Saturday, September 26, 2020

ting to come back to

awhile now i eh do this and i re/learn my damn lesson the hard way when i accidentally delete the file i was keeping all the shit i intended to blog. so lemme not stick on these3 i wanna be able to tackback to.
this for a few reasons. [and i so glad my music theory understanding enough that i could follow the whole ting because] i love this song deeply, regardless of how much its popularity make it overplayed i always thrill to hear it, love how it so layered+complex and manage to have this seemingly light melody but feel melancholy-to-dark in that way i like, so much so i always assume without ever checking is a minor key because is make me feel that certain kinna way certain songs do that i never understand and then i find out they minor [stevie's do me this, and, of course, shadow] and this video's get into the elements i think make alla-that so, because i always find it interesting that it often used to signify frivolity and that people find it kitsch when i find the tune anything but, which also make me realise my primary experience of the song affected by the fact that is the darker-feeling d-flat version with blues-countermelody discussed here i meet 1st and love best and thus play+hear most, so much so even though i never know or even try to analyse before what the difference is i know some other times i hear it out i's be slight disappointed, not loving the song less but some of them other versions send me straight back to listen to the one(s) i have instead for satisfaction, because i like weird and how lovely to learn it have weird shit about a song i already love, because, orfeu negro references.
this because even though i know from before why we dislike the sound of our own voice i think it explain my lifelong struggle with being told i talking loud in moments when i feel like my level being dictated by not being able to hear meself over whaever other sound(s) currently present (that seem to make no difference to others in the space) especially when the other sound(s) musical. i always been sound-sensitive plus struggle to hear human voice, hadda listen real intently when people talking to me but simultaneously catch the faintest bassline on the breeze from many plenty blocks away and can tell you wha' tune playing and be able to make out even at distance where the mix going and feel like i hearing that clearer than whoever talking to me right in my face. and my ears tune into my own speaking voice least of all (voices inside my head always make themselves perfectly heard, though); wha' she say 'bout mechanical filter@9minutes, followed by the biological+neurological filters sound exactly like that struggle to hear myself speak feel; come like my filters wukkin too good for my own good. a revelation.
and this because rule of 3 plus i find it so good at wha' it actually purport to be and intriguing in a kinna-feel-to-do-this way...
walk good.

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Thursday, September 17, 2020

fff#88

so this probably a new record for fff longtaking, but i playing a little because i think i need to, so it take awhile this rounds to write something i content enough with to share.
far from perfect but worth the exercise, for me; flash fiction friday #88 trigger: write of not/judging a book by its cover.

he wasn’ even remotely my type. not even a tiny, little bit wha’ i’s go for. usually.
this was a lingue redskin something. a long, tall caramel macchiato with greyblue ice in he eye. sugary finish but so obviously not sweet. a sharp cut cheekbone and a slice through one eyebrow suggesting fire under the ice. hand-span like a pro-basketballer and swag to match. not. my. type.
usually.
usually when a stranger i not on giving me current, i’s ignore. hard. me eh want nobody get the wrong idea and then is me-one fighting them off later. i know my size and wha’ mankind capable of and i eh need that battle.
but this lingue redskin something…
this lingue redskin something greyblue eye flick over in my direction and i nearly jump out my own skin. why he even watching over here? i just here trying to quietly kill time until my nex’ appointment, minding my own business, why he looking here for? i studiously look the next way. i not out here looking for nothing.
i stir my drink, check the time, again. i hate waiting. especially in public. this couldn’t be over fast enough.
and then this lingue redskin something fully watch me out the corner of he eye. this lingue redskin something fully watch me out the corner of he eye and one time i feel meself start to get warm. i feel meself get warm starting in my chest and the warmth spread up my neck to my cheeks and down to my belly, threatening to spread further, lower. i grind my backteeth and look straight down into my drink, thinking cool thoughts. calm thoughts. i try to picture cucumbers; cucumbers cool, right? but them cucumbers quickly turn from green to caramel and from fruit to meat and that eh work at all. i take a big gulp of my drink. what i feeling to do is dash it ‘way over my head to quench this rising heat. but, be still.
i there just trying to be still and hydrate and now this lingue redskin something turn to fully face me. even with my face insistently pointing into the dregs of my drink i feel he eyes, ice-lasers targeting the crown of my bowed head. and this lingue redskin something not looking away. and i cyah stare into my glass forever.
you might feel black people cyah blush but you would be wrong. and this lingue redskin something have me crimson, i swear, just sitting there trying to not melt completely into the puddle my insides already become. i dare not look up, or around, or anywhere but the bottom of my glass because i do not know why this lingue redskin something having this effect but i did not come here for this and need it to stop before i wet down the people and them good good furnitures.
i slowly raise my eyes. i eh know why, i so scared for two of we two eye to make four because if that only happen…
it does. and what i read as current before come like a electric shock now, swear them sparks people be talking ‘bout in stories actually fly, straight out my head like cartoon bolts, straight outta my head like my every coherent thought deserting me all at once, leaving me alone+unattended, unprotected, with this caramel macchiato stranger.
and as i cyah think and can only feel what was warmth then heat now a slow burn spreading through my nethers and my mind the lingue redskin something approach. and he approaching and my everything on fire but he greyblue eye cyah cool me and my glass properly empty and all my saliva run backward to come from between my leg and all i know is i surely about to embarrass meself if i only try+open my mouth and the lingue redskin something say,
“thorry, eh, mith, but you look thooo familiar…i know you from thomewhere? i over there watching you and wondering and jutht couldn’t take it no more and had to athk…”
…yeah, not remotely my type.

walk good.

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Friday, August 28, 2020

flash fiction friday #88

so, 2months-to-the-day later, we back on like a socks.
flash fiction friday #88 trigger: write of not/judging a book by its cover.

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.

1 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

in+done@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/09/fff88.html
walk good.

8:47 pm  

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Sunday, June 28, 2020

fff#87

my flash fiction friday #87; [contronym inclusions] trigger; conjugate as/if needed: buckle, dust, bolt, rock, skin, left, bound; [bonus words] refrain, sanguine.

once upon a time back when i wasn’t myself yet, before i become the sweat-rice magnate, i was a nonsinger in a land of musicians. i didn’t know nothing ‘bout no obeah, beyond its basic existence, which felt far from mines them times. them times all i had was the sight.
but the sight…that, i had, more than i wanted even, until later i learn what i could do with it, and a little focus.
i was just trying to make my way in this place, to find my space to claim. didn’t know what yet but knew still i need to devote myself to some purpose, that it have a power in me [need] to be directed+used. thought working in the library was a decent start while i decide my life and it wasn’t hard to get in, so i did. and from jump, i love that work. the library was a home for me who [had] always ache for a home i never know. i love that work. and i was good there for a time, reading everything that call me, seeking, searching, busy discovering the whole wide world, until the more immediate world rudely intrude.
i was reshelving. he pretend to need help. come and ask me about some author i never hear of, if we have them. i had to check. which was all he want. he proceed to keep me at the desk with a endless litany of questions and requests for recommendations and, i realise after, anything else even remotely sensible that cross he mind, because what he actually want was my attention+time.
from then, the man become a pest. somehow he figure out my schedule- maybe he was following me; probably was- and manage to turn up every shift to eat up my time with smalltalk+questions, rinse out my ears with weak attempts to impress, and (he thought) slickly, try to inveigle his way into my life, asking unnecessary things about me, finding excuse to try+bring me things, wanting to get inside my skin. i wasn’t having it. and apparently he wasn’t having that. the day i politely try to put he in he place and explain my being there was a job thus i had work to do, this man explode. in the library. in the middle of the day. in front the marish and the parish, he open up he mouth and leggo one setta abuse at me. well, my 2leg buckle, make me rock back and siddown hard, i was so shock. and shook. he rail up heself all by heself and as security reach, spin+leave.
that night the phonecalls start. all kinna quality hours my landline going off and when i pick up is only heavy heavy breathing and nothing else until i put down the phone. a few days later, my mobile, too. after about a 3weeks of sleep deprivation and swear somebody following me everywhere i go, jules, one of the girls in the library board me in the bathroom and demand to know what going on. of course i try to act like is nothing but she drag me over by the cracked mirror that say mister brown is a lick-bamsee in red sharpie in the corner, and force me to watch my own face and she say, gyul, you think anybody believe that “i alright” bullshit right about now? you eh bound to tell me ‘bout it if you doh feel but is not yesterday i born; you cyah expect me believe you alright, looking so!
well, with that i break down and tell jules all what happen with the man and how it have me frighten and cyah sleep. she listen, calm, and when i finish bawl jules ask quiet quiet, you have gold?
next night she carry me by ma lacey.
ma lacey blood take me one time. that very 1st night she tell me before i go, after i finish do all she say and rid meself of the problem, come back and see she again. i reach all the way back by me still feeling like under a fog but somehow not confuse, her instructions clear, a map in my mind to guide my inexperienced hand.
when ma lacey hear my story that night she laugh low and tell me, doh worry, man like that weak, them so does mash up fine fine like chillibibi and dust off your foot after…
i tell she i only want he leave me alone, completely. ma lacey laugh again and say, whaever you want, is yours.
i get the candle, write out he full name (we does keep excellent records), do everything just as ma lacey tell me. and he stop come in the library, at least when i there. my phones’ refrain fall silent again.
i reach back by ma lacey.
eh heh. i see like everything work out. so why you [come] back here?
now i confuse. but…you tell me…you say come back…
me? i tell you?
i watch ma lacey face close; she, inscrutable.
yuhknow, sanguine is a funny word. i never really understand how it could mean them 2 totally opposite things before but…now i do. both of them is how i feeling right now.
she watch me hard, then quietly ask, you ready to see? ready to learn?
i swallow hard. nod my head.
ma lacey bolt the door.

walk good.

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Friday, June 19, 2020

flash fiction friday #87

late because of self-debate; in the end i decide to break rules and post a new trigger even though thus far only i write the most recent fff[#86], mostly because i think the nature of the last trigger defies deadline and tha's on me, and while i hope allyuh still try it, i eh want us sticking here.
so, something simple, a palate-cleanser, flash fiction friday #87 [contronym inclusions] trigger; conjugate as/if needed: buckle, dust, bolt, rock, skin, left, bound; [bonus words] refrain, sanguine.

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.

2 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

done@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/06/fff87.html
walk good.

9:51 pm  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

My eyes are bright and brown and my mouth is delicate and small. I glance towards the vendors as I flutter through the little passageways that the stalls have left of the market. “Three dollars a pound , Miss Lady” they shout. In my easy way , I ignore them with my gentle smile; a gracious queen, her eager subjects.

Despite the shouts , it is the sweet , enchanting smell of ripe guavas drifting on the wind that draw me. The scent enchants me as much as I, myself am enchanting.

When I turn to approach the guava vendor is when my eyes fall upon her. My knees buckle and my heart burns.

While I am tall and slender , she is broad and small. For every charm that I possess, she has a dozen flaws. Though I am as radiant as gold and next to me she would be dust, I leave; no I bolt from the market.

I am bound to my rival as much as she is bound to me.

Torrid and intense, he and I spend hours bathing under the stars and the moonlight. It is always under the moonlight, under the stars , after dusk. I am Eve, I am the evening. My skin is clear but I am his dark desire.

I am drunk with his touch as I rock my hips back and forth. When he leaves I sober myself. It is minutes to ten. For all my charms, my rival always wins. He goes back to her while tomorrow I will wake up alone...

