not real, not true.
if you tell yourself hard enough, if you insist, the universe go make it so. no?
yes.
not real.
not true.
that feeling, that tingly feeling, tiptoeing, racing up your spine and spreading from the back of your neck to trill behind your ears…that feeling? ignore it. it not real, not true.
sometimes blood rush because tha’s wha’ blood do; biology always on the move; spidey-senses spin salacious stories but sometimes a random feeling just random, because, life, existence, being human…
just be and let be.
let it be.
dismiss the pricking anxiety. fight the urge to wildly assume then conjecture scenarios of graphic extremity. you know your imagination swing wilder than most realities.
you know better and only you run you. bite the inside of your lip, just enough to bring focus to physical pain, to what is, what you know, what real, true. do not let your paranoia best you.
tell yourself the turning in your stomach is gas.
tell yourself the fine hairs bristling do not know everything, or even anything, perhaps.
tell yourself what these feelings tell you not real, not true:

not every time your earlobes sting you getting horn.

walk good.

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Friday, April 24, 2020

flash fiction friday #81

slightly late but i put 5pawpaw in the ground before i reach here, so, fight me.
flash fiction friday #81; [inclusions] trigger: blood, bite, sting, fight, swing.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, once we can all read it; please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends online).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago time.*
[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*
write fresh!
walk good.

5 Comments:

Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

TRIGGER WARNING: The following evokes images of SEXUAL VIOLENCE and may disturb some readers.


Bite your tongue because blood is thicker than water,
Bite your tongue because boys don’t cry and we certainly don’t tell,
Especially not to our mothers who can’t hear, won’t hear and would rather not know of our fights, in the night,

Bite your tongue and try not to wince,
Even though it stings, when I sit,

Bite your tongue and show some damn respect,
You are who you are and I am what I am, to you
Though I am nothing to myself,

Tonight, I lie sleepless in this bed,
Still fearful of how your mood will swing,
Whether it will be another night of breathe and push,
Another night of lies and truth,
Of body present but mind far away,
Away, somewhere imaginary,
Somewhere safe,

I still don’t feel calm about the fact,
That you lie peacefully now,
In loving memory in the minds of your wife, your brothers, your friends,

You see, you are a part of me and you always have been,
Even before I knew what your release,
Your relief, felt like dribbling down the inside of my leg,
You were a part of me even before then,

Good night Trevor,
My boyfriend-father,
I hope you burn forever,
in Hell.

10:20 am  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

Every morning, the clouds would roll in from the east. The first two hours, when the sun giving off more light than heat were the most deceptive. Fat gray masses would come up, covering sunlight, the temperature of the early morning threatening to dip back into the feel of night. He would sit and watch and wait, but nothing. The rain never fell by him. The breeze would start to blow and it would swing north by his sistrin or south by his cousin. It never fall by him.

This have to be personal.

Two weeks of the same thing, morning after morning rain passing him straight and leaving him to fight back the tears stinging his eyes.

This is what does break big man back eh? Cloud?

He shake his head at this. He watch the sky some more and convinced that there would be no change today he bite his lip and set his mind.

No rain didn't mean no wuk.

He putting sweat and tears into this thing and is like the sky god want blood and maybe he know why.

Well, this morning, is blood he go get.

Is two weeks it take him to get here. Five years since he join the church and singing to jesus. Two weeks no rain and that five years down the drain. The only reason it take him so long is because he fight. He fight so much. For two weeks, when he see no rain he go and bathe, put on his press pants and shirt grab for bible and head to church. While he there he would feel reborn, replenished. He was sure he would be rewarded for his faith. He not a heathen like his sistrin, or his cousin. Yet where the rain fall? This jesus he learn about, they say he could work miracles. He didn't even want a miracle, just a lil rain.

Doh even want all the rain, it could still swing north or south if it want, once it start fall by me.

When he was there the day before, he take it to the priest. A white man with some thin lips who thought he was the carpenter. He still calling him Joseph all this time. He and Joseph look nothing alike, other than they both tall and black. He give up trying to correct him years now.

Brother Joseph, how can I serve?

Fadda Priest, I wondering about when dis rain will come. I been praying like you say, is two weeks now Fadda, and no rain.

You must not be impatient, Brother. Think of when you are building a bench or a cabinet. I'm sure it's not something you can rush, it must be crafted. Craft takes time. If you pray and keep a true heart, be patient, the Lord always hears you, but he will not work on your timing. For He is all that is great and powerful and mysterious. Woe be unto man to know His way.


He leave with this ringing in his head, 'He will not work on your timing'. So then, what was the point? When you need rain, you ask the sky god. When you want protection on your journey, you ask the earth god. It will do you no good to get rain when you want to travel, or travel protection when you want rain.

What is the point?

He turn his back. The sun coming up in the east, fighting to burn through the thick, mocking cloud. He had enough. He didn't care if the neighbour see him and went and tell the Fadda Priest. He had no more time for them and the jesus foolishness.

