Weapons & fireworks
Lips meet with sweet, gentle love
Hearts beating as one
Learning how to survive
In the starry land
Hands slowly learning
To create a masterpiece
One that beats Rembrandt
-Smiles, tears, joy, laughter—
My golden cup is filled up
With moments of bliss
Folks gather together
To bid adieu to
A beaming mage
#Levelz 25.8.23 ©️
Bodies moving closer
His hands gradually
Exploring from every
Strings gently plucked
With such grandiose~
Gentle rising sensations
Extraordinary majestic form
Out of this
Milky Way Galaxy
Feelin’ summer vibes
Ready for s’more
Of maestro’s handiwork
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20th August, 2023. Sundae
The voice stopped calling, and then his body froze at the sight of her current bodily state. Frank stood with his mouth agape. Sasha was hunched over the edge of the bed. She seemed to not have heard her name being called. All her limbs were bent in a zig-zag shape. This made Frank’s heart skip a beat. He dropped the bowl of her favorite fruits on the hardwood floor, & started to head for the door. But then he slipped on a blueberry. His head started ringing from the impact it had with the cold, hard wooden floor. Meanwhile, Sasha was not quite aware of who this human that had approached her was. When she finally turned around, Frank screamed out loud! Sasha’s lethal upper and lower canines that extended out of her mouth diced Frank’s entire body into minuscule chunks. At the crack of dawn, while some folks were still under the spell of a yawn, Sasha stretched, and jumped out of bed. She stumbled across a pile of what looked like a mix of blood, and bones. The stench of it all made her want to nearly hurl. Suddenly, she heard a familiar sound.
But when she looked around, Frank was no where to be found.
Ombres dans la ville
Salman placed his
Heart in a cauldron
And waited for the
O, great & noble
Seeker of lost souls…
In a matter of
The body of Salman
Hovered mid-air & his—
Eyes became a ghostly white that
Changed a bit later
Into dark scarlet matter which
Trickled across his
12th August, 2023. ©️
‘‘Stories Out of School’’
“Stories Out of School” Flash Fiction Contest [Free Contest!]
Academy for Teachers has organized this flash fiction competition to help highlight “the rich, challenging, and underappreciated world of the teachers”. Anyone over the age of 18 can participate, but the story should revolve around a teacher.
Word count: 6–749
Closing date: 01 September 2023
Que suis je?
Sounds of pounding
I hear constant ringing
Of phones buzzing
Que suis je?
Right into my soul…
Que suis je?
My face frozen
Much sterner than..Mona Lisa.
Que suis je?
With dark charcoal-honey eyes
Cheeky grin like that of fairies
Skin as rich as baked loamy soils
Que suis je?
A swirling dizzying vortex
The Shadow Man grins
Samih rubbed her hands together, and then shifted her wrists a bit to check the time on her strawberry watch (a gift that her godmother had given her for her twentieth birthday). Soon the sound of clicking-clacking was heard coming from the east. The train came to a screeching halt, and some folks disembarked from it. A few of them looked so drained, as if some dybbuk had sucked all the life force out of them.
"All aboard to Chive!" The conductor bellowed. Samih rushed toward the back of the line leading to the train to Chive. The smell of chamomile tea filled the space, and air Samih had been told to sit.
Most folks in the train were either: getting ready to catch several hours in dreamland, or grabbing one of their portable frosty detachable tablets to continue watching one of their favorite shows. The train took a few hours to get to its final destination, and Samih decided to also take a catnap.
Samih tried to fall asleep, but as much as she tried she was not able to drift off into the land of what some believed to be a gateway to foretelling the future, or tapping into visions passed on from Morpheus. So, it was time to do some more people watching: from seeing whether the people on board packed light (like Samih), or decided to move with luggage that made them look like they were carrying a dead body, or bodies aboard the train.
The conductor, who looked like he was in his late thirties, or early forties, stepped right up to Samih. "Ticket, please, Miss..." Samih gave a slight nod, and handed the ticket to the conductor. He scanned the bar code, and gave a slight nod, too.
Someone quickly ran past the conductor. The conductor shouted, "Oy!" This made most of the folks in the train, even the ones who had been asleep, jump up in their seats. The runner continued to take off, leaving the rest of the folks looking on with puzzled expressions. Wondering, and looking around to see where the running man was headed to.
There was no place to run, or hide. He could not get off the train; it was still moving. They had just left one of the stops along the way to Chive, Rolon.
Samih rose to her feet, and as soon as she was about to take off to check out what was going on, a hand landed on her left shoulder. This startled her. "I suggest you take a seat, young lady."
She wanted to continue walking, and check out what was going down between the conductor, and the runner. Maybe he was a secret agent who had caught sight of the wanted person on their agency's hit list.