10:49 am  

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fff#86

my flash fiction friday #86; trigger: write a piece inspired by another artwork and decide whether to reveal inspiration to reader before or after.

for awhile she thought it woulda just be easier to stay dead. nice+quiet, no setta rayray, a person could hear theyself think. and she like that. thinking. have plenty to ponder, all the time, ‘specially when you know as much times as she. but after awhile she feel to see how things was going and she come back around again.
figure out living all over again, in a whole new world; that was something else. but that rounds the world was more involved, things was more involved, and she get more involved. and then couldn’t stay away. them times when she dead she would just come right back, fast as she could.
las’ time she had dead she hate it. promise sheself no cremation ever again. she still never feel quite right after the flames getting in she bones like that. so she say when next she deading again she hadda make sure everything in place to avoid that bullshit. no fire nex’ time.
thing is, she didn’t expect to get so attached to being alive. she thought she was long overs the novelty of human living, that she didn’t need the drama, but as things really start to accelerate she was too in it, too involved, to just lay there, nonparticipatory, while seemingly infinite fresh possibilities await. staying dead was no longer an option. she wanted to play [sheself].
and right then was when the universe take everything away.
she had dead+bury again. on the 9th night she flex, expecting the now-familiar breathing into being, but…
nothing.
not just no thing, but nothing, absolute.
nothingness crushing she very sense of self. like a vacuum inhaling she as she struggle to inhale life.
then out of nothing, from the void.
what you feel it is at all?
she current reality is she existence apparently in a bubble protecting she from infinitely imploding nothing…and the bubble sounding kinna upset. and she did not know and thus could not say what she feel it is at all mostly because she did not know what was at all. far less what to feel about it.
steups. ingrate.
she didn’t know how to respond to that neither and didn’t feel safe guessing wild, so she stay still.
i suppose you tbought was infinite, that even though you eh do a damn thing to deserve it you was just going+keep coming back around to do not one fart for the planet but like yuhself. nevermind the state of the world, you here for your health so once you good, nothing to worry about, ent?! well, not so again!
she start to understand the type of response that might be required for continued survival and her trembling (inasmuchas the disembodied could tremble) attempt come backed by smarts acquired over plenty lives, and she get through.
it wasn’t the end of she.
but the compromise she make to save sheself not no easy play and sometimes she’s cyah take the licks just so and them times, them darknight, is when you hear she still, wailing in the wind.

inspired by several foreign films; "Los Pasos Dobles", "Tremble All You Want", "Mary Is Happy, Mary Is Happy", came together as an idea of being dead, again, and the idea did it's own thing from there, not what i intended it to do...
walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger Winter said...

listen once again you caught me. Just where your mind goes is amazing to me. written in a way that definitely makes me need to keep reading at all costs. and the simplicity and matter-of-factness of it all have to be what i enjoy most about your writing. unadorned unfrilly. direct and clean but so rich and super descriptive. you should teach/ mentor. no lie. loved it.

2:38 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@winter, thank you! i am so flattered...but have no idea how to teach writing, eh; i can critique+edit like a champ but have no idea where to start teaching how to actually write well, although, funny enough, i now apparently mentoring a couple folks, as per their request, so i hope i making a decent contribution that way. but i just so chuffed you enjoy my writing :] you go tell me about my fff#87 when you reach there...
walk good.

11:23 pm  

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Friday, June 05, 2020

flash fiction friday #86

flash fiction friday #86 trigger: write a piece inspired by another artwork and decide whether to reveal inspiration to reader before or after.

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.

7 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

my fff#86@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/06/fff86.html
walk good.

11:31 am  
Blogger Winter said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

11:48 am  
Blogger Winter said...

“Who she? That one ain’t never even been to Tobago self”
This was my mother’s response when I asked her about my aunt who could, and would, never miss the opportunity to tell you a story about when she used to be a Radio City Rockette in her young days.
“That must be a story she make up after reading something in a book or in the newspaper when we were children and out of many this one like it stick.”
Meanwhile, while mummy and me talkin in the kitchen is only antics and dramatics in the living room. My Aunt is there in the middle of the living room, after making us clear a space of course, doing her one party trick, the same at every family gathering.
“ A 5,6,7,8 knee knee, spin bevel, side side, head. Shoulders back, long arch. Deep bevel, toes front heels together, elbow chin, shoulder smile, dancing her heart out calling each move out loud as she popped her head and smiled with bright eyes. Like a hokey drill sergeant. After which she’d slowly lower herself into her chair near the window and yell out as she sat “aaaah boy, choreo in yuh ass yuh know”, before lighting a cigarette and staring outside, tapping her feet and reliving her glory days.
The adults around, my other aunts and uncles, my dad would shake their heads while the children would crack all the way up because truthfully as a team of one this display really just left her looking for want of a better word crazy.
By the time we were teens it was obvious that my parents could no longer care for my aunt who had continued to slip further into whatever her ailment was. And well you know Caribbean parents so they never actually told us if she had been tested for something and if so what she had been diagnosed with. All we knew is that she was being moved into a home where she could have constant supervision and care. We would visit her every other week and then for my two sisters and I that turned into once a month and by the time it was time for me to leave for college I think I’d probably seen her once for the year.
My first year of college passed with a blur. I had the best time ever. I did not come home that first Christmas or even the next summer but like the girl on the radio really say, “Trini Christmas is the best”. and I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I had to go home. My girlfriend at the time invited me to come with her to be a part of her family’s Christmas tradition of going to see the Radio City Rockettes. I wasn’t too interested in going to be honest but she made such a big deal about it that I agreed. Lucky too, that things worked out because it happened to fall on the last day of my finals which still gave me the next day to pack all my things before heading home to Trinidad. Now the Rockettes Christmas Spectacular is a big deal with people coming from all around the world to witness it live. I mean it really was spectacular from the time we walked through the door. I mean The decorations, the lights and costumes and of course the dancing was amazing. By the end of the fifth or so dance I found that I kept tearing up and If you know me at all, then you know that weepy is just not my style.

11:49 am  
Blogger Winter said...

I excused myself and went to the restroom to splash some water on my face hoping to get a grip on my emotions. On the way back in I was held at the door until the scene finished and there was applause and then rushed back to my seat just as they went into the last dance of the first half. People screamed and clapped wildly when the dancers appeared onstage in a red, white and gold regiment costume. It was the toy soldier routine; apparently a favorite. Well chupidy me there again with teary eyes in the people place and not being able to understand why. SO I decide let me just concentrate on the dancer dead center the lineup. And just like that I could see in mih mind my good good aunt in the middle of my living room doing the exact same dance she always did for us every year but somehow her every move the moves that I’d been seeing all my life were spot on with what I was seeing here happening on the stage. I mean move for move. By a couple minutes in I could call out the moves as they were happening as I’d heard my aunt do time and time again in my home when we were children.
“But what shit is this?”
It was all I could do not to call out “choreo in yuh ass!” as they took their bow.
I couldn’t believe or understand. I’d definitely have to ask my mother again when I got home.
Well with the excitement of seeing everyone that I hadn’t seen for eighteen months, I clean forget the dancing and too busy beating mih body all over the place.
Just before it was time for me to go back to school mummy tell me that I should probably go with them to see mih aunt because she was going down and probably wouldn’t be around by the time I got back.
So, we go up thereand I’m shocked because this not the huge energy that I remember from my teens. There is an old woman in her place. A little old woman in a dressing gown that’s open over some loose trousers sitting looking out the window.
“Hey Lady!”
My mother calls out when we are all in the room. My aunt turns and looks at us and thankfully she immediately breaks into a smile. I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“Sit down, sit down allyuh in mih light!” She smiled.
I smiled. There she came. And as she warmed she was witty and coherent and even remembered our names. When it came my turn to be interrogated I told her that I was in the middle of school in New York City. Well she didn’t need any more gas than that! No sir she was ready to go. She jumped out of her chair lit a cigarette and started to tell us all about how she used to be a Radio City Rockette back in her days of living in New York. Before we knew it we had cleared a spot in her room and she struck a mean tableau; 5,6,5,6,7,8 and there she was doing her best rendition of the moves that she’d done for us so many times before. A little slower and without as much reach and charge but it was all there. She sat and lit another cigarette.
“Choreo in yuh ass yes! Choreo in yuh whole ass!”
We all laughed. It was a great time. By the time we were ready to leave she was out the window again tapping her foot lost in her memories from her time as a Radio City Rockette. When we got home I started to pack and my my mind fell on the time we had just had.
“Mummy come and see this!” I showed her clips of the Rockettes dancing, some from shows and some rehearsals. I showed how all these years my aunt had been dead on with her dancing even the way she named each move during their rehearsals.
“Well boy I don’t know nah.” Mummy shook her head slowly. “ Truth stranger than fiction.”
“Truth stranger than fiction? That’s all you have?”
“Well what you really want me to say? We had no cable, we had no internet in my day. They didn’t come here on tour. She never leave Trinidad much less live in New York so it’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Ask God when you see him.”

11:50 am  
Blogger Winter said...

I left Trinidad the next day and got back to school. Just when I had finished unpacking and getting my room settled my room phone rang.
“Well boy yuh hadda turn and come right back because yuh Aunt gone. See if you could write something nice to read in the funeral.” It was the last thing my mother said to me before she rang off.
Can’t say I was shocked but it hurt a little more than I thought it would. I sat in the darkness of the plane making notes on my phone trying to capture my thoughts about my aunt as I’d last seen her a few days ago.
“We think we know it all but really we have no idea, no real grasp about the way life works.” I wrote, “Some of us are here right now simply biding time on the way from somewhere or on the way to somewhere else without being fettered to space or time. Maybe that’s part of the way that mental illness works. It’s the way I think it worked for my Aunt. Safe flight Aunty. Thanks for the laughs. Where ever your next stop is I hope you get to dance. You deserve it.”
I smiled and put down my phone; then I picked it back up.
“GIh dem choreo in they ass!”

11:52 am  
Blogger Winter said...

inspired by a random clip of the Rockettes in rehearsal for their Christmas spectacular 2018

11:54 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@winter, very sweet, this one...

5:43 pm  

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Wednesday, June 03, 2020

fff#85

my flash fiction friday #85; trigger: write [of/in/from] an alternate reality.

if i had a time machine i would go back+off bob. before he ever had chance to write that blasted lyric. i mean, this mightna be mister marley intention but he inspire a outcome worse than damage hitler or al-bashir or even chortle the bandit wreak on we the people.
waiting is a cage too small to stand all the way up or sit all the way down in. hardest part of being the resistance; that, and knowing you could just go the easy way any given night. waiting whole day every day for dark to come for we to tune out and tune into each other, waiting whole week for friday fete for we to secretly gather, waiting whole lives, plotting, dying for the chance for we to feel something, anything, real.
friday fete, when the afterwork switch flip and people getting herded to the dancehall, we make we usual flip, retune headphones to we frequency and find weself in we safe. the good thing about friday fetes was the full-weekend freedom we could thief for weself to be weself, inasmuchas any of we could know who weself was, and plan. that time i was 1st to reach so i unlock and switch on we frequency-blocker and settle and get properly comfortable in the furthest corner 1time. i was impatient with we progress and didn’t want to leave that sunday night without a plan to execute the very following friday fete and be done with the madness, finally, before i went mad meself. lately i could feel meself losing tether on reality, getting sucked into the mandatory music, starting to feel like feeling nothing wasn’t so bad and maybe i should stop foolishly resisting…
the others fall in and once the last was safe inside and safe lock i start the session, only to find out tyrone forget the protest music he was to bring for we to make we selections for the revolution. when he collect the cuteye i hit he, he say, on the 1st bathroom break when foodservices shift done and they joining the fete, he go use them movements to pelt home and run back with it so we weekend doh waste. didn’t seem a massive risk.
we make use of we time that 1st 3hours while waiting for timing when them in dancehall could choose to visit the rest-room for up to halfhour and foodservices staff now getting herded to the fete. but that friday what we shoulda be planning was a rescue, not revolution. all the work we do went straight out the door when we hear tyrone key turn and look up to then see he suddenly silhouetted by searchlight. the promoters somehow tune into he on he journey, pick up he different frequency and follow he straight to we, now, suddenly un-safe.
tyrone freeze in the doorway and that was all the promoters need. them force-switch he frequency and fill he ears+head with the friday fete dj and we see right in front of we, all the tension leave he body. tyrone boil down like bhagi. we watch them easy easy drag we boy back to institutionalised party. and all we coulda do was slam+lock we door while them focus on pulling he.
i cyah know if this go find you but i hope it get through so allyuh go know now it on you. we cyah know how long before they reach back here ready to mash up we dance and take the rest of we by force.
until the resistance buss them promoters’ throat and release alla-we, at least we know, when them music hit we go feel no pain, including the pain of not feeling anything again.

walk good.

