Shancia Speaks: Short Stories Superb!

          Her name was Joanna.   When she was born, her feet appeared first; a story recounted incessantly by her mother to remind Joanna of how arduous a delivery it was, and in essence to bear a stain in Joanna’s subconscious that she owed her life to her mother, at all costs. Joanna always thought it funny though, that this little guilt trap story was somehow already a strong indication of the number of trials that she would have had to walk her entire life, as if to punish her for the pain she caused her mother. The universe seemed to echo and match this humour because from as far back as Joanna could remember, she was always stumbling upon landmines yet somehow, she figured that one day, if she kept on walking, she would eventually find treasure.             Her home was a prison without the bars. Although her parents were present and provided food, clothing and shelter, Joanna was an...

  The Weight of the Night Dusk came quick and now the night has come to bang on Aura's door. Still, eerie, mocking. At night, the mask falls off and the heavy reality of what is her life, comes showering jeers and picking jabs at her mind, her thoughts. The overthinking, God, please stop. The bills are due again, they don't ever let Aura breathe, and in that whirlpool of energy, she sits slouched, and sighs. This was a far stretch from the life she dreamed of and so she falls hard on herself, bangs the misery drums and now the blame just leads to guilt, which leads to disgust, and now she is wrenching in anguish. Twisted thoughts, heartwrencching sighs, how can she ever get through this. The ticking of the clock laughs at her sorrow in the nighttime. It deliberately slows down to make her feel the wrath of all her bad decisions that create the illusion that she's got it all figured out. One hour, now two, not on single ounce of comfort in sight. The crickets joined in on...

  Drink in hand, music in the background, greetings and laughter all around...that's the scene I live for, being at the river. Sitting close to the water's edge, feet immersed in the cool, crisp, summer water, I feel the nibbling from the tiny fish as they tickle between my toes.  The water flows calmly on this beauty summer day, and I sigh, relieved, to have finished all my chores for the day and to be here, here for a few hours, my soul can be free. A few more sips of wine and I'm ready to go closer to the crowd, to engulf myself in the rhythm of my favourite music, while one or two insist on making conversation, which I gladly entertain with glee. The food is delectable too,nothing fancy as in a resort but alive and pumping with flavour...I'd choose this over a five star anyday....... River days are good days, nonchalant and free. Then it winds down and the reality of the life you live grapples at your pulsing veins. You leave regrettably and as you make your way t...