Shancia Speaks: Short Stories Superb!

The fake concern to gain access is the new normal. Welcome to the world! Behind masks of smiles are venomous tongues, one bite and you are done. It is a sort of delusion......the way people are brave to trash you where your eyes and ears cannot reach, yet in a familiar setting, they behave as though your presence lights their universe. Murderous! Privacy, therefore, has become a golden key. Absolute treasure.....to guard your heart and mind because too many people simply want access. Access to make comparisons and access to compete. Access to manipulate your truth and access to work hard behind the scenes so it will never be you. So....when the seasons flip and the tide wants to rescue you, make your own sail boat, or garner your flippers,  row the oars and learn to swim. You are not perfect but where you are heading requires a "you" committed to growth, to love, to light. The devil is an angel when it needs to be, never fall prey to the disguise. So......when the snakes come...

Another alarm, another clock. Tik tok, tik tok. Forty eight hours done and gone! You think that is right, dear Sir? We have not even breathed, nor have our senses been rearranged....yet you want me to do one hundred and twenty hours all over again. Quite the unfair ratio! Time for routine again, the endless loop of the same actions, same chores, same steps, same people, same work, same places. Monday sings the blues at a fine, dismal tune.  The body stiffs and tenses, a quick turn to gaze upon the pillow and almost hear it whisper, "you don't need this job today,". And then......the trumpets grow louder and the bass suddenly booms, a whipping tune called " bills, bills, bills and food, food, food." Never once do you intend to sing or dance along. Sincerely, a dispiriting ballad. Our favourite colour will soon not be blue! And so.....we rise, stumble, groan and pout, angrily fixing the kettle, shoulders drooping, we just want out. The tune gets louder, it's a...

They would spark the fire and then hide the hand that holds the match, and of course you would not notice, because you are busy getting burned. That is the nature of friendship these days, with a mission to stay close to you, but not to provide support, not to love.........to access and to monitor. Monitor how you weigh against them, monitor to know which parts of you to exploit. There was a time when integrity reigned supreme, where friends could fall out today and go about their way, with neither ever disclosing the personal underneaths of the other. But! In this new poisonous era, friendships keep the score and oh! How venomous the reproach. You're envied for things about yourself that you did not choose, nor could you have any control over. Friendship concepts in this new age are scarier than squaring up with a snake. The dagger hides and you do not suspect it until it's pulled out and you are left there wondering where the blood came from. The saddest part is to watch them...

I have always wanted to meet the child who lives inside of me, to just hold her hand and walk with her, maybe even sit. We would not say anything to each other for some time, we would just ensure that we stay close, you know, and just simply walk. Walk and ponder, what if we could be one, immersed in whatever self-love we could offer to one another. What if we could forgive each other and accept it was, not then, and is, not now, ever our fault.  The little girl who lives in me did not have time to play. She grew so fast, that I did not even have time to teach her all the great lessons that would save her from treachery. She never learned that most people just prey. I long to rock her and cradle her with my all, just all of my love, for although I was not taught it then, I surely taught myself. This little girl who resides in me complains sometimes and I have to remind her that comfort is not free. I long to walk and hold her hand, and hug her endlessly. I crave to sit with her on ...

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...

Amelia amassed her intuition, violently shoved it into a crumbling bag and kicked it all the way to the back of the bookshelf. She then walked out of the room and disrespectfully closed the door. She entered into the world and convinced herself that she could actually survive without it. Amelia had not the faintest idea of what she was up against. Red flags became green and she just let people in as if her soul was a restaurant serving free food. She became the people's "blocko", one and all were allowed.........and they literally just sat there, with no eagerness to leave and with every desire to grab as much of her as possible, to run and feed to the vultures waiting on the outskirts. What had Amelia done? Of course, they were waiting to devour her! Feeling crippled by the lack of discernment, Amelia was simply lifted up and carried by the wind, hopelessly flying from space to place, where even though she felt no belonging, she remained. Stuck and full of regret. She ha...

Sitting at the edge of her mind's cliff, hunched- back and peering fiercely below, Sattire wonders. A sigh follows, that reverberates against the cerebellum's walls, rocks her shoulders and echos, bouncing back to jolt her upright. The wounds seeping from her eyes were waxed tears that when they fell, sliced her thighs before they ran down her knees, wrapping a tight chain of bitterness around her ankles. Chained, she could not breathe. Sattire was good at only one thing; letting the wrong people in. To dismantle her doors and shatter her windows, leaving her to get pierced by the shards of broken glass. Now bent and broken, she sits and stares, close to falling off, nothing to catch her but a bouncy castle of regret. Should she leap abound? Wires become disconnected in her brain, now sparks are flying and the only one getting electrocuted is Sattire. Convulsion! Now heave, breathing exacerbated by every memory of advantage being taken. Ruthless. Same sin as murder, Sattire, th...

The scariest concept in this world is friendship and the most expensive commodity is accountability. For too many, funds are insufficient and friendship, unfortunately, comes at a cost. Discernment, therefore is what we pray for when we have been trampled so much that we resemble pureed food, and only the love of God can mould us back to being whole. Luckily, He gives this for free. It is crucial not to use this word so loosely, for not many stand to grab this title, one that holds so much weight, the title of "friend." Friendship has become transactional and unbalanced, the expectancy that you must return the favour is a boulder upon this generation. Masks are worn by day, only to be taken off at night to reveal treacherous teeth and piercing eyes. Monitoring spirits that track you like a motion sensor are the new faces of friends. Celebrating your wins has become an intimate, private affair, a deliberate attempt to obscure, for the eyes of the enemy are sown in the faces of...