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Friday, May 29, 2020

flash fiction friday #85

flash fiction friday #85 trigger: write [of/in/from] an alternate reality.

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.

7 Comments:

Blogger Adam Andrews said...

Ants eh tell nobody nothing, he eh give no warning, just so he stop marching and lie down right where he was halfway up the wall with the crack, in the corner by the stove.

"Wha de hell going on with you breds?" Cockroach ask him, honestly bewildered, and it does take plenty to confuse Cockroach.

''Like you eh hear? De Prime Minister say how de place on lockdown boy. Nobody is to leave dey home, only essential persons is allowed outside at this time.''

"So you just going and pose up on de people dem wall? You eh fraid dey come and spray yuh ass down?''

''Dey cyah do dat. Police go come fuh dem.''

''Which police? Man police?''

''Man police self! Is only essential work allowed. Dat is what the PM say. Killing one ants essential?''

This now make Cockroach sit deep in thought. Probably you didn't realize it at the time, but we is all come across cockroaches in this position. You know like when you walk into a room and you see one in the middle of the floor, not scurrying, not hidden by anything, just kinda in plain sight, like if it believe it all of a sudden turn invincible or invisible. Well that is when Cockroach stick in thought. Sometimes, if the thought deep enough you could walk right up to Cockroach and squash him and he eh even know nothing. Most times though, they will pick up on you just in time and manage to get away before you whole foot swallow them up and flatten them flat.

What Ants now tell Cockroach really make him sit, this was one of them deep ones, so that he eh even see when Man come walking in the kitchen with he belly in he hand. Man see de roach but he so hungry and he mind on all kinda other thing that he pass Cockroach straight, and is only on the way back out the kitchen that Cockroach clock what went on, with him being deep in thought and ting.

''Well shit, Ants. Like yuh was right? I going and tell everybody. This news is essential!''

''I staying right here pardnah,'' come Ants reply. ''Not me and no man police and you best mind yuhself running around out there playing town crier.''

The first man cockroach bounce up is Kisskidee. Well Kisskidee study he luck must be change. He on a branch and watching how cockroach walking brazen in the open. He moving with his usual stop-start, jerky pace, but he not ducking in shadows or hugging close to the wall. Is like he inviting Kisskidee to swoop in and eat him. So Kisskidee take flight and as he diving in Cockroach jump up, watching him so stern and proper that Kisskidee feel like to kill him now would be wrong, so he modify trajectory and ting, and land right next to Mr. Roach.

"And what you think you about to be doing pardnah?'' Asked Cockroach indignantly.

''How yuh mean Mr. Roach? When last you take a walk in the sun boldfaced so? Is eat I coming to eat you.''

''Is allyuh so does give we animal bad name yes. You eh hear de place on lockdown?''

''Who lockdown de place?'' Kisskidee now skeptical. He eh know if Cockroach feel he is Anansi and trying to pull a fast one.

"De PM himself, boy, bird boy. Ants now tell me inside. If you feel ah lie, flap round de corner, I sure he still park up on de wall by de stove.''

Kisskidee take two flap and ah peep and true enough, right where Cockroach say, he see Ants lie down like he dead, except he not squash or nothing, like a serge-ant shout stand at ease and never say dismiss.

"Well this is ah ting!'' Kisskidee say when he come back around the corner. He didn't come flying, mind you, but rather he was walking on the ground, lest some police or busybody spot him and he get in trouble.

2:36 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

Now, we all know the reasons why birds fly, and one of them reasons happen to bend the corner and come across Mr. Roach and Kisskidee in long talk. Well yuh know Puss eh waste no time.

''Watch how Pussin belly full today!'' She shout and pounce same time and when the dust settle, is because Roach under one paw and Kisskidee under the next. Puss so happy with herself, she start monologing.

"They say Dog is hunter? That dog come down from wolf and wolf is hunter? Dog is man best friend. When man go hunting, is dog he does take. He doh take hunting cat, you know why? Me say, you know why? Puss looked at them know, with bewitching eyes and was very surprised to find them most un-bewitched.

''See here now Puss,'' began Mr. Roach.

''Now, now...cyat,'' started Kisskidee and poor Pussin confused. Not only were the two of them un-bewitched, but Kisskidee know full well that she liked to be called Puss, none of this common cyat shit, she was bewildered by the sheer audacity of it all.

''You go ahead, Mr. Roach. Tell cyat what happening.'' Kisskidee looking across at Roach, not even wondering if his head about to get remove in a one bite and crunch up. The whole thing just so unprecendented, Puss really stop. She even raise paws and release the two of them, because they really didn't look like they was going anywhere.

''Puss, you eh hear what the PM say?''

''Who PM?''

''DE PM, girl! Prime Minister! The minister divisible by itself and one!''

''Aite nah. Jus tell mih what he say.''

''De place lockdown. All non-essential movement is hereby and forthwith prohibited, Puss.''

''I see. But, tell me, Mr. Roach,'' began Puss ever so sly, ''isn't eating essential?'' With this Kisskidee feel his heart flutter-flutter and he shoot Roach a nervous glance and was ready to take flight. Lockdown or not he did not come out here to be eaten. But Mr. Roach was calm.

''Now Puss, yes, eating is essential and you have owners, don't you, Puss? I seeing that collar around your neck.''

''I do not have 'owners' Mr. Roach. I have contracted a family to provide me with food and a place to sleep when I choose in return for my presence and affections. I am free to go and come as I please. Owners? I look like a fish in a bowl? A dog? I am not a pet!''

''Ah! But this is my point, Puss. They provide you with food. So yes, eating is essential, but, because you are provided with food, eating us is not essential for you.''

Well Kisskidee flutter-flutter again, but this time for a different reason.

2:39 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

Puss watch Kisskidee, watch Roach and watch Kisskidee again. She sit down and put her head between her two paws and calculating, watching them, first one, then the other. She continued like this for minutes, saying nothing. Both Roach and Kisskidee ready to dead, both want to make a bolt for it but even though her paws no longer on them, she close enough to kill either with one swipe, much less a pounce. Then she sit up fast, the movement looking like almost like a pounce. If bird could pee they self, that is what Kisskidee would do. Although, the sudden movement was only because she had reached the end of her calculations and she yawned a long, lazy satisfying yawn, as if she had just eaten.

''So then, she began, what you telling me is that man, woman, child, on lockdown?''

''Well de PM say everybody, Puss. So while yes, I am a roach, I have a body so I count in everybody. Same with Kisskidee here, Ants, who is the one tell me, and you. No lie, Puss, when Ants tell me I so deep in though I eh even see Man walk in the kitchen until he walk out. An' I dey in de middle ah de floor!''

''So is Ants tell you? And where Ants get it fom? Ants hear it from Man?''

''Well yes. Have to be.''

"But Roach, what Ants know about man? And house ants to boot? Marching up and down de place, making ah set ah noise. Ants doh hear nothing over de sound ah dey own foot. What you telling me bout Ants hear it from Man?''

''And ent I tell you Man walk straight past me in de kitchen? If it have one place Man coming after yuh is in dey. How you explain dat?''

''Boy! Is all kinna ting is go on with dem you know? You feel 'higher brain' is ah blessing?

Higher brain does give yuh something we doh get, Roach. Worries! And when dem have worries is de worst ting. Dey does fuhget tuh eat, fuhget tuh clean deyself and dey place. Is anything could give dem worries and ting dat dey cyah control too. From love tuh loss dey job. From children to de weather.You ever hear about cricket? De worst is one ah dem who like cricket. Worries! I know Man better dan Ants, and I say Ants eh know what he talking bout. Is one man in one house allyuh see moving ah how and all of ah sudden de whole place on lockdown?''

Well now, Kisskidee get an idea. A bird doh really have expressions to play over its face. A bird face just one way, nervous. So Kisskidee with his idea, start to hop up and down in a little circle. Not like he flying away or anything, but it obvious that he have something to say.

''Now what, is your problem?'' Puss still lazy, but everybody know a cat is a deceptive thing and you really can't trust what you see.

''Weh...weh...weh...,'' began Kisskidee, extra nervous in front of the sharp claws and teeth.

''Out with it man! Is either you contributing or you not. What all de blasted hoppin' for?''

''Weh...Well, I was nuh..nuh..now thinking it hah-have somebody we could ark-ark-ask. Suh...Suh..Somebody who know Man good, his best friend. Why we don't ark-ark-ask Rambo?''

''Rambo! So this is allyuh game?'' And Puss back down on all fours now, her eyes narrow, whiskers twitching with suspicion.

2:42 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

"I was to snatch allyuh de first time and done de talk. What fool ting it is I hearing here? Man's best friend? Me, Pussin, supposed to what? Roll up by the biggest dog on the street and ask advice? Me Pussin, getting advice from some fool dog. Man's best friend my front paws! Because what? He is dog he know better? I never understand that best friend ting. How dog is he best friend and he name pum-pum after me? And de two ah you, her eyes narrowing further now. De two ah you mus really take poor Pussin for a fool tuh tink dat I going to roll up by Rambo.

So you, Roach,'' and she drop a paw on him. ''And you bird, and she drop a paw on him too. I going to eat de two of you, find me some shade and have a little nap.''

As Puss saying this, the boy from the house come outside and bend the corner behind her. He walk straight past them, into the garden shed. Puss freeze, watching him. She leaning one way and ready to run the next. This boy is a terror! He always trying to grab her by the tail or do her some wickedness. Once he had caught her and put her in a bag. He tie that bag to a tree and swing her inside there for what feel like forever. Just when she feel like her heart going to burst, after she claw every direction from upside down to north by north west, the boy mother come and catch him and for him to let Pussin out. And now, this demon child, walking through the yard, mind preoccupied, being, well, normal for once. It make Pussin stop and take stock, and just as she was going to eat Mr. Roach and Kisskidee too.

She not moving. Pussin frozen, her eyes following the boy until he bend the corner where he had come from and went back in the house. Only then she relax a little bit. Only then she study it might have something to this lockdown talk in truth.

2:43 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

wow
a four post fff
sorry for the length

2:43 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

my fff#85@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/06/fff85.html
@adam, never apologise for length, once it good [:
walk good.

6:40 am  
Blogger Winter said...