The stranger snapped his fingers, and the train was covered in what seemed to be dark stormy clouds. Samih gulped, and stared at the stranger. "What in the Chive is going on?"
She watched the stranger form a slight o, and wind rushed out of his mouth. Her very own mouth gaped at the sight of this metamagick form. "Now," the voice rose like a rushing wave, "please, I would prefer it if you took a seat."
Samih rubbed her eyes, and pinched herself. "What're you doing?" The stranger asked. "I am trying to check...making sure that I am not stuck in Morpheus' realm."
The stranger sighed. "Being stuck in Morpheus' realm should be the least of your worries."
"Why?" Samih asked. "Who is on this train that has much greater power than The King of Dreams?"
The stranger took out a notebook, and sketched out a drawing.
"How do you know my name?"
He chuckled, and said, "Even the great Sherlock Holmes would have easily figured that out." He replied, and pointed to her ticket which she still had in her hand that had her name written on it in bold and capital letters: SAMIH.
Samih placed the ticket inside her gold leather jacket. Then she realized who the stranger was. "I did not realize the great Inspector Mpaso would be gracing us all here with their presence." The Inspector smiled, "Samih...it seems you will not take a seat. Alright then. Would you like to find out what has happened to the young man that I have been tracking?"
The dark stormy clouds that had surrounded the train gradually drifted away. "It would be such a great honor." Samih said with a slight bow.
Mpaso moved to the side, and the two were off to see where the conductor, and running man were currently along the space, or cabins of the train. Samih tried to contain her excitement. Here she thought the train ride was going to be a humdrum, and long mode of transportation.
The Inspector had managed to place a tracking spell on the runner. He followed the silver trail of dust which only his eyes could see. "Follow me."
Samih shrugged her shoulders, and thought to herself. "Okay. Let's go!"
They hurried along, moving from one cabin to another- with the Inspector in the lead. He ducked behind one of the seats once he and Samih had walked into another cabin. "Get down!" the Inspector cried out.
The Inspector mumbled something under his breath. Samih ducked behind the seat that was right beside the Inspector's. The train began to jerk backwards, and forwards.
There was a bright flash like lightning that struck into the main cabin. The Inspector looked around, and jumped to his feet. Samih followed him, "What were you expecting Inspector?"
"Not this." The body of the runner was missing. What remained was a charred body of the conductor with his hair still burning. Samih felt as if all the contents of her belly were about to make their way back into her trachea. The Inspector snapped his fingers, and softly mumbled "Obliviscar, Samih."
...---... (continued, one more time).
“FRIENDSHIP IS AN OCEAN THAT YOU CANNOT SEE THE BOTTOM.”
Charles rode his bicycle along the banks of the Zambezi river. The sound of something honking behind him made him almost hit a Baobab tree. The driver of the white Mitsubishi was not amused. He stopped the vehicle, and got out of the driver’s seat. Charles gulped. He felt as if the ground that the driver had stepped on was about to scream from trying to take on the ginormous weight of this cranky old geezer.
With the back of his hand, he struck the young lad with great force. This sent Charles hurtling backward right into the Baobab tree. Charles used his hands to cover his face. The old man growled, “You better watch where you ride your bike, iwe.”
With that, the driver of the white Mitsubishi took off leaving a sandy cloudy trail behind. Charles sneezed, and then coughed. “Ah,” he cried out. “That old fella ended up driving right over my hot wheels.” Charles bent down on one knee, and felt a sharp sting coming from his pants. Fire ants. He looked around to make sure no one was looking, and slid his khaki shorts downwards. He would try to shake the ants off him, and real fast before another person ended up coming along thinking that he was about to hit a kid trying to use the great outdoors as a restroom. This was not how he thought one of the days during his holiday in Livingstone was going to be.
He wandered about the market area trying to find a bike repair shop. Then he caught sight of a newspaper lying on a rosewood table just behind a kantemba. He felt a sudden shiver run down his spine. The front page read: HER FACE IS GONE WITHOUT A TRACE. Charles picked up the newspaper, and continued to read. He wondered if this was an actual story, or maybe some reporters were making this up. But he heard some folks right behind him sighing, and whispering:
“Did you hear about the young lady they found close to the Victoria Falls?”
“Yeah,” one of the other strangers replied. “I cannot believe that her face is missing. Do you think the ritual killings have started again?”
Charles’ eyes grew much wider at the mention of “the ritual killings”. This felt like a crazy story right out of his favorite series, Goosebumps, by R. L. Stine. Charles folded the newspaper, and placed it underneath his right armpit. He would have to take this newspaper back home, and share the sad news with his Uncle George, and Aunt Ruthie.
13th July, 2023.