Mysteries and patience!

He didn't try to hide. Sit down right under his mango tree in the open with the chicken in his hand and shout it loud too so sky god could hear him.

I know you and you know me. My ancestors knew you and you knew them. This, is fuh you.

With this he buss the chicken throat. The way Sister Ruth, his neighbour, would tell it in the church that night, she swear he went mad. She hear him with her own ears and see with her own eyes. Blasphemer! The worst part, what make her soul grow cold and cause her to grab for bible and come straight to church she say, is how he laugh and laugh in the rain that had finally decide to fall in the village that morning.

3:44 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

finally done@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/04/fff81.html and cyah wait to read...

12:02 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@swantastico: holy shit, dread! that was very, very good. and very, very different, for you :]

12:21 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@adam i enjoyed this, especially "This is what does break big man back eh? Cloud?"
:]

12:26 am  

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Thursday, April 23, 2020

fff#80

this fff was a scene and a half, too many damn ideas and none coming together; but i think i like how it eventually did, even if it take so long i do absolutely zero finessing. this is totally a 1st draft, which i never, ever, ever put out into the world, but fff is to experiment, right? so, flash fiction friday #80; [inclusions] trigger: root, fruit, truth, youth, brute.

she lift her face, slowly lift her mouth, pulling up the corners of her lips, and then her cheeks, allowing her lips to part, slightly, and making sure to crinkle the corners of her eyes; never forget the eyes, make it look real. she tilt her head one side and let the expression linger, trying to keep it alive. very important, life, in facial expressions, if you want to be believed. and she did. she allow herself to lick her lips, knowing how it would read.
his voice cut through her intense concentration on their faces, what hers was doing and how his was reacting; she watched his mouth make words.
“but first you need to listen to your bullerman friend…”
she consider rolling her eyes. probably the expected response but was the actual effort necessary? he continue talking with only briefest pause; it wasn’t.
“…and ditch this tacky look.”
good thing she decide to conserve her energy+effort before because now the eyeroll was necessary; friends like this were so much work.
“fine, ignore my good advice. doh say nobody never tell you truth about this…mess…” he waved expansively in her direction, encompassing her whole self.
she wasn’t sure how to respond but know she wasn’t changing a damn thing.
her bullerman friend was uninformed about her intentions. if she wanted what her bullerman friend presume she want from the youthman, possibly-tacky mighta be cause for concern but her bullerman friend’s concern was rooted in a deeply wrong assumption about her reason for suddenly taking on said youth. after months of his not-even-remotely subtle advances she had had enough and decide was time. he didn’t know yet but would find out soon enough. is not like she need him to prepare; his surprise would be half her fun. and in that spirit, she was keeping it spontaneous. even though she decide days ago it going down, she didn’t decide until right then when he come up in the oldtalk and she find herself saying she so bored she studying to check him, that it was right now. as the “feel I going and…” tumble from her mouth and she see the reaction them words make, decision done. it was on. if only the youthman were getting lucky like how her bullerman friend imagine…
possibly-tacky was actually perfect. she just happen to be wearing clothes she eh really care about, so when she bring the real surprise, potential mess wouldn’t matter; everything she had on could burn after. not her bullerman friend fault he eh know all that; plenty he eh need to know. she just needed to give herself something, to make the wait more bearable. the youthman would be a gift, an entertainment, a briefly-thrilling diversion, while waiting to reap the fruit of her labours on this patiently-cultivated friendship. and her bullerman friend would be worth the work. all the smiling, laughing, eyerolling, kikiing, feigned interest, faux-scandalosity, carefully curated expressions of “i feel you!”, all would be worthwhile, when her bullerman friend open the door she desperately want to enter and give access to her ultimate desire. the youthman could even be a practise for how she intend to finish off the one she waiting to encounter when she get through…
she thought of the youthman inevitable shock when he realise sex was not all she come to take from him, and feel something like a smirk developing. she use it the easiest way; let it happen, let it grow, let it be, real, at least, as real as she’s get, then,
“is real long since i indulge mehself…i going and have my way with that, every which way, all how. he only feel he in big people ting but he eh ready for me. all the talk he talk all these months, i go use+abuse that boy tonight tonight. when i done with he so, he go cyah make a note.”
“oooh! et tu, yuh brute? yesss, destruction of man in yuh pwef!”
“when i come so, tha’ youthman eh go know what hit him.”
she pull up the corner of her lip, intending to make a devilish smile, not even realising how close to real it become…

walk good.

1 Comments:

Blogger Winter said...

OMG give me more!!!!!!

11:11 pm  

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Friday, April 17, 2020

flash fiction friday #80

i was sooo close to being right on time today but that mosquito@11.59am needed killing, and i have no apologies for that. with no further ado, flash fiction friday #80; [inclusions] trigger: root, fruit, truth, youth, brute.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, once we can all read it; please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends online).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago time.*
[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*
write fresh!
walk good.