Four could have been 20. very engaging. funny and smart. easy to fall into the rhythm and get right up close with these characters. I totally enjoyed. Brilliant

1:37 am  

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Tuesday, May 19, 2020

fff#84

my flash fiction friday #84; trigger: choose an existing archetype/stereotype/trope, and flip [a major component of] it.

was a quiet village. one of them places nobody who doh live or have people living there even know exist. one of them places if you call the name nobody cyah say they know it.
was. and them try and keep it so. them know from time them make out the scene, wasn’ no keeping people away once it come public knowledge, so them say them keeping that talk home. quiet. no mention to nobody not from the village. not a word.
it mustbe work for awhile in the earlies, but yuhknow is only one could truly keep secret. talk does spread, surprised tongue to the next shocked ear with no regard for the desire of the discussed to remain otherwise. after time pass people start to get slack, studying their outside people stories and stop studying if home secure. them start to bump gum, mouth start to run; a trickle, no more, but growing exponentially with each person they tell, telling more, because who ever hear anything like that before?
after time pass it had people not living there looking for any+every excuse to come through, trying all-how to spend the night; people who now hear this place exist calling down road trip, taking adventure-drive; people making cross-country runs on fumes+hope to find it, because the miraculous talk find them…
the village had been proceeding like most, if a little quieter than most; mostly unremarkable until it wasn’t.
first was ma mabel. she didn’t notice the bruise until later because the walk to the washbasin+mirror that morning was a revelation. mabel couldn’t recall the last time she walk; even though she well know different, she feel like is she whole life that hip have she hobbling, dragging+dropping, gimping she way around she tiny board-house. when she sit up the morning, slow, she notice she wasn’t as stiff as usual and get slightly hopeful about the day. she take it slower swinging she legs out from under thin sheet and off the bed, not wanting to spoil a good thing. cold foot seek out slippers, push them together in front of she, and slide in unusually mobile tarsals. excitement rising, she push up off the edge of the bed to stand with more momentum than she need this morning and almost pitch forward, but before she could even feel fully terrified she legs and them just step out, instinctively, and start to move, carrying she to the washbasin. all she do was wash face and brush teeth before she reach out in the yard with the joy of meeting a new day with a new self. she didn’t understand what the arse happen to she but she know it was good. when she eventually see the bruise she eh connect it.
after ma mabel was xerxes. sagaboy laid low by a vex husband’s blow, he was never the same since the night jonesey bois cross he crown with a crack them hear in quite-o quite-o. xerxes open he eye he old self a morning, except for the bruise on he neck, and call the trade the best bargain he ever make in he sleep. mabel did know to hush she mouth and give thanks quiet quiet in she place but it had no hiding the change in he.
more village people recover; nobody know why but who looking to question? bruises might be suspicious but tha’s the worst them see so every man-jack say gift-horse and hush they mouth. or was supposed to.
but people is people and like other people, and villagers start whispering to who they know need healing.
come+stay the night, you go feel better…
wasn’t long before it was the worst kept secret and then them couldn’t keep the crowds away. next thing i know, a night i duck in a window, hovering at the throat of a sleeping stranger, consumed+consuming, i hear+feel walls constrict airflow. i pause, flickering, and a voice from the dark corner i had ignore for the smell of cancerous cells calling, tell me,
“coffin locks and plexiglass. and apparently maybe we need blackout curtains…vou are a soucouyant, of some kind, yes?”
“how you find me? what you know?”
“more important: how do you exist? what exactly are you? a soucouyant, who somehow heals when she takes blood? how?”
“i don’t know. all i know is, i is the cure…”
“for what?”
“everything.”

walk good.

5 Comments:

Blogger Winter said...

YOU DID IT AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have to say this week I sent explaining how this FFF process works to the other members of my mentoring class. I reminded you that you'd mentioned it during your presentation and that they really should participate.
What I didn't do was attempt the exercise BCUZ i really couldn't even think of how to approach it.
You however have done it with much finesse that not only makes me feel silly for not understanding but leaves me hanging on the edge of my seat for more of this story.

6:18 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

yes, tell them come een!
i feeling good about this one; i feel this one and littlefrog might need to develop...
so now that you see it doable, i hope you going+try this one; i's be looking forward to reading allyuh. plus, at the moment nobody but me write for this trigger, so the new one eh going up yet anyway; take the week and write fff#84, nah, dread...

7:32 pm  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

12:53 am  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

12:53 am  
Anonymous Shubham Jain said...

Nice article. Keep sharing such stuff.

7:58 am  

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Friday, May 15, 2020

flash fiction friday #84

steups. this shoulda go up on time because i was so fucking on top of it, i do the thing in advance and schedule the post for noon. i busy, gone about my business, assuming the thing done, only to finish errands and reach back here and see no trigger; it still sitting there as a draft with the scheduled time watching me big big like i's a ass. steups.
anyway. flash fiction friday #84 trigger: choose an existing archetype/stereotype/trope, and flip [a major component of] it.

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:

Blogger sweet trini said...

i write a ting i quite like, 2nd week in a row!
https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/05/fff84.html
walk good.

10:17 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

I is ah super hero! Look at me! Look at me!
His father's eyes never really leave the newspaper that is covering half his face. The steam from the cup of coffee in front of him seems more alive than the man. At least the steam moves unpredictably, shifts. His father just sits there doing the same things over and over. He turns pages and grunts from time to time. There is also the occasional sentence.
You is a superhero? All superhero have name. Wha is your name?
My name is Strong Man!
All right, Mr. Strong Man. An' you eh have no cape? Batman, Superman, Thor...all dem have cape. Where your cape?
Look it here!

And he turned, proudly to show the towel tied under his chin.
Boy, dat is ah towel! Dat eh no cape!
And in truth, as his father said this, his 'cape' billowed flat, it felt heavy and uninterested as it hung from his shoulders. The general lack of inspiration in the thing became so obvious to him now. Of course it was a towel. All this was delivered by the father without ever once looking away from the newspaper.

So he spent his day looking for a cape. At first he searched inside the house. He went through his sister's room, waiting of course, for when she left home. Strong Man or not, his older sister was a vile, villainous thing, yet he knew that when supplies for adventure were needed, this was as good a room as any to start. He went through her closet when it was safe. He found many things, sequinned things, a few almost-capes, a large, strange-coloured veiny thing that looked like his penis, but no good capes. If something was the right colour, it was too heavy, or too short, or too long. He didn't want to stay in there too long, or make much of a mess. If she knew he was in her room, she would rain such a vengeance upon him.

His parent's room was more disappointing. At least he had found a stash of money in his sister's room. He left it alone, but it may come in very handy at some time, like when they lollie man was passing and she wasn't at home. He searched under his mother's bed, in her closet and her chest of drawer. He found more towels, and sheets, but no capes.

So he left the house. He imagined himself like King Arthur. Instead of a sword in a stone, he imagined a cape on a clothes-line flapping in the wind, calling to him. A cape just for Strong Man. Then he would get to join Justice League, or even his favourite, Avengers. And he started to think of his favourite heroes and he realize something. Iron Man, Hulk, Flash, Spiderman, no capes! He doesn't need a cape to be a superhero! The realization wreaks a good kind of havoc in his little mind. Oh! The possibilities! He has to get home to tell his father and he starts to run. He wills his feet to go faster and faster until they are a blur beneath him. He is happy with his news and he doesn't really know when his feet left the ground. In his mind he can't wait to tell his father that he does not need a cape, he can be a hero without one. He is not paying attention to things like where he was going or if he maintained the expected connection with the ground. It is the look on the face of another little boy that brings him to the realization. There was so much jealousy and yet amazement and joy in his face that he wondered why. Well that, and the fact that he looked this boy, somewhat in the eye, as he sped past his a second story bedroom window. Yes he had started running, but now, now he was definitely flying. He had sped over the tops of hedges and then houses, and now he was positively in the air. Not only did he not need a cape to be a hero but he didn't even need on to fly. What he has to tell Father now he can't remember, he can't remember wanting to be a super hero. What he wants very much at this moment is to get back down. He screamed over and over and as loud as he could for someone to help him.

8:56 am  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...


Just because a woman my age doesn’t have children doesn’t mean that I don’t love the little gremlins; they’re people like you and me. I enjoy hearing the pitter patter of their grubby, little feet. I always give a pleasant smile as the little beasts, with their foul little mouths open showing uneven spaces between crooked teeth, tumble past me in an aisle wreaking havoc on everything and everyone they meet. But my favourite child of all is the snorting, resting piglet inhaling air and mucus while it sleeps, because a sleeping little child never tells big lies.

When the disciples didn’t want to allow some children to see Jesus, Jesus said “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14). Jesus said so Himself, and it was written in red. That’s why when Sister Mary Joseph condescended to ask me, of everyone in our church, to give Sunday School lessons to the mongoloids aged 9-12, I was more than willing to help.

It was month two of Sunday School and I knew that I was growing in my faith. “The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother” (Proverbs 29:15). Sister Mary Joseph had told me that I should look at that verse, and the Bible in general, less literally, because although I was right that the scripture still stood today, “quite logically”, Father Clarke was right to run out of the church hall and into the yard where I stood whipping Mongoloid Phillip (aged 9) with a cane because he was unable to tell me who Jesus’ least favourite disciple was, despite my comprehensive lesson on the betrayal in The Garden.

Until that point, I believed that the Word was the Word but when I went home after Church that day, I realized that Sister Mary Joseph (of Perpetual Complaints) had a point. There could be so much meaning to any of the teachings and that’s why, the next Sunday, after I gave the beautiful story of the Good Samaritan to my class and Mongoloid Sarah (aged 11) asked me to explain it “in real life” (as though the Scripture wasn’t real!) I didn’t take her outside for a good hiding. Instead, I explained it like this:

“Imagine Sarah, that you are an old woman of 69. Your stupid, runny nose has grown hard and dry, and now it is a beak. The skin all over your body is pleated and loose. Your hair that used to be long and rich is now thin and falling out in clumps. When you wake up in the morning your eyelids are always covered in gobs of thick, yellow cold and when you dig the gunk out with your gnarly claws, your eyes look sunken and weak. Because you have had a long, hard life, your limbs ache, quiver and creak. You lie in bed most of the time because you normally feel very tired and very sick. You have a bad disease and you are alone. On your good days you sit in your gallery and stare into your neighbour’s empty yard just because it’s a change from staring at your empty house or trying to think with your empty head.

12:56 am  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

Did I mention that you’re in pain, Sarah? When you were young you thought you knew pain. Sometimes you would stump your toe in the night and you would feel the shockwaves surge through your body sharply like a jolt of electricity, but the pain you’re in now is different. Pain before was a temporary feeling that would surprise you, last a moment or maybe a day and vanish. This pain in your old age, my dear, is different. Your body is unified by pain and it’s somehow the only sensation that you seem to know apart from hunger and maybe dissatisfaction. Sometimes the pain is throbbing, sometimes it is sharp, sometimes it is dull, quite often it is intense, but the pain is always there and it is everywhere.

The pain makes you cling to your faith. You pray and ask God to take the pain away but when it doesn’t leave, you ask Him to take you instead. Then one day you shuffle to your gallery and you see sparks of light from the yard across the road. You hear the noise of iron and machinery and then you notice a rough, strapping man wearing overalls and a helmet with a visor . He waves and feebly, you nod and wave back. You realise that God works in mysterious ways.

You raise enough strength to make this game of nods and waves a habit until one day you signal for him to come and he does. You offer him lime juice and cake. Do you like cake Sarah? No, you prefer sweet bread? Okay, you offer him lime juice and sweetbread. He tells you about his problems with the law and the welding work that he’s currently doing. You tell him about how you were once a little mongrel whose mother took her to church and put ribbons in her hair and how you grew up and had a husband and then you had a son but they both went away – one to another country and the other to another man. You tell him about the pain, the disease. That’s when you ask carefully, but casually, about his crimes. “Assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm? How sad” you say as you carefully remove the five, crumpled hundred dollar bills from your pocket and lay them gently on the table in front of him.

He says he can’t do it; you expected that, but after you cry, you beg, you explain that you can’t endure the pain, that God doesn’t forgive suicide, he takes the money and promises to think about it.

By now weeks have gone and welding is still happening but nothing else. You call his cell phone when you see the light in the yard. He never answers and he never calls you back. You almost lose hope but you remind yourself that God works in mysterious ways. Then, one day, you see a car parked in the road outside and a tall, Indian man talking to the welder. You clap your hands and get their attention and get the Indian man to come over. You make sure the welder sees you pointing at him and shaking your head while you’re talking to the Indian man who you learn is the new owner of the house. When the Indian man goes you send a message to the welder that says:

“I told him every5hing. He’s gone Now but he’s coming back wi5h The police”

It worked. In no time the welder is in your house and he has a desperate look in his eyes. “How could you do that to me, lady? I never wanted your money!” and he throws the same five, crumped hundred dollar bills at you. Coincidentally, you hear a siren wailing in the background. “Thank you for small mercies, dear Lord” you think and at that very moment you cock your head back and spit at the welder.

