Shancia Speaks: Short Stories Superb!

Deep breaths no longer combat mental exhaustion. Elisha needed to retreat. Mental decapitation, the hangman's joy reigned supreme. Who designed this? To work so much and rest so little and of course, those daily autonomous regimes. Tired, weary, and dreary, Elisha was a mixture of all three. The morning alarm is the worst sound, like poison to her ears. The dreadful aide- memoire of the expectations of life placed upon her, expectations she did not bargain for. Elisha sits on the edge of the bed and juggles between crucial decisions. Slouching shoulders hold the agony of the forced interactions to come. Crossed legs are tense and stiff, regretting they even have to move, heavy from the weariness. The jab in Elisha's gut plays tango but not the kind you have fun with when you dance, rather a twisted discontentment, hanging in limbo. Then there's the mind, where the bulk of the exhaustion lives, the kind that sleep has yet to permeate, the type that debilitates. Elisha believ...

There are children who live in adults and they are hurt. Out of not knowing what to do with this hurt, they adopt the worst coping strategies and inevitably hurt others. The child is wounded; the adult frame is frail and every time the child mourns, growth derails.  No one apologized to the child and so the adult believes no one is owed an apology. No one lifted up the child in praise, and so the adult criticizes harshly. The child who lives in the adult throws tantrums that bang like drums, screaming when the outside world dares to go against the ego. There goes the adult coward, fearful of what others may say or think, and so the adult learns to be vicious, to be manipulative, to be deceitful, the child in the adult has learned to get his or her way or he or she will ruin the other's day. The child will make the adult crush whoever stands in the way, the child has yet to learn any boundaries. The child scrutinizes, looks for an agenda in everything, the child in the adult useless...

A big headed, protruding navel, slang talking little boy just popped up in our amidst. All we knew was that he was my uncle's son and a trail of mischief was forever his shadow (inserts chuckle). His name was even stranger.....Jomokenyatah? What on God's green Earth? (inserts chuckle through tears). No formal introduction was necessary,  he just fit right in. We swear, he became our granny's favourite in absolutely no time! Hiding stuff in her blouse to hand to him when she thought we didn't notice, that was a tell all. (inserts chuckle) We remember the days when he ran naked and his mother screamed "Oba,"....... to which there was never a response, just giddy innocence and joy to be part of a clan. More like a brother than a cousin, Jomokenyatah became our own. We all loved him, looked after him, scolded him, hugged him, trailed him and sometimes feared for him. That mischief was otherworldly.  For some time, we did not see him because his passion landed him ...

The quest for closure can sometimes come at a high price. People intentionally hurt us and act like we pulled the knife from their back. Closure sometimes looks like accepting that others do not associate themselves with accountability. Closure can look like understanding that others are more interested in their self- righteousness and false sense of grandiosity than actually building and sustaining meaningful relationships. Closure can look like accepting that some people will never admit they are wrong even if the devil held the meeting with them himself. Closure means choosing you. Choosing you and walking away from what others will never acknowledge. Why don't you acknowledge how amazing you are instead, how freely you love, how slow you judge and how automatically that light inside you shines? Why don't you focus on the glowing parts of you, feast with yourself and break good bread? People eventually tell on themselves, just give them time. Did you take accountability in s...

Geneva hastened along the fragmented, concrete path that connected her humble dwelling to the outside world. Though riddled with puddles and cracks that snapped toes, she had memorized every step. Her movements were automatic. She always found it humorous how the craters resembled her own life; the empty spaces and creases were very much like the voids she had been trying to fill ever since she was a child. Yesterday was her last "late warning," so she snapped out of it and hurriedly made her way to catch the early morning bus. On both sides, columns of dingy, rusty galvanize served as fences. "What could they even protect?" thought Geneva, and that gave her a chuckle. Her friend Sharon was already leaning over her veranda to wait for Geneva for the latest neighbourhood gossip. Lord, how could she escape her? "Not today, Sharon, girl I'll miss my bus!" hailed Geneva as politely as she could. Sharon had already given up, had accepted she would never mak...

I wanted to go where you went, but I realized that I could not. I wanted to sit in your heart and count the beats, but I felt that I would be the one bleeding instead. I desired to walk alongside you but something nudged and whispered that our journeys would not last. Yes, we were meant to walk together until some point but that was really as far as it could go. I wanted to walk with you forever but when I thought you were still holding my hand, you had eagerly let me go. My path became dim and my purpose unclear but still in the darkness, I searched for you. Your scent, however, lingered no more. I followed your trail of lies until I realized that I was becoming a lie myself, straying farther and further away from myself to keep you lifted up. Dissipated, I was now transparent. At my expense, I was your pedestal. But....my goodness, were you heavy...and while I sank, you hopped and jumped, further plundering me into oblivion. I wanted to travel the globe with you, but your world rotat...