10 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Big, red, strong and unsmiling, Uncle Ray scared small children. You coulda look at him and know dat hand heavy. I was lucky never to feel it cuz I’s not a ass. Even as a youth they say he was a brute. I believe them. He more grumbled than spoke except when them boys gave him trouble. Then you could hear him streets over.

We were not prissy girls per se, but we were never rough and tumble. We didn’t know bout running in no road. Sun always hot and the pitch wasn’t smooth. Who going tru dat? We were more “play in the yard” kinda children. Lil hide and seek, hopscotch an ting. Nobody wasn’t climbin no tree for fruit...it had pickers for that. MY favourite was when the cousins came over after school and we could act out stories. Mummy bought us these super cool story books that came with recordings on cassettes. The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids, The Emperor and the Nightingale, hot stuff.

My mother’s best friend had two boys and we moved as a posse of six. From Tobago vacations to Toco field trips and after-school beach runs, them girls’ foot was well hot. What you know bout old school Chaquacabana on a Wednesday afternoon? Sometimes the crew expanded but we were the core.

12:06 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

One sunny Sunday we went to check Aunty Allison. Mummy and Aunty went drivaying as they are prone and left us playing with the boys and Uncle Ray. Obviously Ray wasn’t playing. These boys were our total opposite. Always up and down outside and were obsessed with bugs and reptiles. We loved them anyway. Since we were clearly not going to play with their turtles (how does one??) we decided to go riding. They lived in a mildly stush complex with rolling hills and Kibwe had just got a fancy new bike with gears.

I LOVED riding. It was the only reason I was ever willingly in the road. Naturally, homie was flexin on his new ride, zipping up and down the hills like a champ. I didn’t know nun bout gears but I was never backward so I ask for a tush. He said cool but advised caution cuz downhill means speed. Ever cocky, I was like “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Right before I set off he said, “Remember when you’re going downhill, don’t squeeze the breaks too hard.” Already feeling the wind in my hair, I assured him that knew how to ride a bike.

I got on and took off, speeding along the pathways toward and away from the various buildings. Determined the milk my turn, I pumped my thighs hard to make it up to the final building. I turned at the top and headed back. I began slowly, knowing these were my last moments – everybody hadda get a turn – and gazed at the pretty lawn on my left and right as the descent began. I picked up speed, grinning, feeling my plaits flying behind me. My eyes began to water as the air pummelled my face. I could barely see. My heart clutched. I was going too fast. The bike felt wobbly beneath me. It was too much. I could hear Kibwe shouting to use the breaks. I panicked, squeezing them for dear life.

The bike jerked to a halt but I didn’t stop moving. I flew through the air, did a front flip (not on purpose) and landed with a bang on the hot pitch in utter shock. She shock was chased by hot shame as the others ran over and Kibwe kept saying “I told you not to squeeze hard!” The shame fled faster still as the pain set in. My knee was open, covered in dust and tiny pebbles and oozing blood. It look me a while to sit up because the pain wouldn’t let me do anything but cry. I don’t know how long I sat there, clutching my knee to my chest as it ran red.

Something blocked out the sun, a welcome reprieve. I looked up and there was Uncle Ray. I didn’t think anything could surpass that pain but fear always makes a way. Thinking I was in for a scolding or worse, licks, I cried even harder. Wordlessly, he scooped me up and carried me down the street and inside. He sat me down, got the first aid kit then sat next to me. I didn’t dare move. He took out the cotton and Savlon. I held my breath, anticipating more pain, tears streaming down my face. He looked at me for a moment then said, “Tell me what happened.” I suspect it was more to distract me than anything else because it was pretty clear: girl.bike.hill.ground.blood. It worked. By the time I told him the full story I was clean and bandaged.

“You want to go back outside or you want to sit here with me? It’s a pretty view.” He said.

“I think I should stay here.”

“Fine by me. Want some juice?”

“Yes, please. Thank you very much.”

We sat in silence watching the sprawling lawn, swaying trees and by that time, my sister on the bike. I looked at Uncle Ray differently after that. Truth is, that may have been the most we ever said to each other. But that, the gentle way he cared for me and his quiet companionship after was the root of the love I have for him to this day.

12:15 pm  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

To tell you the truth, we was proud of She at first. The big boss make She out of pure, firey ash, spin She round and round in a pot of bile and push two dose of sulfur in She eye. When the boss was done with the fruit of he labour we say ‘Well yes, they eh go know what hit them’.

When She was a youth, She had plenty opportunity. At the time the boss was looking to terrorize a little spit in the sea that they did dare to name after the Trinity – that did make the boss vex, vex, vex so he send She in a young woman for them. She body was slender and She used to walk slow, slow in the night and under She hat She used to hold she oval face up to the moonlight as though She was always looking for something in the sky. We used to watch She walk from She house to the junction, She skin as dark as the night, and She hips swaying smooth, smooth from side to side. She watching up in the sky but all them Trinity man watching how She bottom undulating, how She does walk like She dancing; dancing yes, just them and She. More than one night She pass through the junction singing a song about the forest and is more than once She song, She bottom and She walk mesmerize a man to follow She into the darkness of the bush.