As the welder reaches for the knife that you laid on the table before he came, you feel peace in knowing that someone has finally come along to do God’s work of showing you final mercy from your pain. A good Samaritan, at last.”

12:57 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@swantastico, must admit, i couldn't see at all where the old lady was going with the good samaritan ting, oui...

7:51 am  
Blogger Winter said...

Maria Conchita Paloma Juana Garcia-Benjamin-Lutchman-Benjamin-Gill-Valentine was the most beautiful woman I did ever see in mih whole, entire seven years of life. She was prettier than my own mother. And yuh know at that age it ain’t have nobody bigger, better, brighter, stronger, smarter or prettier than yuh own mother. Well she, Maria, was prettier than my own mother. My mother didn’t wear fancy clothes like her or comb up her hair and wear lipstick and eyelash and all of those things. My mother sure would never be caught with her breasts pushed up high under her chin and be wearing stockings with seams down the back and toe less, high-heeled shoes with gold buckles at the ankles either. My mother wouldn’t be caught dead outside the house with her hair flying all around her head in so many curls and coils look like she alone had hair for about 5 people. My mother surely didn’t have bright red, long nails to match her lips. My mother…well you get the picture. She was the most beautiful woman that I had ever see and I tell my mother as much when we reach home.

As we crack the corner by our house and I rest my hand on the gate I say mummy I could tell you something? I had to wait until we reach home because my mother say that when in public little children should be seen and not heard. I tell her I is not a little children anymore since I turn seven last week but she still say that I must do as she say. So as we hit the gate I tell her, I say “Mummy I could tell you something? I find Miss Maria real pretty and I want to look just so when I grow up”.
Well I don’t know what was wrong with what I say but is two tap I get in the back of my head, pushing me toward the back step. Whenever I talk about Miss Maria it seem that mummy used to get vex. Not only mummy either; mih granny, mih aunts, as well as Miss Pearlie from next door.
“Go eenside, go eenside with all that foolishness!”
Is a good thing I have plenty hair or else all now so I done crying already.
“Mummy you don’t find she pretty?”
“Look, go and take of dem clothes and come help me put away these things please! Asking me shit about that…that Maria woman!”
Daddy look up at me from what he was doing, eyes wide but mouth decidedly shut.

12:48 am  
Blogger Winter said...

After the market put away, supper had and pot turn down, we were on the back step shelling peas that mih grandmother bring.
“Mummy I could ask you something?
“Sigh”
“Mummy you think you could get me one of those stockings like what Miss Maria does wear?”
“Look just shut up with all that talk before I get vex yuh hear?”
“But mummy!”
Well I see the hand on the hip, the head tilt and the chin thrust forward and I know to hush.
“Yes mummy.”
Two hours later my eyes start to get heavy.
“Mummy my hand tired from all this peas.”
“Put yuh cup next to the stove, go bathe and get ready for bed.”
Washed and powdered and slight drunk on the huge cup of Chocolate tea I couldn’t help mihself.
“Mummy you think granny will get them for me? The stockings?”
You ever get a cut ass before bed?
Steups. I in the bed too vex to cry. I don’t even know what I get lix for.
Daddy…well you know the rest.
By the time I was twelve or thirteen I was old enough to understand. I’d heard the rumours and whispered with my friends about the parade of men in and out of Miss Maria back door. Miss Maria Conchita Paloma Juana Garcia-Benjamin-Lutchman-Benjamin-Gill-Valentine-now-Gerard was what my grandmother called a ‘loose woman’. My aunts and dem say that she was a slut. Well as you could imagine the older I get, I learn never to talk about Miss Maria in front of my female family members. Especially as I’d seen both my aunt’s husbands at that very back door on more than one occasion. Ha! Keisha St.Bernard, or dog-face Keisha depend on who yuh talk to, say that if you want to know what going on all you have to do is cross the road and walk directly in front the house on an afternoon and you could hear Miss Maria and dem dirty men callin for Jesus! Oh geed! I didn’t even want to think about what was going on behind those doors. That is until one day I see my father walking toward Miss Maria back gate lookin nervous, nervous.

12:50 am  
Blogger Winter said...

Of course it didn’t help that day before walking from school is when we hear Lionel uncle by the bar saying
“Maria did make me stand up with that gift in she mouth alone.” He with he sickly hop and drop, broko- foot self. You ent see he should be shame to be letting people know he was even over there? What he doing by the bar anyway? He should be home resting he old foot and trying to be on the mend.
Anyway, I walk straight home, drop my book bag and head out toward the little track behind Miss Pearlie house that lead me onto the next street where Miss Maria house was. Coast was clear and I let myself in and walk straight to the back door. Just like Keisha say is only a setta “Oh God” and “Yes Jesus” I hearing throw between daddy and Miss Maria. Hear nah I never know my stomach could churn so much. Not my good, good father. And dis Maria woman – is how much man one woman want? Some yuh could throw back man! My mind tell me to run out the yard but mih foot say “No, Onward ever! We have to see for we-self.” Somewhere in the excitement, it seems that I am now in partnership with mih foot. So me and foot walk along the back wall on the far side of the house, fighting Miss Maria flowers and vines, to where we hearing the noise comin from, until we reach a window. What I see in that window change my life forever.

“Daddy!”
It jump out mih mouth before I could think. My eye open wide wide and same speed daddy look up and see me, seeing him with Miss Maria.
There is my father, down on his knees, Miss Maria in front of him with a hand on his head. Well my two knee lock-up and is me and me alone because Foot is clearly off the clock - partnership done. I couldn’t even move, much less to run. I could only try to figure out what I seeing play out in front of me. There is Miss Maria standing in front of my daddy, one hand on his head and the other hand… holding a Bible? Wait wait, wait a footing minute! Is pray the two of them praying? All the Jesus and Jesus is level prayers Miss Maria putting down, my father on his knees hands up in the air with tears in his eyes, agreeing with Miss Maria for healing. I look around the room and it start to sink in that it’s a small chapel. Miss Maria have pictures of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, all the Angels and saints, even a picture of the last supper with Mary Magdalene clearly portrayed (a nod to the divine feminine I would later learn). I now, understand what good good, healthy body, strong back, strong foot Lionel uncle was saying by the bar yesterday. Dat is man. I did always like him.

Turns out ole ting, Miss Maria was something of a faith healer and when she move to the village she just stick with the men because well considering her looks and her name the village women were, well, being village women. Just like dog-face Keisha. In the end even my mother come around and would to send me with a little pone for Miss Maria for helping daddy with he bad back. This Christmas guess what I still want? Yes dat self. Seam down the back and everything!

12:51 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@winter: a delight worth the wait. i thoroughly enjoy every moment and kinna didn't want it to finish. nicely unexpected flip, too...

6:48 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

This was great!

2:30 pm  

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Thursday, May 14, 2020

foundation tings

the late great tony hall on the jouvay perspective.  
walk good.

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Wednesday, May 13, 2020

fff#83

my flash fiction friday #83; trigger: origin story.

littlefrog sit up tall, craning she head, trying to make sense of new surroundings. the damp leaves even more intoxicating close, going straight to she senses as she take a moment to breathe after the exertion of reaching up on top them. they have a essence of something she never know before, something besides their leaf-ness. she still except for deep quick breaths as she scan for signs of movement. then she feel the vibrations. something big. plenty bigger than she. coming she way, fast for something so big.
a second later she under the top leaf, quivering, trying to shallow breathing and still she trembling throat. whatever coming, massive. the whole world shaking as it reach right up and she can’t peep all of it because it plenty taller than where she jump up to reach the leaves. it stop right in front of she but still moving on spot, vibrating everything under she tense bamsee and the leaf hiding she. she want desperately to leap from between the leaves back down to the ground to quickly, quietly, blend in and hop away but don’t know what this creature doing and where it looking, plus scared she could get crush. fear keep she shivering under the top leaf; she feel sheself secrete and before she could even understand what happening to she little body, what tiny glands could do, the pile of leaves fly up and land in something dank+wet but not like any wet she ever know before, starting with scent.
sensitive skin sense is not just water. she skin could feelsmell plenty brand new things, wet, kinna like where feel like home, but thicker, oilier. and not smooth force; slick, but gritty, somehow; things in things. and plenty different essence she never know before. like where feel like home but earthier, and more powerful, somehow, more…potent…
she don’t understand but it already don’t matter.
essences penetrate, permeate, pervade, infiltrate, invade, occupy, overrun…
littlefrog don’t understand but it already don’t matter. littlefrog is become…
suddenly sitting up in the iron pot in the sink, bamsee soaking in a floral musk, faucet jooking she centre-spine, jooking-board at she lowerback, confused…then suddenly full understanding of she own existence, what was and what is now and the shock she mustbe cause the ancient man facing she…then suddenly awareness of she now-human nakedness and what that could cause…then suddenly wondering what it was this obeahman was trying to do when a little frog fall in the mix…suddenly realising she shouldn’t stay to find out.
she struggle out the sink, push past the oldman and start to run, for the 1st time ever, pelting across the yard on new limbs thinking about running faster, and about where to go, about how big+wide this world is and how she never know before and almost never even know. so many thoughts; littlefrog woulda never know. and she running and wanting to run faster fasterfaster and then suddenly she feel a kinna way she only ever feel once before, just now, moments ago in the iron pot in the sink when she become…
suddenly, ocelot, speeding, into the night…

walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger Winter said...

The first thing I love is the perspective. it would never occur to me to write something from the perspective of a frog.
In two words "little frog" immediately you took the main character out of isolation and let the reader understand that he/she is one of a group whether a few or many.
I was immediately immersed in the world you created.
I could smell that muddy earth slightly decaying fallen leaves
Yet at the same time, absolutely no action is given away and I'm left wanting more.

4:10 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

dread, now i here all blushing; thank you! i enjoyed this one, inspired by the baby frogs that evidently like the lime by my kitchen sink and always jumping up+scaring the shit outta me when i washing wares; i's be well talking to them about the dangers of liming by the sink with strangers like me and the idea just hit me...i feel i continuing this one :]

1:16 pm  

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Friday, May 08, 2020

flash fiction friday #83

flash fiction friday #83 trigger: origin story.

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.

13 Comments:

Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

So whenever I think of an 'origin story' I usually think of something extraordinary, happening to someone who is or who would become extraordinary, but I wanted to challenge that idea of grandness with a story of an everyday kind of character, who would go through an everyday kind of event that would be important enough in an everyday kind of way to make him who he is or becomes at the end of the story:

“In the matter of Holm v Holm, Mr. Scott appears on behalf of the Petitioner, Eugene Holm. Mr. Arlington appears on behalf of the Respondent, Robert Holm.”

“Mr. Arlington, where is your client?”

“M’lady, I spoke to my client only a few minutes ago and having encountered a traffic exercise by the Police Force, he is most regrettably delayed. In the circumstances therefore, I wish to seek the Court’s indulgence to have this matter stood down for 30 minutes.”
Mr. James Arlington, Esq. hated lying on behalf of his clients, but he had just lied, pretending that Robert Holm was on his way to Court.

Lying. Robert Holm was at home, lying in bed the first time he heard his phone ring. He was still in the same position, staring at the nothingness now, as “Mr. Arlington - Lawyer” was flashing on his phone’s screen for a second time.
Robert left the phone, that was sitting on the floor beside his bed, to ring. He could have rolled over and turned the phone off but Robert didn’t care and he didn’t have the energy, so he left it.

Turning. “The world still turns without me in it. Let Eugene go and let her take whatever she wants” Robert thought.
Robert believed that Eugene was right to leave, that he deserved whatever the lawyers and the judge would to do to him. Nothing they could do could be worse than his realization of who he really was. Nothing was worse than him, his existence.

Existence. Robert went back in his mind to the first time he saw Hailee. He couldn’t believe that something so beautiful, so tender, so precious could exist because of him, because of Eugene, because of love. He was supposed to be there with Eugene but it happened so fast and he got the call so late that by the time he had rushed to the hospital, Hailee had already come in all her radiance.