There was a time when the usual morning text would make Jennifer flutter, giddy as an idiot, with hopes springing higher than the tides, she liquefied. A fool loyal to a taken man, what joy was there in that? Prancing around like she was doing the world a favour, Jennifer went deep undercover. Blindfolded by lust, and chained by the Eastern Caribbean dollar, she forgot who she was and fell prey to the monster. Materialism shadowed her and plunged her underwater, as he kept his foot on the lump of her throat, there was no coming back for air, respiratory system held captive, he knew where to keep her. Submerged. An avid sinner, crooked and adorned, with a taunting spirit of restless nights and the nervousness of an uncharged phone, he was always about to call. Loving a man at night was the champion of causes and won her gold medals but when the sun came out, Jennifer was last place. She could not be seen, not even in his penumbra. A life fitting, only for a bat. Then, one day, the heart...

Exhaustion and mental breakdowns breed on this playground. Be careful how you swing on the rails, for fear you might fall, and break, and then you become wounded, too weak for the slides, too scared to once again, play. Mundane tasks become your accomplice as they cling to you like desperate shadows, incessant, impossible to catch a break. We are eager to walk and cross over the sandbox, but no one tells us that the sand is quick, dragging, it grabs, right there you sink. "Come Jesus Come," by Cece Winans is now always on repeat, for what did the bible teach us...in Him, there's the refuge we seek. In gospel music you've hidden for solace, because for you, it is really how God speaks. That is the best time to listen. Dodgeball is the game of choice in this hood, in the ghetto of adult life. You swerve and you dock, you jump and you twist but most days you are hit. At times, you rise again but other times you succumb, laying in a comatose state, breathless and crippled...

When the berry does not belong to us, the juice tends to taste sweeter. Trauma bonded and hard wired, we search for love in the most daring of places and we pound our stamp to declare it ours, no postal code ncessary.  Our territory, marked with a ragged flag, that refuses to sway even in the roughest wind. On top of that, the flag is red but blind we are and blind we persist, for red flags seem to feed that hunger and make us oblivious to danger. When Poseidon sees the way we gush and flow, water spilling at every caress, and the games the one we claim plays with his slithering tongue, yes! Even the God of water snarls profusely, demanding our dams to close.  No shame because the people man sweet, honey- like too......... yet, preposterous because the lingering aftertaste is bitterness. Yet, we crave it, get high on it, stay addicted to it, at this point, damn near needing a purge. Then there's something about being hidden in the backseat that makes us ooze, or the way we rel...

I placed a lush, plump mango on my kitchen table at the start of the year. I promised to eat that mango as soon as I got the clothes out of the washer. I got the clothes out of the washer but then I remembered that I had not swept the floor. So, I passed by the mango in agony while its tantalizing scent shadowed me with its mocking trail. Gosh, I just knew I would enjoy the mango. As I finished the second chore and made my way back hastily to the table to the mango that was as big as me, I happened to catch some spider webs dangling so rudely from the ceiling's corners, and of course, since they had overstayed their welcome, I had to kick them out. Damn, I thought, if only I could eat the mango.  January turned to March and the mundane encapsulation of life still had me in a chokehold and guess what,  I still had not touched the mango. It was more rosy than ever before, more alluring...... gargantuan. It seemed that as the tasks piled higher and became almost unbreable in magn...

You had told me in a million different, voiceless ways that you did not want me, I was just never attuned. You see, love and stupidity have been known to tango and they twirl a haphazard dance. Under the blinding lights that disguised your ugliness, I got swept, wickedly lost in your embrace. The demon kind of love you made further exacerbated my falling, and all it did was made me come, like really come, breathless and hot, resembling where you came from....hell.....even convulsing at its end. And now, I have to learn not to hate you, but rather take you and shape you into lessons I must learn, I guess the whip comes first, the educating comes after. Hard I fell and made a gaping hole out of my existence while you mocked me as you moved along.  So easily too, damn it, "I should have seen it coming".....but no...none of this dangerous self-talk, instead "what should I learn?" Watching you play your game brought seething resentment. Your manipulation felt like safety...

Some animals, in their communities, fascinate me. The loyalty that is sewn in a pack, the numerous pairs of eyes that look out for each other, the formidable guard they build up like walls, are truly an astounding event to witness. I think humans can take a page off of that, but experience has taught me that not all of us can read. Weary we become on our self- centered quests, that we quickly forget the ones who once left bread on the trails for our sorrows to follow.... the ones with hugs so tight that they squeeze out all insecurity, fear, and doubt.  Now tell me, how easy it was for you to give me your coldest shoulder and pretend that my side of the story, you could not hear. Instead, you chose to honour the ones who feed you carcasses. Rotten, unbalanced tales worthy of a hyena's cackle, I now reside in the blurred fragments of your lens. But what will you do when the ones you raise so highly trample upon you with their own horse? I hope that horse bites you too! You and betra...

I approached as the archbishop preached and it seemed I had disturbed the summoning of God. Sitting there in their riveting attire, all were fixated upon His grace, not the grace of God, but the man...yes, the man. They turned sharply together, and I almost felt that my shadow resembled that of satan. Their gazes sure made me feel like it, fierce, disgusted and shocked. Not one smile nor holy welcome, just attitudes of " well here's an intrusion." The person I sought was immersed in the white congregation and I thought at least she would offer some of the grace from His grace. Instead, her demeanor spoke otherwise and without saying a word, she spoke volumes and it told me that I had interrupted her downpouring of reverence. A place where the presence of God is supposed to be felt from miles away reeked of haughty disdain, superiority complexes and materialistic pride. I was left aghast, for not too long ago I was contemplating my return to this place after being forced o...