That is why none ah we couldn’t understand how She eh kill no man. We tell She hide the cow foot better, She hide it. We tell She buy a bigger hat, She buy it. We tell She walk a little slower, She do it but no matter how She try, none of dem man She lead into the bush end up following She down a precipice or into a watery grave in the river. Not one man dead!

So the boss change up he strategy, he bring She downstairs to show She how the rest of we does terrorize them - how we does just show up like we harmless and before they know it, we confuse them, we frighten them and we kill them.

At the time I was a goat. Nobody know where I come from but one Friday night I just stand up in the middle of the village when some Baptists was singing hymn and ringing bell, all of them head tie up with white cloth and they dress swinging while the pastor telling the crowd “The end time is near”. I was wearing a gold chain the boss give me to put around my neck and my animal eye was staring wild and bright like two blazing fire.

I stand up right there in the middle of the village like a mason put me there. A man who was watching the Baptists say “Allyuh where dat goat with the gold chain come out from?” and then I hear somebody say “And watch how he staring” before another one pick up a stone and they start to pelt stone at me. The next day nobody remember how I show up but they remember pelting stone at me and then all the bacchanal when a Baptist woman lie down dead with her head-tie red and stone all around her but the goat with the gold chain nowhere to be seen.

11:07 am  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

The boss thought She woulda learn from that. He send She back but this time She was old and hard. She skin dry and beat like old leather suitcase. She body get short and bend but the skin on She face get long. She smile was weak but She eye had deceit. She show up in the village peaceful, just like the boss train She. She was living in a board house and She used to keep to She self – nice, we say She go cause some trouble this time. The first time She pull off She skin and take flight, it was a Miss Eunice who did see the ball of fire and bawl out in fright.

I remember how the laugh used to rise up from in the boss belly every time the ball of fire light up the night sky and all them villagers was hiding in they house, panicking and sweating.

Then the boss realise that everything eh going right – She shedding She skin and She blazing through the sky but She sucking cow, She sucking pig, She sucking sheep. “Yes” the boss tell She “I glad they vex that they livestock dead. They blaming one another and making bacchanal but I send you there for those Trinity people to dead”. After that She appear in Anne mind as a dream of fire, teeth and two big eye but Anne eh dead – they just call the midwife because the fright make Anne put down the baby before it time.

But you know time is a funny thing. Since Anne had the dream about the soucouyant and make the child in the middle of the night, Anne always feel that something out for the two of them. Anne christen the child quick and name him after a disciple but the little brute was always harden – if Anne tell him go left, he turn right; if Anne tell him jump, he sit down.

Well, the boss was so vex about everything that happen that he call She back and fling She back up without a shape because he couldn’t stand to see She and She end up landing by the root of a pepper tree. Next thing you know, She end up living in the tree because She have no body, nobody and nowhere to go.

As the years pass Anne start to get fed up with the boy. Anne fed up wring the boy ears, fed up tap him on he head, fed up pinch he harden flesh because all how Anne try, the boy wouldn’t obey.

The boy know Anne tell him over and over not to trouble the pepper tree and he was hearing it in he head, but remember the boy was harden, so one day he pick the first red pepper he coulda reach. The pepper was nice and shiny, so shiny that it nearly look like rubber; it was hanging low, almost in line with he little face. Poor he and poor Anne – none of them did know that that was She pepper tree.

The boy open he mouth wide to bite into the pepper and as he close he mouth, he mash two-three seed with he baby teeth. It take a second before he brain connect to he mouth and he went to bawl out. He try to bawl for he mother, he try to bawl for he father but he shoulda try to bawl for God. As he was trying to bawl, She release more of She fire and the boy feel like a million red ants was biting he tongue at the same time. He couldn’t try to bawl no more. The shock, the fright and the pain make the boy start to cry and as he start to cry he rub he eyes and She get in them. He eyes was burning hot now, like somebody pour boiling water in them. He fall down and start to cough but She wasn’t moving from where she was. The boy fling he hand and grab he neck but She wasn’t moving She piece of skin from in he throat at all, at all. As he face start to turn blue and as he breath get less and less, is then we realise that it was She, The Demon Pepper that was about to cause she first human death.

11:08 am  
Blogger Winter said...