Rushed. Robert was always rushing. He had been rushing that sunny day too, that day when the markets crashed, when windows up, he locked the car, and tumbling over himself, he raced up the stairs to his office. It had only taken him 10 minutes to run to the office and half the time to sprint back, but by then Hailee was gone. She was there, just as he had left her, just as beautiful, just as peaceful, asleep in her chair in the backseat of the car, but she was gone.

Gone. Hailee was gone but the memories stayed. Robert still marveled at every expression, every gesture, every sound she had made in the 26 weeks, 5 hours and 10 minutes that she had stayed. How could he have destroyed what love had made? She was gone but she had left a hole in Robert, a fortress of collapsing emptiness that he was trapped inside.

Trapped. Robert felt he would never escape the trap he had set himself - his regret, his loathing, his shame had taken root and were weaving their dark vines tightly around his soul. There was only one solution that he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He spat out the pills and allowed the liquor flow down his throat alone. That was the first time that Robert Holm drank until he blacked out. It would be a lifetime before he would try to stop.

11:51 am  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

There was and is only blackness before this. The mind wakes, in stages and moves in stop-start motion recalling pieces of the night before, fragments and bits and she feels like she is in pieces. There is the sense of a body, of a thing that the mind moves and is moved by. The sense of a thing in pain and she wonders where she is and how she got there.

The American walk in the bar like he own the place. Is something he learned from his time there. It is what was expected of him. Better to give people what they expect, that way they not looking at you when the unexpected happens. And true to form, the other conversations didn't stop. Nobody changed from what they was doing to stop and stare but he knew, he felt them notice him.

Is years now he here, years now he getting braver. He is not the only American on the island. This is by design, by intent. There were hundreds of them but he mostly kept to himself. He didn't befriend the other Americans. He wasn't trying to integrate, just to blend in enough to not be noticed.

It is very hard, as a white man, to go unnoticed on an island full of black people. At first he tried his usual 'don't mind me, I'm not even here' approach. Back in the States, this was what he did, He was the wallflower. That didn't work here. Here, Americans were not quiet beings, they weren't the quiet ones in the room. All the Americans here were in oil, and everyone on the island expected J.R. Ewing types. He was in fact making himself stand out, raising attention to himself while deafening everyone with his silence. He caught it early though, so he changed. He learned to do the expected, to walk in like he own the fucking place. To embrace the convention, to seize everything, to make a scene. He would be noticed, yes, but he would not be remembered. He learned that he was most anonymous when he was at his most obnoxious.

Seeing no eyes but feeling all eyes on him, he walks to the bar, pretends to ignore the people in front of him who are clearly in the middle of ordering a round of drinks and shouts his order, up and over them. This is what he has to do, to stay hidden. After he has gotten his drink, he goes to a corner, next to a group of girls in a booth.

12:29 am  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

12:29 am  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

Tonight will be the night. He has been working his way to this for so long, practiced it over and over in his head. What he wants is to make his choice and be on his way. He must, however, be careful. He must create more of a scene so that he can be forgotten. He turns his attention to the group of girls. He is charming at first, so charming they invite him to sit with them. They are all giggling during his stories. He buys them a round of drinks and brushes a hand on one's bare knee. He touches another's shoulder in mid-laugh, playing it off like a casual thing. After coming back from the bathroom later on, he definitely rubs the breast of the bare-kneed girl while squeezing back into the booth. She starts giving him puppy eyes and is touching him on the legs and chest herself. She bores him.

At the bar is a young, Indian woman drinking alone. She was there when he first walked in and has not moved for the night. She has paid no attention to him but if you asked her the following day she could tell you an American man was in the bar that night and with a group of girls. He was getting really friendly with the girl in the real short skirt, but she wouldn't be able to describe him, no.
'He was kind of obnoxious so I didn't want to stare at him too long.'

He walks the group of girls out when they are ready to go. This has worked out nicely. He had a plan for if the woman at the end of the bar made to leave before they were ready but he didn't need it. The bare-kneed girl is very tipsy and leans on him on her way out. He can tell that her friend's are not drunk enough to not be protective of her and he is happy with his choice. He makes no offer to take her home, or to follow them, he is the perfect gentleman. When they drive off, he waves while he watches them go and scans the parking lot at the same time. He sees no one, picks a dark corner, and waits.

She comes out within an hour. There has not been movement of any kind for ten minutes before she appears. He is salivating and it makes him happy. He is aware of all the sensations coursing through him. Saliva means excitement, means his heart rate up, means hearing it pound in his head which will bring the high pitched ring in his ears, means blood flowing through him, means erection. He stays in his shadowed corner, reaches his hand down and starts rubbing himself, his breath now coming in short, raspy bursts. His luck continues as she makes her way toward the part of the car park where he is also parked. He emerges from his corner of shadows. The thrill of the realization rushes through him. This is his first hunt and he wants to scream at the top of his lungs, release something primal, to see the fear in the eyes of his prey.

Soon enough.

Let the games begin.

12:32 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

posted+edited+reposted@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/05/fff83.html
walk good.

8:11 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

She grew up steeped in religion. Selassie was the way and the truth so it was bible quizzes and late-night meditations on the Word. The mother start off Catholic but followed her man in the way of the ‘Fari. As African people, it feel better when your savior black. The mother side of the family always had a lil extra sauce. Who does dream straight and call de whe-whe man, who could sense and smell their dead when they came to visit. She-self used to get lil visions: if she see or dream yuh dead, is bess yuh take front and get your affairs in order. The ‘Fari father, possibly due to childhood trauma, developed the ability to hear people’s thoughts. As their firstborn, I suppose it was no surprise she come out lil saucy sheself. Strange things always happened around her and she was always talking to God. She was particularly sensitive to African drums and spirit music. They say a time she was in de Emancipation Village after the parade. Miss Ella playing loud loud on the speaker and jess so de sistren hold on to a tent pole and despite the boulder-as-anchor, start to pick it up and drop it, rockin de whole tent. It take a while before she come back to sheself. Curious at the call to her spirit, she put on a CD with Miss Ella songs when she was home alone. Her mother came home to find her on the living room floor insensible, full-body pulsing to the heavy rhythm. After that, her mother ban her from Miss Ella and all “obeah music”. Her uncle was an Orisha drummer and warned her to avoid them. Said he’d seen too much dark and her spirit was too open. Too easy, he warned.

Some early morning she was sleeping and dreaming; it was scary and confusing. She woke up in a fire-filed room with what could only be ancient symbols on the walls and the number 33 carved into her forearm. Terrified, she ran to her father. His ever-serene demeanor shifted momentarily at her tears and the raised skin. He went immediately for his Bible, blessed some water, and poured it and fervent prayers into every room of the house. By time her mother got home from work her arm was smooth. After that, she did her best to mind her mother. Avoiding drums despite the call.

Her grandfather was her best friend but he died when she was very young. She love him so much is like she could never let him go. Daiz musse why the dead know they could come to call. She went to stay by a friend for a month and barely last a week. The house had fresh dead but spiritually inert living so is she they come by to send message. Her grandfather was one thing but stranger dead is a whole next scene. You know what it is for people ghosts to be hounding you when night come? When a heat and a odour following nobody but you? Fraid to open your eyes, feeling somebody standing over you when you know nobody there? She deliver the message and buss.

She took a vacation in Tobago. She wanted peace and quiet to recalibrate. She had leaned away from the twelve tribes of her people but God was still her north star. Her intention was to fast and cleanse, to pray and connect. She found a pretty guesthouse online in a quaint village called Les Coteaux. She had a deep love for Shadow and was only too pleased to find out he’d grown up there. What her guesthouse research did not tell her was that Les Coteaux known for the mystical.

True to her word, she fasted and prayed for her family and friends, for the world in turmoil. She always had to remind herself that she deserved her prayers too. So she asked for healing and strength, for clear purpose and determination. She knew god doh come, he does send. So she prayed, “Send me, Lord. Prepare me. This world too wicked and it cyah stay so.”

I’ve read that there are certain places on earth that are charged with special energy. God energy, I suppose. They say ancient churches and places of worship were built along these powerful lines of latitude and longitude and there, manifestation power was multiplied. If that is true, I suspect Les Coteaux is one.

11:27 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

The next day she took a drive to the north side of the island. She drove past the crystalline waters of Castara and Parlatuvier; her destination was Speyside. She had a friend who worked at a hotel there so she had access to the idyllic private beach. She lay on the fine white sand and absorbed the mid-afternoon sun, she could feel it energising her skin and going deeper – a delicious tingle. The sea provided cool relief. She dove deep, enjoying that quiet world then swam far out into the blue; the horizon seemed to call her. She floated there with the cool at her back and the sun on her face. It felt like balancing on the cusp of the liminal. When the sun began to dip she swam in. She stood at the water’s edge and thanked God and the ocean spirit for welcoming her and keeping her safe. She used the hotel’s outdoor shower, gathered her things, thanked her friend and headed to the car.

If you know anything about Tobagonian topography, you know the north coast roads are treacherous. Narrow, winding and plagued with overconfident local drivers who clearly long for flight. It was dark now and she could feel the exhaustion from her day in the water. The sea is like that. It gives but it takes, it fills the heart but drains the body. It was a longish drive back home but she knew sleep would be sweet.

There was a tingling in her toes, her feet. She frowned, clenched and released, wiggled her toes. She guzzled some water. It was probably just mild dehydration; she had been in the water for hours. The tingling continued and seemed to rise up her calves. Interesting. A mild numbness had set in but she could still use her feet so she increased her speed; best to get in as soon as possible. The tingling numbness continued its ascent as it crawled up her thighs. She was really worried now. Was she having a stroke? She couldn’t feel her legs but the car was still moving so they were clearly still functioning, just not under her control. Something was taking over her body. She could barely feel her arms. A car flew around a blind corner, headed straight for her. She screamed in terror and shut her eyes, fearing the end. She felt her arms jerk the wheel to the left, dodging the car, then right itself. What the actual fuck was happening to her? She felt feverish. There was something else inside her, around her, moving her.

The car pulled into the driveway. Her head was spinning, her vision was coming and going. She felt herself being lifted up and out of the car. She saw her hands turning the key in the front door, then nothing at all.

She awoke on the kitchen floor. Her body felt achy, her neck at an odd angle. She rolled gingerly to her side, slowly pushed herself up. Her limbs felt heavy and her mind was foggy. What the hell happened last night? She went to the kitchen sink, filled a glass of water, drained it then had another. She walked slowly to the bathroom and into the shower. She let the water run warm over her body then cold over her head. When she got out she felt better, clearer, more in control of herself. She walked toward the dresser, picked up the coconut oil and slowly ran her hands over her body as if reacquainting herself. Only then did she look in the mirror. She looked like herself: brown, smooth, a little less round from fasting. For the most part, felt like herself. She started to turn away then heard a voice in her head say, “You called. We have come. Let us begin.”

11:29 am  
Blogger Winter said...

Well the real shit is how I end up in the middle of a cafe in Belmont in a towel tuck into a panty.
"I lose mih bag I lose mih hat i lose mih clothes I lose mih keys i lose mih wallet."
"yuh lose yuh bag yuh lose yuh hat yuh lose yuh clothes yuh lose yuh keys yuh lose yuh wallet? Jesso jesso? yuh wallet? jesso?"
"he lose he bag he lose he hat he lose he clothes he lose he keys he lose he wallet? Jesso jesso? He wallet? jesso?"
Allyuh yuh know is shit we like so by the time the third somebody repeat it you know is because they make a whole rhythm section and man wining like this ain't one of the saddest and most peculiar things they ever did see: a grown man stand-up normal normal in the middle of a stranger kitchen in a towel and a panty.
Well yuh remember how the Corona come and mash up Carnival 2021, so the government decide to treat the big football match and dem like it was a small carnival nah. So say come and all the teams come in the country and is bacchanal in Port-of Spain. Girl instead of bands in costumes it was all the people in their t-shirt or volunteer team outfit for whatever job they was doing for the big event. Anybody who was anybody was in town mixing and mingling with all the nobodies. I wasn't in no section or team. It was a spur of the moment thing when I bounce up mih two good good friends Fatty and Christophe by QRC. Hear nah is wine wine wine wine all d way up until we reach right by Cadiz road there. Fastness nah because yours truly foot start to burn and the best wine turn into a small limp. By the time we reach all by Gerningham it was real pressure.
"I go ketch up with allyuh just now".
"I now saying you reach real far".
"Yeah better you sit down here and wait, it have a Bus in d back for all the Tanty and dem day cyah make".
"Why yuh doh haul yuh ass? I ever Tanty with you?" All this time I cyah even laugh good because I breathing hard. "Yeah I go wait here. The crowd not so big man, the bus soon come".

