Shancia Speaks: Short Stories Superb!

The scene was vivid. It was 8: 59 a.m. I felt when he touched me and I saw him smile. In that familiar room, I could smell his cologne and it whipped me with weakness every damn time. That bloody gaze too! The fierce staring and reading of my pages, getting ready to open and tear, and at the column too. We were here again in this expensive space, ready to turn days spent impatiently apart into a Holy Communion ceremony, but not one marked with the blood and the bread of Jesus but with the temptation and the lure of the devil. This was wrong.....oh, how wrong was this! The shower was the hot spot, like literally hot! Raspy breathing that trailed down my neck and then my back until it beckoned me closer to you. Like a stupid puppet, I released control to you my master. Your lips were like a bandage to my wounded spirit, plastering every ounce of longing that led up to me finally being able to see you. One hit and I could walk again, such a miracle worker you were. I bet even Jesus would ...

Yearning to cuddle what would be formed of her, the woman was persistent. She would try. She had lost the left and now depended on the right and was hopeful because where did Jesus sit......on God's right hand of course. So, when it was confirmed, there was not a happier bird in the sky and the two of them sat and planned for the world, the woman and her man. When he or she arrived, greatness would follow, they believed. The man and the woman would teach him or her all the good things they were never taught and while the life formed inside the woman, she swore to be the best progenitress she could be. The man agreed. Then one day with no warning, a sharp pain came calling and would not stop knocking at her maternal door. So, before she could pray and ask God's intercession, she was under a bright light receiving Greek instructions from a doctor who looked like he was about to kill her. The bright light subsided with every deep breath she took and suddenly she was between God...

One thousand percent of my love I dealt him and laid out proudly across the gambling table. He smiled and made his wager and swore promises to match my deal. The idiot in me was somewhere having fun and was not attuned to the devil's music......she did not know yet that she was going to lose, she had no clue that she would never dance again. The game was sweet in the beginning, especially when he dealt his "I love you," card. I oozed. So enamored was I that I took no notice that those words were plastered on the Joker card......that bastard! He took my soul almost every night when I let his axe dig out my diamonds, water gushing from the cave where they were hidden........... as he hunted, broke in, plundered and ravished avariciously. He ate me like a famished beggar, and I was convinced I would always be enough to keep him full, a whole meal I was not. I guess I forgot about digestion, huh.... and the fact that he would someday be hungry again, for a different dish of c...

Ether's shovel battled against the scorched ground, boring with exasperation, desperately carving cavernous graves. There would be no funeral today, but some things needed to be buried, to dissipate. Ether dug anxiously and expeditiously, eager to put down this invisible but crushing weight where it belonged once and for all. She dug past noon and by then the heat was glaring. Its sting on her skin resembled the pain she felt that was constantly tugging at her temples. The water she gulped tasted like bitter tears and then she quickly realized they were her own. They fell without warning, staining her weary feet with their cumbersome splashes.......... that hurt! Close to dusk, Ether had dug six holes and it was then that the procession of laying to rest would begin. With no priest to pray and deliver a blessing, she became her own holy oil and incense. There would be no holy, white cloth to save today. The absence of solemnity was just what Ether needed to be brave, as she was wea...

I wish you would stop being so mendacious and desist from spinning untamed webs. I was there too, remember? I lived this story with you. The truth sits between us but you will never dare to move any closer for fear that you might touch it. So, even though you drag this tale and use its tail to constantly try to whip me, the story you claim as yours was twice as mine, so please, whatever you do.......just do not lie. The apparent torture of your skin lays testament to the brutality of those lies, slowly sinking your character, never mine.  You have taken some steps to build a ladder of protection because you believe the higher you climb, the more untouchable you become. You revel because you can sit now sit atop of that ladder and judge what you perceive sits below you. But! Your ladder buckles for it is not grounded in the dirt of truth and every act of deceit sways that ladder.... but you do not feel it because you stay busy, consumed in the faux world you have created to convince...

You learn a lot on a long bus ride and in the case of where I am from, you get podcasts. An intricate community web where everything gets spilled; in fact no one is spared. Tales are spread with no regard for authentication, sparkling eyes and elongated lips, dishing out sweet juices that no local fruits can offer. Yet, they gulp and drink. The passengers revel in it, hands all sticky gripping the dirty seats, not one gesturing discomfort or protest. Ears are sharply attuned, even the ones apparent with earphones slyly lower the amplification of their devices. Of course they want to listen! By the time you get to Anse- La- Raye, you would have known who sleeps with who. You would hear who was at the fete and you will hear who did not come because they probably did not have money or clothes. Out of all the possible reasons, that has got to be the only one, huh?! You will hear about the teacher and what she wore to work, then you'd hear about the policeman and why he does not own a c...