He was a brute. He was exactly the kind that I liked too: big and black and brooding, 6 foot 2 or 3 inches, probably 200 pounds. He spent his days working construction on the big building that was going up at the end of the block street. At least that’s where I saw him on my way to and from school every day. When I first saw him I couldn’t even look at him without hanging my head and looking down at the ground. I felt hot all over and would blush hard, hard, hard. I tell you I could have signed up to understudy Rudolph if only my skin was light enough for all that red to shine through. With each glance, my chest would tighten and my breath would quicken. At the same time, lower parts of me would feel like the sun was calling for it to show itself and my legs felt as If they could not possibly open wide enough.
A couple weeks in I saw him notice me. I would glance and glance and if I saw him see me I would look away quickly. He didn’t seem to care to tell you the truth. I was probably fourteen or just 15 and he was already 21 by then. He probably wondered why I was all up in his face. I wondered too. I couldn’t help myself. Seeing him was the highlight of my day. Not seeing him made me feel cheated, angry even sick. I told my cousin about it and she laughed at me.
“You have a crush fool!”
“How could I have a crush on someone that I’ve never met girl?”
“Fine thanks. It’s about time too, you always the slow one out of all of us.”

10:46 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

By the time I was 16 and getting ready for exams the building was basically up. They had all the little extra shit to do on the inside. You know the finishing that took so long it made you wonder if they’d ever actually finish? The time that had gone by was visible on us both. I’d still see him every day but it was different now. He’d be in place when I was passing and I’d be on time. His small twists were now small locks that hung just around collar length. He could put the top few up in one. I liked it like that. If he spent his day working construction his body said that he spent his nights in the gym because he was huge. I liked that too. A BBU my cousin laughed to me one day.
“BBU?”
“Big Black and ugly.”
I laughed back. He wasn’t ugly to me though. Now when I walked past I’d stare directly at him. Face blank eyes locked in and I’d keep it like that until it was time for me to turn the corner. He’d stop whatever he was doing to stare back usually smiling. Teeth white against his dark gums. I’d only ever realize that I was holding my breath once I was around the corner.
“Smile nah!”
I’d have to stop for a few seconds to compose myself.
Exams came to an end and school would soon be out. The building was almost done. They’d started to clean up the site and figure out shit like landscaping. I’m not sure when but between his smile and my cousin always in my ear, a seed had taken root inside of me and I knew I had to move before I lost him to the next construction site. I didn’t really have a reason to be at school every day but I made it my business to pass just to see him. I’d pass by going to school only to return a couple hours later on the way home. There he was as always smiling. This time just before the corner I stopped and stood face blank, eyes locked in. It took him about a minute to start to move toward me. It was a slow jog, nonchalant, backed by the calls and whistles of the other workmen who’d been observing us from day one. He was beautiful, more so up-close.
“You leaving work half-day tomorrow?”
“Leaving work?”
“Half day tomorrow all around now?”
He smiled bigger and licked his lips.
“Yes, I guess so. Yes”
“Good.”
I walked away.
Half-day the next day I didn’t see him. I searched the yard. I was confused, embarrassed. The catcalling workmen didn’t help. I turned the corner my eyes just filling with tears and walked right into him. Standing there smiling. I almost screamed. My face probably registered 6 emotions at once and then I blushed instead; hard.
“You ok? How you blushin so?”
I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure. It was so difficult that instead I handed him my small backpack and walked ahead of him in the direction of my house.
Say what you will about youth but I knew exactly what I wanted. I was determined. After almost two years of tending I was finally going to reap some fruit.
Our eyes were locked in when he sank the first finger into me. My eyes wide, my lips parted, my nipples hard, my chest heaving with every gain he made. His eyes narrow, dark, focused. His other hand slid up my side and into position around my throat. His thumb guided my head from just behind my earlobe pulling me in for a firm kiss; my first kiss, the first of many.

10:47 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

oooh, allyuh real write this rounds! mines finally done+posted@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/04/fff80.html
cyah wait to read allyuh!
walk good.

7:29 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@anon with uncle ray: nice work building up big, bad ray and describing ride+crash, to then let ray turn; unexpectedly sweet!

8:46 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@swantastico: yay! different voice; yuh wukkin! i well enjoy the story, too; fffs wukkin for you, methinks. and love this: "She have no body, nobody and nowhere to go."

8:54 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@winter: i enjoy the bacchanal las' rounds and found the story intriguing; this rounds even though the story itself technically way simpler, i love the telling of it so much it pull me in more. this one beautiful.

9:03 pm  

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Wednesday, April 15, 2020

fff#79

my possibly-latest-ever fff; far from perfect but that not wha' fff for, and i like the idea's possibilities, which is wha' fff for. so, flash fiction friday #79; [conceptual] trigger: a future.