8:32 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

When I tell you is knock out I knock out clean. When I open my eye the place empty; No bus, no music and no evidence of any parade or festivities.
"Strange". I get up and test mih foot.
"You ain't tellin me".
Well hear nah if I had to shit I woulda drop it right there and then. The fright that run up my back was almost as strong as the sudden grip on mih vocal chords that only allow me to let out the smallest "eep!" as I jump and turn a full 360 to see where the voice had come from. Today, today the gymnastics people couldda send me for gold. Standing quietly right next to where I was sleeping was a little old man. His purple volunteer T-shirt about 5 sizes too big and drooping all around him made even more ridiculous by his extra slim-fit jeans on his extra skinny legs.
“Sorry Uncle” he look more scared than me. “I was just wondering where everybody gone”.
“Me too yes boy. The last I know they was by the hospital and I was hustling tryin to meet them”.

I stop to take him in as he raised his hand and gestured in the direction of the hospital. Gold bangles caught the sun and clinked quietly as he moved. He had a strip gold sequined cloth tied loosely around his neck.

“Thanks Uncle I going to look for dem. I hadda find mih friends”. I stepped away and started down the road. About two steps in his bangles clinked quietly behind me making me stop and turn. “you comin?”

“Nah nah I go stay here”
“yuh sure?” My eyes stopped on his little gold boots that matched his neck tie. He swell his chest and stamped his feet lightly,
“Dese leave over from when I used to play king sailor for carnival. Yes I sure. I will stay right here man.”
“Arrite Uncle well I gone.” I reach about two buildings when I hear him call out
“Doh worry ‘bout me. Dey does always make sure I find mih way back home!”

8:34 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

I didn’t have time to study if it was the boots he was talking about because I was more worried about why the road was so quiet. The closer I get to the end of the hospital I start to hear a little music so I feel good. They must be turn and decide to go over Piccadilly side. I run een a side street that I see a couple taxis use when they trying to avoid midday traffic and reach over by the plannings quick. I say I go reach on the next side quickly to at least catch a glimpse of any stragglers or maybe the same said bus. Place just quiet. Not a straggler in sight and to be honest I beginning to think that I run up the wrong street. I turn and start back down the little street and I see a little narrow stairs running down between two break down houses yard that look like it lead back out to the main street right by the corner with the clinic. Nice. I run down in there. The passage was tight and I end up having to turn to the side to make it out on to the street. Thank God for Gravity. Mih clothes was dirty but I make it out turn left and start to walk toward the music. Wrong Street!

Well now I really don’t know where I am. Why I didn’t just keep mih fat ass on the street I know. Now I hadda go back up the stairs to the next street and follow It out back to where I come from. I wonder if I was go make because to burst out of a small spot with yuh weight pushing you is one thing. To stuff yuhself back in is something totally different. Chile I turn around to head back and there they were. They were so still that I didn’t see them at first; the three of them. No telling when they got there no telling where they come from. Did I stumble in on them or did they come looking for me? Either way I freeze dead in mih tracks. The only reason I stay quiet is because the one in the middle lock mih two eye and trap me in the gaze. As a child yuh hear about them, you remember? The spirit people they say livin under the all dem ruins in the hills of Belmont? I always throw it away as just chirren stories but I was watching them here plain as day. I watch dem and dem watch me. They looked to be covered in red clay. The small chirren couldda been boys couldda been girls. Same little white tunic that come down to their knees. They were so tiny that it couldn’t have been more than a yard of cloth between them. Same little round heads with tight curls and everybody skin clay red with white symbols look like they write in chalk. I wouldda say same face too but the eyes on each tell a very different story.
The one in the middle, still holding me in that gaze get up and walk toward me. The only thing keeping me together was a big big feeling of peace I was feeling in dem eyes. It was like Peace was on a loud mic then. I makin sense? It was only about four steps but it might as well had been one hundred. I kneel down under the weight of the peace and the three of dem start to sing. Quiet quiet. It was in mih ears like it was a secret for me alone. Peace reach up and touch mih forehead mih eyes and the little hand stop to trace a symbol right where mih neck meet mih chest. Is all I could do not to cry. I get a little ease and I stand up. Peace and the other two was already walking away from me some red dust lingering behind them, obscuring dem. It was back to me in a face-off with the small stairs and a long ass journey to end up in that damn café in a towel and a panty.

8:34 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

@Kristoff. I was slightly confused at first but soon absolutely delighted to roll along in the entanglement of thoughts and emotions that Robert was experiencing. like being ensnared in many vines.

4:30 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

@adam I chuckled to myself as you described "he was most anonymous when he was at his most obnoxious."
It's exactly what the rest of the world expects from Americans and the best way to hide is definitely in the open.
Poor Indian girl. I really want to know what happens next. I scared tho lolz

4:35 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@winter ohgadoye! i wasn' expecting peace+crew atall atall and that story had me totally enthralled; very natural-feeling, or something...yes, very natural-feeling, and the funny segueing easily into the eerie. i liking your short fiction; collection go be good.

1:28 pm  

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Thursday, May 07, 2020

fff#82

this fff was weird for me; not because i unhappy with what i write but i unhappy with me in this challenge. i disappoint meself with plenty shite fffs before when i cyah seem to write anything i like and end up posting an fff i unhappy with but sharing still because tha's part of the exercise for me and i always learn something from making meself write+post it even when i doh think it good enough. las' fff i was unhappy with mine but know is because when tony dead, i fold up. this rounds i goodish[ish!] with what i write, but feel i didn't get far enough out my comfort zone to truly fulfill the challenge, in spite of every effort to. i start out saying i going crime fiction because i wanna be able do that well and only ever try once, but late monday night realise even though i like my idea and find it outside my usual story-type, the actual writing, the voice, wasn't; like my natural voice lend itself too easy to the different genre, so it still feel like the kinna ting i would write. and i wanted to challenge meself. so i mash brakes 1time to think on it. late tuesday i decide to switch to something further removed from what i's usually do, and go romance, and rather than try to force-fit what i had, start over from scratch; i mean, it eh like i eh accustom being late with my fff...except when i went to start over in the wee hours of wednesday, i like what i already had too much and find meself trying to write a romance-mystery instead. then, realise today my completely unromantic backside really delivering something more like very light erotica than romance, and thus still staying closer to my usual voice (not that i's be aiming for erotica; is all them diablesse i's be there with) than i wanted, but new trigger going up nex' day and i eh have time to retrain meself to successfully execute romance by then, so instead i just taking the trigger as a trigger to write...something. and i eh vex with it, just feeling like i eh truly fulfill the challenge even though i happyish[ish!] with wha' i write, and did stick to the basic rule of the relationship-as-focus, even though i break the happy ending one, a la romeo+juliet, because if shakespeare could do ting, then who's me?!
and i still re/learn valuable tings through this semi-failed fffing: freedom is nothing to lose; all villains just need a hug; and the phone never rings, the baby never cries, and the rent never overdue in romances. so, flash fiction friday #82; trigger: pick a genre [afrofuturism/detective/horror/romance/noir/scifi/fantasy/speculative/etc.] and/or conceptual/structural trope [hero-journey/zombie-or-other-apocalypse/coming-of-age/etc.] that isn't your usual m.o. and make it yours.

the smell was unreal. too many unwashed in too little space, layered on top the pelau+pie. she shallow she breathing and press on. no time nor place for discomfort, especially as that smell was testament to how much these services needed. she make she way past the kitchen to she office. bookkeeping time; them accounts wouldn’t make theyself up.
she pull out the ledger, appreciating the beauty of running the wash like this, not having to maintain two different set of books for the government and sheself. of course, the tradeoff was every youthman assuming she soft and a easy takedown. of course, them youths was always wrong like a marble. nobody who reach far enough to become district cleaner coulda ever be soft. plus by now, this whole community was she; you would hadda come real ninja to get to she, catching she intransit your only possible opportunity.
she pull she mind back to the task at hand. what play off earlyweek cost, and intake need to reflect that. she remove the dummy event glamourised creole catering and start working backwards through the numbers but find she mind keep running back, playing through a peculiar selection of memories like if it searching for something…
walking into her office for the 1st time, singleminded in she purpose, no idea what she was in for. derailed, completely, by honey’s honeyed tones and later, determination. she gone in there smart but green with she big ideas and make she offer expecting to get through on sheer dollar amount, and honey’s one condition take she for surprise.
“wait. i hadda wha’?”
“you don’t have to; i asking if you want to because i want you to…”
“or hor. then…nahhh…”
“…but if you want the building…”
she watch honey up+down, hard.
“eh heh…so, i hadda.”
“you don’t want to?”
she watch honey long+hard again.
“fine.”
it was at dinner later she finally accept she mighta be outta she depth. and that maybe that wasn’t no bad thing.
she drag she mind back to the book in front she face. and a moment later, honey snatch she back again.
that dinner. she never had nobody just focus on she before. that level of attention, engagement, desire…she had never know what it was to have a person just be interested in and into she, as a person. honey sit close, touch she hand, look she in she eye, feed she exotic mouthfuls from her very fingers, the novel experience of sushi merely backdrop to honey stirring she insides in unfamiliar ways she know wasn’t about raw fish and plum wine…honey hot little hand sliding between she thighs under the table, right there in the people restaurant, 1st time she ever jump so, 1st time of many she find sheself owner of a vocabulary of sounds only honey could elicit.
the books. she tear sheself from honey’s warmth and come back to the pages. which conjure more memories.
standing in their building for the 1st time, she so excited she slowly spinning in a circle, taking in everything again, head full of them big plans until honey on her knees in front of she unzipping and pulling down and pushing aside, demanding access to she hidden parts, thiefing she head all over again. after, she+honey laying on the counter, honey whispering, “if tha’s wha’ you going and do, lemme help you. start by expanding your clientele…once you could service them.”
honey helping she turn the unused kitchen into a large-scale operation where the community’s needy could eat, free. honey teaching she how to make up accounts to cover the washing and the free food sharing. honey’s neverending supply of rich white people looking for their fix, never knowing they contributing to keeping the community fed. honey, executor of she dreams…
that could all fall apart if she don’t handle this part. accounts.
but she have honey on she mind because something troubling she; something not right, and she never wrong. earlyweek, when the shit went down, why honey wasn’t shock like she? that was the maths to study right now. numbers on paper cyah block the picture of that face she love, sad but unsurprised, already ready to help she move forward from what was evidently old news to honey ears. she know what she have to do.
the heart she didn’t think she had until honey, shatter. she didn’t know that could happen neither. she take five to gather sheself then get up to gather the things she need. she eh want honey to go too hard, she not trying to hurt she love, just end it.
when honey reach and ask why she so quiet she hand her the glass of brown liquid, clink she own against it, and pull honey into she lap after their 1st sip, wanting to enjoy the last of this warmth. she hold onto honey tight enough she get questioned again, and answer by draining she glass and reaching for the bottle.
“drink up, babes.”
she pour them both again, knock back she own, put honey to sit on the desk and kneel between her thighs, pushing up her dress. she know their time short now and doh want the end to come before honey get to. love is love.
when honey was bawling she name from the top of the mountain she feel the edges of the paralysis creeping in in time to watch+see the euphoria become terror in honey eyes and she tell she love with she last breaths,
“couldn’t let you betray me again. and couldn’t stay without you, neither…”

walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger Winter said...

loved this. was a little confused at first, but I read over and understood. I love that you're able to tell such a descriptive and detailed story but every time leaving enough to the reader to fill in. leaving us feeling smart and a part of the secret.

