Shancia Speaks: Short Stories Superb!

The fragile line that separates sane and insane seethes at the far corners of the brain, in the darkest of regions and then as if to taunt, they play games. The victim stands in the middle while overwhelming clouds of thoughts are tossed back and forth, getting heavier and impossible to dodge with each throw until the mind reaches the peak of saturation and suddenly....... precipitation, of the boulder- like hail blasting kind. There is no shelter from this of storm and so the victim cowers, hovers and screams as each blow is dealt harder than the one before. Weighed down by the bricks of distortion, the foundation quivers and now the soul buckles. Insanity flashes a blinding red light, and the line of separation dissipates some more. In the victim's favour, however, and grace to an insomniac mind, another thought lunges forward. This time, the victim retreats and walks along a sloping shoreline close to the cerebellum of the brain, with feet sinking into the black sea sand. There ...

The unpredictability of life is such that we encounter the unexpected at the most profound moments in our lives. Nothing is without purpose, and everything comes lesson bound. And so, during those defining moments, we decide whether we peel off the layers and expose our all in all or retreat further in the shadows of our minds, fearful of how we are perceived. As human beings desirous of meaningful connections, we tend to blow like the wind and land in places where we divulge more than we should, for the sake of pouring out the pain dealt to our souls. In time, however, we come to uncover the lack of genuineness of the people we choose to surround ourselves with, and we go around playing the blame card game, without silencing our egos and accepting that there are scarred parts of us that crave the broken cycles of abusive friendships. Those friendships that validate our insecurities and support our "crap", those friendships that keep us in a loop of competition, and those fri...

Many times, I face you, and come close to telling you the truth but the chokehold of regret, and the veil of my transgressions tilt the tracks of my weary feet. I swallow it instead. Bitter! You have created a portrait of me, on a torn, debilitated canvas, slapped haphazardly with putrid, expired paint. I long to tell you that it was not my fault, that I went according to his words, words which spoke nothing of you, words which made your presence dissipate. Now that the ride is over, and I've been discarded like a gum wrapper in the wind, landing in the murky waters of the repulsive gutter, I can feel the tap of courage beckoning me to come forth and....... speak. But! What would you say ...... that after I jolted your world and almost capsized it, I now face you as the victim, begging for you to stand in the same shoes that made you almost run with insanity? Again, I retreat, and gulp the pain, this time so sharp, that it cuts at the shame built up in my throat, leaving me to swa...