it had a time when we used to be able to just call them, yes. serious. parents used to like to bawl behind their children enough so names was easy to know, and it didn’t have no aircondition then, was open window, so we would just call them, literally. had a time was just to wait on parents to turn their back, and whisper. wait on parents to leave the room, and coax. wait for them to send the children in their bed, and cajole. curious children, wayward children, disobedient children, call their name, they’s yours. inquisitive children, insolent children, indolent children, call their name, yours. prying children, crying children, lying children, call them, they’s yours. fas’ children, ‘fraid children, force-ripe children, call them…we used to eat we belly full. we had it nice, them times. we get spoil.
then come the dearth. we just wasn’t keeping up. times was changing, children was changing, but we was still hunting same way, or at least, trying to. trying and failing, mostly. we get accustom to good eating, then good food get hard to find. couldn’t just call names to get their attention again, not like long time. we had to learn getting followers take more than that. we who had only voice, and not even the benefit of face, had to compete with mass media and devices. we who can only walk away from our intention had to learn to navigate+infiltrate the virtual world…
the weak among we say it was impossible and accept the inevitable wasting away of them left on the fringes of cultural memory. but the douen-who-lead-from-behind…yes, who else? the douen-who-lead-from-behind come out from the forest and snatch the first mobile phone and discover the secret of connection and the scale of contacts and save alla-we! allyuh so only know to call on device and ting but when some of we who out here long time talk ‘bout calling for we dinner…
is a whole new world out here these days.

walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger SunilpWhittle said...

Yes yes yes. As much as i love folk lore stories they are always placed somewhere in the past. Never thought about them in present or future. Fantastic idea! Hoop hoop!

12:22 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

tenx! i working on a few more for "all of our shadows" so using fffs to progress ideas+ stories where possible.

7:15 pm  

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Friday, April 10, 2020

flash fiction friday #79

today was not for me; it get hijack from early o'clock. but i eh vex. i was useful today, even if it make fff trigger late. always better late than never and this late is because of worthwhile causes so, all deadlines extended accordingly, onward+upward+whatnot.
flash fiction friday #79; [conceptual] trigger: a future.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, once we can all read it; please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends online).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago time.*
[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*
write fresh!
walk good.

4 Comments:

Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

Kevon’s nails dry; such a queer. He goes to the kitchen. He drinks water. He does not go mad.

This C-word ends. He is still not mad. He is happy. He remains employed, so do all his friends. Dick is readily available to him now that everyone is back on the outside but his fear of emotionally unavailable men has always been greater than his fear of the C-word so he still does not get any dick, and he still does not get any love except for the love he gives himself (once a night and sometimes in the morning before he goes to work).

People still ask him what he thinks the future will hold. He shrugs his shoulders each time and says “I dunno. Hopefully I will be alive”.

7:31 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

in+done+posted@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/04/fff79.html
walk good.

1:37 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

damn @kristoff.
so bleak, for a piece also containing "the c-word ends...he is happy...dick is readily available"...
but, i see you, experiments with voice; yay!

1:45 am  
Blogger SunilpWhittle said...

Universal

12:17 pm  

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Monday, April 06, 2020

fff#78

late, again, but closer to deadline than las' rounds, my flash friday #78; inclusion trigger: sick, prick, flick, stick, lick.

“i doh usually do tings like this.”
“me, neither.”
smirking, “right…”
“listen. i only reach here because my girlfriend insist i come. she say she need to stage an intervention before my nani get cobweb…wow, probably shoulda leave out that…”
laughing, “i mean…”
“lewwe just pretend i did, right? nice, thanks. sooo, ahm…wha’ you do?”
“nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, web-nani is a serious ting i think we should address seriously. so, how long?”
“what?”
“how long you think you have? before the situation dire, nah…”
“steups.”
“just concerned about your health and wellbeing, yuhknow…”
“right. thanks, eh, thanks.” faux-reluctant sideways smile, whisper-not-quite-to-self, “ass.”
“alright, so what do you do?”
“unfair. i ask first.”
“yes, but talking about you so much fun so far…”
“nah. why should i share more when you not sharing?”
“i hate this question; my answer so boring. policy analyst . you?”
“i hate this question, too…”
“why?”
“i feel like when people hear the answer is just a buncha familiar words that doh come together to mean anything in their mind. and then i have to explain, except they doh really wanna know.”
curious stare.
sighing, “research. evolutionary developmental biology.”
“serious?”
“ahm…yes.”
“very cool; what you researching?”
“weirdo, what is wrong with you? and can we not go down that hole yet? lewwe talk about other tings little bit first, nah…”
“if you insist.”
“i do.”
“like?”
“me eh know; just not work.”
“do you not like what you do?”
“i do, but didn’t come out for that.”
“right, you only here to prevent the dreaded sickness, arachnani.”
“steups.”
“but here’s wha’ i doh understand: shouldn’t somebody with your knowledge+expertise be able to come up with some other means of inoculating oneself, rather than subjecting yourself to the horrors of public engagement?”
“maybe i like a little engagement, from time to time; like i said, tonight not about work.”
“mmhmm. perhaps i can help…”
“oh?”
“with inoculation, without you having to work.”
“oh?”
“might have just the thing, if you can handle a little prick…”
mock appalled, “little?!”
“what i mean is, it won’t hurt. much.”
laughing, openly, “ass!”
---
“so you tell your girl her plan work?”
“excuse you? all i agree to is linking up since both of we happen to want to take in this flick and we will be saying goodnight by my gate, so me eh know what exactly you think going on tonight and where the ass you get that idea, misterman.”
“sooo sorry, eh, ma’am; didn’t mean to suggest…”
“damn right, blasted perv!”
laughter.
“thanks, though. i real stick when the girls was looking to go, and i hate going cinema alone; i need somebody to talk about it as soon as we walk out. and tha’ was real good!”
“ent!”
---
dark. “ugh. head killing me…what…what happen?”
“relax. everything alright; you safe.”
“wait, i cyah see…”
“take your time, doh fight up, you alright…”
“why my hands tie? why i cyah see? what the ass going on?”
“relax, babes. i here and you safe. i just needed your full attention for awhile…”
almost offended, “babes?! what the fuck?!”
“aye, easy. take it easy and i go explain everything.”
“take it easy?! take it fucking easy?! when i cyah see and my hand tie up?”
“sorry, i truly sorry i had to do that, just couldn’t risk you waking up confuse and lashing out. i feel when you so get vex, small as you is, you go lick me down. and i promise…all i want is your help…”
---