This line is perfection to me
" honey sit close, touch she hand, look she in she eye, feed she exotic mouthfuls from her very fingers, the novel experience of sushi merely backdrop to honey stirring she insides in unfamiliar ways she know wasn’t about raw fish and plum wine…"
This is so brilliant how she, in one thought, is not even gonna bother to lie to herself. it's made plain and she's not denying any of the experience.

And of course, I like the way you describe that she has honey in mind bcuz something not right. many a night I roll out of a sleep at three AM doing maths bcuz something said "tonite" nothing adding up with something said 6 years prior lolz.

4:44 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

thank you! a line of perfection is high praise and ting to feel proud of, oui! not surprised you had to read again, though; i think in this one i coulda/shoulda made details just a little clearer, yuhknow when you so close you cyah see the gaps for the reader? so glad you got into it+enjoyed anyway [:

7:28 pm  

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Friday, May 01, 2020

flash fiction friday #82

flash fiction friday #82 trigger: pick a genre [afrofuturism/detective/horror/romance/noir/scifi/fantasy/speculative/etc.] and/or conceptual/structural trope [hero-journey/zombie-or-other-apocalypse/coming-of-age/etc.] that isn't your usual m.o. and make it yours.

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.

11 Comments:

Blogger Winter said...

The blood on his fingers didn't bother him. Quite the opposite.  It was a balm to his racing mind. Like coming home. It was warm and viscous and good. Like sucking on pennies that had been drizzled ever so slightly with honey he thought as he curled his tongue around each finger making sure to savor the taste. Each person had their own distinct flavor. Subtle but very telling. The untrained palette might miss it. No the blood on his fingers didn't bother him one bit. In his mouth, on his face, dripping down his neck. It was why he did what he did. It wasn't the killing that he craved it was the near-spiritual feel of that first spray of warm blood across his body. Every spray like electricity tearing across his skin. It always amazed him just how much blood a body held and how the heart would keep pushing it out. Torturing him. Seducing him. The first night he surrendered to that sweet call he sunk into a corner drenched and sticky. He was so charged up that he couldn't resist the urge to touch himself. He didn't have to do much either. Just peeling out of his shorts, feeling them cling to each raised hair as they reluctantly slid across his wet skin brought him close. It was all he could do not to cry out when he wrapped his bloody hand around his penis. His body bucked so wildly his head snapped back and slammed into the wall behind him. It was the hardest he'd ever cum in his life. He was stunned. He could only lay there slowly tracing the tip of his dick and tasting his fingers now covered in a mix of his life and their death; well at least until he heard sirens in the distance.
The blood on his fingers didn't bother him at all. He just wished it hadn't gotten all over his new shoes. Someone would have to pay for that.

12:33 pm  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

“#lightandlove #beachdaze #goodtimestanlines #__(blank)__” It had been 15 long minutes of staring at his smartphone but, still, Adam could not find the right hashtag that would truly resonate with all of his 600,000 followers. It was these anxiety induced, mental blocks that made him always hate #Mondays.

Adam studied the photo more closely- he was standing on the beach facing the shore with his back angled towards the camera at just the right angle to catch the glowing, hazy rays of the sunset bouncing off his brown, muscular, slightly flexed body. You could see the profile of his handsome, defined face - the cheekbones that were chiseled from the darkest granite; the ripe, rounded lips; his cool hazel eyes, gazing into the distance.

He had specifically asked Paula, his full-time photographer and part-time girlfriend, to take the photo at a slightly upward angle (but not so far upward that it looked intentional) so that he could appear to be about 6’3” instead of 6’1”, which he actually was. She knew that he hated being only 6’1” and he didn’t understand why she was being such a bitch about having to kneel down for the shot. She had never complained about getting on her knees before, plus, he hadn’t planned on using up all the good lighting on himself; he had intended to ask some beachgoer to take a shot of the two of them together and, if she had asked, he would have even considered posting a photo with someone else for once.
Anyway, he had always allowed her to post the pictures of them together on her own profile so long as she didn’t publicly tag him on them because that might lead to rivalries with his mainly female followers. She didn’t have to work on her angles as hard as he did, she already had more likes, more follows and more endorsements than he did, which, he was sure was not in small part to her not-in-any-way-small breasts.

Adam’s train of thought was broken by Lori’s shrill voice shouting something that sounded like “Rarmour me thing!” over the chipboard wall that separated their offices. “What?” Adam shouted back. “The meeting!” Sarah responded, “I was asking if you had remembered to go to meeting! The one upstairs”.

“Shit!” Adam exclaimed as he dashed out of his office; one minute more and he would have been late. As he pushed open the heavy wooden door that led into the hallway, he realized that the elevator was stopped and waiting on his floor with its doors wide open, inviting him in with its clean, silver and glass interior.

Luckily, Adam was alone in the lift so he decided to lean into the big, square mirror on the back so that he could groom his beard just a little before the meeting. He kept his beard at just the length and thickness to give the appearance of someone who was polished yet feral, mysterious yet inviting, someone approachable yet sexy.

Slam!

As the elevator jolted to a halt somewhere in between the 15th and 16th floors, Adam smacked his head into the mirror and felt himself dropping to the ground.

6:07 pm  
Blogger Kristoff Swantástico said...

Adam could hear a firmly reassuring voice in front of him. It was a man’s voice that was saying “…happy that you’re awake”. As the mist cleared from his eyes, Adam looked towards the voice and blinked so quickly and so markedly that the voice told him not to be “too alarmed” because of the “minor head trauma.” The blue V-neck shirt and the little clipboard made sense but the dark, handsome doctor, the chiseled cheekbones, the pursed lips, the hazel eyes, even the beard were eerily familiar – not just familiar to Adam, but identical to him.

As the doctor scribbled something on his clipboard, a high, thin voice came from outside the room – “Doctor, you’re needed in the Intensive Care Nursery”. The person who hurried into the room had the same face as the doctor, who had the same face as Adam – dark, handsome, chiseled bone structure, round lips , hazel eyes and full beard but this time the face was wearing, or the person wearing the face was also dressed in a skirt, a short top that covered what looked like breasts, and a white nurse’s cap.

Adam didn’t know that he was going to scream until he was actually screaming. The doctor had already left but the nurse was either trying to calm him or drown him with a full cup of water; he couldn’t tell the difference.

“My phone! Where’s my phone?” Adam panted as the nurse fussed about him. When the nurse handed it to him, he opened his profile. Nothing had changed. His profile was still littered with his selfies, selfies of him with an affected unawareness that he was even being photographed. He was still topless in all of the photos. He remembered all the poses, all the filters, all the shots it took before he could get the perfect one to post. He looked exactly the same as he recalled.

Maybe he had stayed the same online but something about him had changed now, in this moment. Adam opened the front camera on his phone and used it to look at his own reflection. He held the phone up above his head, to the left and to the right. He scrutinized every eyelash, every pore but nothing was different.

“Nurse, did I hurt my eyes when I fell? Or did I hit my head really badly or something? I don’t think I’m all right.” The nurse responded “Your bump this morning was really minor. Everything’s normal and look, your girlfriend is here to collect you. Just relax”.

“Paula?! Paula???!!!! What the fuck is happening to me?!!!” Adam exclaimed the moment he saw her. “Adam, I know you had an accident but I really don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, especially in front of other people” Paula said as she looked over at the nurse.
He recognized her voice and with it, the firm chill that meant that she was one step away from anger. “Why, why do you look like that? Like meeee?!” Adam pleaded, quietly, almost like a child. Paula brushed the side of his face with her slim fingers and said reassuringly “Babe, what do you mean? I look the same. Look at this picture that we took just yesterday. Do you remember? Look, I posted it this morning”.

As Adam looked at the phone he saw two bodies in an embrace, the brawny arms and legs were his, and the other body, the slim waistline, the big breasts, the butterfly tattoo on the shoulder, were definitely Paula’s but as he looked at the faces they were both him, his face, his faces, kissing himself…

6:07 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

@kristoff Swantastico

I"d really like to hear where this goes. Excellent idea.

9:43 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

finally finish+posted@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/05/fff82.html
walk good.

5:12 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

They descended on him like a horde, the buzzing of the different engines gave the bikers an insect-like quality. He felt his chest tighten, his heart race faster, as they swarmed around him and thoughts of the past over powered and penetrated the fear in his mind. Thoughts of the time before, when things was nice. When the virus first came, it changed things, yes, but everyone thought it would be for a short time. There was hope that we would soon be back to normal. Across the whole planet, pandemic, panic dem. It spread slow, but fast. In three months every country in the world housed infected. After six months hope dwindled into nothing as the realization set in. Those who didn't die the first time, without exception, became infected again. Every national health system, supply chains for food and supplies, all failed. Already strained since the start of the pandemic and not able to recover before the second wave of sick. There were no beds, no medicine, no time. The death toll spiked. Entire families erased in days, neighbourhoods in a week. Some islands, entire countries, collapsed in a month. As more people died off, more and more empty buildings and vehicles full of bodies but not life, became the norm.
A few humans had immunity, but only a few. Internet, banking, air travel, oil and gas, all things we took for granted, all came to a grinding halt.
There was a sign we missed. It was the americans. Not all of them, just the 'real' America. They descended on their own cities and state legislatures by the hundreds and in some places thousands, with swastikas and nooses, holding their bibles, toting their guns and reciring their constitution. The founding fathers had given them rights and they would exercise those rights and trade liberty for death. They marched and intimidated their way into the reopening of American cities and towns ignoring warnings of it being way too soon. Three days after they got their wish the first of them started getting sick. Still, they went out, refusing face masks and in some cases evven reacting violently or even intentionally coughing on people who were just trying to do their jobs. Two weeks after and maybe ten were left. Not just ten in Detroit or ten in Chicago, ten Americans. The second round of the virus was unprecedented. In a matter of months the whole world changed. Internet gone, cable television. What happened with the Americans affected the word more than material things. It showed how things like rights were fictional, at best. It challenged the sense of morality. Governments fell, no police or army. The few survivors, those with immunity, lived by their own rules. Some hoarded fuel, others weapons and ammunition and others food and clothing. Some nieghbourhoods came together and tore themselves apart. It wasn't even organized enough to be anarchy. It was primal.
That is how he reach here, swarmed by the bikers studying when and how the world went bad.

8:53 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...


@winter, definitely not your norm (at least from wha' i know) and i find it real work, dread. good+taut, and i think the connecting/overlap of different desires well written. feel like fff was a good means for this exploration...

9:25 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@swantastico: yes! i think at the moment more existential horror than scifi, although, if you continue working on it you could choose to make it go either direction with the explanation and story development. i think it pretty damn decent, though; how you feel after sleeping on it?

9:37 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@adam i like the setup but feel like i need more of the connection between the recent history narrator describing and the scene with the bikers. i also know time was not on your side so curious to see if you pursue the other part of this. i suspect i unintentionally fail to deliver similar connection in mine this rounds but hadda go back+see...

9:45 am  
Blogger Winter said...

@sweet trini

Definitely not my norm. nowhere near. I only had the vaguest idea of NOIR. took the challenge. scared mih damn self at how easily it poured out and how risque it became. I"m really enjoying this FFF experience. puts me on a schedule which I need. and makes me explore more of who I could be as a writer.

12:07 pm  
Blogger Winter said...

@adam i love the speed of this. makes me feel like I'm in the chase with the character.

4:49 pm  

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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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