walk good.

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Friday, April 03, 2020

flash fiction friday #78

flash fiction friday #78; inclusion trigger: sick, prick, flick, stick, lick.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, once we can all read it; please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends online).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago time.*
[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*
write fresh!
walk good.

6 Comments:

Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

The last thing that H.R.H.P.D. says she remembers clearly is seeing a drop of blood. She recounted to me that the blood sat on the pale expanse of her finger all by itself, in the shape of a tiny, red pearl that had mesmerized her. Everything after that moment she says, is a blur.

She said that as she tried to rouse herself from her haze, her mind found the image of a spindle pricking her finger – that’s probably what had caused the blood.

“What had bewitched me to want to sew with a spindle? How long had I been asleep? What had made me so sick? And why did my head hurt so badly when I tried to remember more?” were all questions that she told me she had asked herself in those first, important minutes.

She described opening her eyes, looking down and finding herself on a bed that she didn’t know and only recognizing her trademark large, ivory, tulle skirt with floral appliques dancing around the hem. What she said had first caused her alarm was that the left sleeve of her bodice was torn and hanging off her shoulder. At the time that all of this was going on she recalled feeling as though “her face had been licked by a dog.”

“Why was I, a princess, waking up in a strange bed with a headache, a wet face and a torn gown?” she asked me.

According to her, at some point someone must have flicked on a switch because she recalls a sudden burst of light and then seeing a man hovering just above her whose mouth was “smothered in velvet matte lipstick”. At one point in our meeting she described the man as “a pale, stick-thin thing with a beard”.

As I sit playing with my press I.D. card outside His Majesty’s Prison, I can’t help but wonder if the weeks I’ve spent trying to set up this interview with former Crown Prince Magnus , the man accused of raping Her Royal Highness Princess Dava, will be worth all the effort that went into organising it. I’m hoping that he will share some more details about his remarkable story of travelling in secret from Denmark “on a mission of love, to rescue” Princess Dava from what he describes as “an evil spirit” but what doctors have diagnosed as a diabetic coma. Only time will tell how all of this will unfold.

10:28 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

in+done+posted@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/04/fff78.html [immediately above this post on this blog]
walk good.

3:35 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

lord, tend the stick
and make safe yuh flock

Nah, that wasn't it. He licked his fingers wet and put out the flame. He always felt like he could hear better in the dark. Even times like now when he only heard his heart pounding in his head. He could feel the pulse, the force of it pushing behind his temples looking for a way out.

lord, tend the sick
and make safe yuh flock

That was it!
He was waiting for a man called Joseph. Joseph would come to the church, he was told, wait for him there. He was a man preferred to be on the move, but, he stick here waiting on Joseph. If he don't meet Joseph tonight, he don't get pay. He really hated churches. They always take him back to when his grandmother used to drag him to them three times a week, five times during Easter and Christmas. He hate the smell of frankincense and myrrh and how it seem to hold on to everything, seem to settle over and still everything. What little boy you know could sit in a hot church in all them clothes and not move? He must move and everytime he move his grandmother find the spot on his side, just where his lil waistcoat raise up and his shirt come out his pants. She find that spot and everytime he move she pinch him good and lean in and whisper,
"You cry in this church here Samuel. When we get home is licks like you never see. Who don't hear does feel."

Maybe for 5 minutes he would sit still. for the first two of those he would drop his chin to his chest and look up at her with an expression that made him look amazed, intimidated, and vexed at the same time.
Hate fucking church. He paced now. Is Joseph fault, he decide. Because if is not for Joseph and this church habit of his, he Samuel, wouldah never set foot in one again. But if he don't meet up with Joseph, he don't get his money.

He see the flicker of the approaching lights before he hear the car engine or hear the tires over the loose gravel as the car pull in and stop.
Joseph! He was in a better mood because Joseph was finally here. He took his place behind a fat circular pillar.

Joseph open the church doors and come in whistling some church tune. Of course he doing that, and the place empty with high ceiling and pipe organ and stained windows and every note he whistle bouncing off something else and grating on Samuel nerves. Samuel is facing the altar, waiting on Joseph to walk past him. Happy, at least, that Joseph is showing no sign of knowing that he is there.
Joseph really have no clue. He thinks he is alone in the church, it is why he comes at this hour, aloneness. Joseph is not a believer. He stop believe since he was eleven and the Irish priest show Joseph his prick. He had never see a white man penis before. It look like Satan to him but it feel warm in his hand, not hot. He liked how it felt. Is that make him stop believe. The man who every week leading prayers, the shepherd of the flock, the hypocrite. He condemn in public the very same thing he doing with Joseph in the back and joseph stop believe. He love the smell of frankincense and myrrh because it remind him of the old Irish, who, before he left, set up Joseph nice.
"My Joe," he call him. "It hurts to leave you my boy. Let me look after you lad, will you?"
He taught is money the white man was going to give him, but it was to be even better.
He set him up with a job in the orphanage. The Irish man of the cloth who travel the world spreading the gospel of his seed, he delivered Joe unto years and years of boys with no parents and no consequences. Until the night he walk in the church and fail to notice Samuel John. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him but he did feel the blade pull from one side of his neck to the other.

lord, tend the sick
and make safe yuh flock.

3:42 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

I real late on the submission. FFF#78
New to the space and the concept.
Respect to everyone.
Attempting to write a book and a play from this material/ these characters
Hope you enjoy. Doh mind the typos.
I appreciate all feedback.

Trixie break bottle to challenge Fancy the night the boy come and start to work Back Bar.
It was like stick fight and the two drew power from the crowd. The lines were drawn and the crowd behind each stepped quickly, swirling and shuffling, a liquid unit behind them as they as a postured, throwing long shadows into the corners. Some of the people were out for laughs others out for blood. Most of them were looking for a kinda passive vengeance at some slight or hurt feel from either Trixie or Fancy that they hadn’t the courage to carve out for themselves.
It was an ancient dance, slow and rhythmic, with sudden syncopation like lightening when they sliced the air with their chosen bois. Fancy’s was the long barbershop razor she kept hidden in her breasts that she released with soft flick as Trixie had break her bottle. Is like she know what was coming. The signs was showing tonight.
The noise of the crowd pierced through everything: crying screaming women, men laughing, side scuffles and tables being thrown around the walls. Underscoring the story unfolding just as the drummers would by the fire at the edge of a Gayelle.
Then sirens. Just so the fight mash up. People start to run out the bar and some of the regulars try to drag Fancy and Trixie away.

“I never once disrespect you and you mad to break bottle for me? Well mam Trixie from today, today yuh meet yuh death with me! Anywhere I see you I goin to lick you down!”

“Fancy you does get on like you know something d rest of we dont know. You so mighty dey on yuh bar stool like you better than some-fuckin-body.”

“I BETTER THAN YOU. I AM BETTER THAN YOU!” The shout cracked and turned almost to a wail. She was enraged but I could hear real tears in there. In all my days I never see Fancy get on so. Never hear her shout and certainly never hear her talk anything but the queens very English. “Is I who clean you up and carry you to the hospital de two times you lost them chirren right here on the barroom floor. Is I who had to buy bleach to come back to scrub blood off the people floor! After that, you went back again and is I who carry you by Mother John for Bush Bath and rituals when you said that God was taking too long to give you another baby. Is I who sit down here the j'ouvert morning filling out forms by the light of the Rhythm Section, missing my sweet j'ouvert to make sure the boy get the small scholarship while you in the back, drunk, taking prick for rum money before you disappear with the Indian who yuh say look like a Bollywood star. Same said Ash Wednesday morning you were nowhere to be found is I throw mihself together to get to the school in time to lie and tell the people that he mother home, sick. Is I who… Trixie girl you still don’t know what life is? Well then I’ve failed you because I know exactly what life is. I know that stinking, ungrateful people like you will look back on your life and never remember what friends have done for you. You will sit there in your rocking chair and say boy I had it to do but somehow I made it work out. And that's the way it's supposed to be. That's what friends are for to make sure you get through.”

This was more like the Fancy I knew although now she suddenly looked old and sad.

“I’ve spent all these years trying to make sure that you don't end up like me. An old whore with no one to claim you the morning you wake up dead. How many more years do you think I have out here? You can't be a ho forever and my time has expired twice over. I can barely afford to pay my room and buy toiletries. How much canned tuna will I eat until I turn into a real fish? I tryin to save you from this shit i livin. So if you don’t want him, let me have him because that is my child as much as is yours. Let me have a familiar face to save me from my own black future.”

5:18 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@winter, tha's plenty story, dread, and clearly have more turns to make; intriguing excerpt (well, will-be-excerpt, when book/play done). yes, enjoyable, and when you finish finessing the voice to the level of trini-ness you want throughout, it go read vibesy.
walk good.

9:16 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

@ sweet trini thanks for the comment. OH yes the voice especially of the narrator needs a lot of finessing.

11:46 pm  

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