Shancia Speaks: Short Stories Superb!

Shana bolts for the brown, glass, front door, charging this wooden enemy that stands between her and her inside world. Her ardent breaths get louder as she reaches the door's guarded lock. She sharply inserts the key and twists quickly, relief at the famous click which announces that her safety awaits. At the cackle of the just the first creak of the old hinges, she pierces gratefully into her Holy sanctuary. The beige walls tune their ears swiftly enough to hear her whisper “Amen”. Then one by one, the masks of “I’m fine” and “I’m doing okay” and "I got this" start to slide off the truth of her face and as they fall against the cold, white tiles, the reverberation leaves her stunned. Her shoulders shudder as she steps inward, still stealing a chance to take in the alluring scent of welcome. Here in this sacred space, Shana feels free to unveil herself of the portraits she has painted for society’s canvas.   Public enemy number one awaits however, an opponent, who for y...

 "Sale, Sale!" the woman announces boldly as she shakingly pounds the hammer against the stake to secure the red "Sale" sign in the ground. Today she is finally going to do it, it is time. "Sale, sale!" the woman calls out again, "One heart for sale!". There are a few people who pass by, mouths agape in astonishment and then disdain. "A heart for sale?" asks the first prude, for she could not fathom how someone could live without one. Hours pass by and the people all pass by and peer sternly at the red sign, all quickly turning away. But then, a stranger stops. Curiously, he approaches and he asks softly, "why is your heart for sale?" The woman relentlessly wipes her tears and beckons to the stranger to have a seat. She then says, "if I tell you a story, will you buy it, my heart?" The stranger is intrigued and so he listens. Her father was the first one to discard her heart. He did not care that her heart was still ...

 "Goodnight," the masked man greets at your door, for he has come to pay you a visit. You blithely welcome him with a smile, and as he makes his entry, his true motives are hidden by a ravishing, enticing grin. How innocent you are, for you know not what lays await and as you turn to shut your door, "Hello, I'm Envy" he sharply announces.  Piercing eyes and tailored, practiced strides instantaneously sweep your landscape, looking for something to compare, looking for something to judge. He will not let you be content, this Mr. Envy, for his greatest accomplishment is to point out a flaw, something to make him believe that he is better than you, a relic to discredit your worth. His slivering tongue now protrudes slowly, and his lips curl upward to reveal his treachery as he asks you about your latest purchase and unknowingly you respond. Then just like that, Envy turns around to face you, nose flaring and he declares "I wanted to get one too, but certainly n...

Did you know that just five minutes ago, I cried, wailing like an inconsolable baby who seems unable to find her mother in sight? Yet, here I am before you, my mascara neatly aligned back to normal, and my lipstick contoured to perfection, lips uncurling to reveal a beautiful white smile. Did you know that last night, I went to bed with nothing served on supper's platter because I had to choose between me and them and because of the heart caged within me, the choice leaves no question, it would always be them?  So, I watched them feast and that filled me up with happiness for a while because a mother walks proudly behind her young. She simply lets them have it, a good mother, yes! Yet, here I am rejecting your offer of lunch and boasting to you how great of a breakfast I have had, meanwhile the butterflies play tennis with gas rackets that bounce from side to side. Hunger! You believe me though, don't you, because I have learned to cry with my heart, lie with my eyes, and smile...

The little golden, naive bird truly believed that his wings were broken. Having never flown before, he just assumed that they were useless, an extension of his fear. Maybe a bird's life purpose was to perch forever in a nest. The golden bird's father had abandoned the nest before the little bird's shell cracked, and his mother could care less if he existed or if he was fed. So, all day he sat with downcast eyes and echoing sighs, leaning slightly over his nest full of curiosity, but not too much though, for he believed he could not fly. Then one day, after his mother flew in search of food for her selfish soul, a ghastly wind came knocking. Leaves rustled all about and rain drops plummeted in giant gulps that were too enormous for him to swallow. The wind pounded on his nest and its thunderous hands shoved the nest, causing it to topple. "Oh no," thought the little golden, naive bird. He had never felt such a sensation before, one of complete and utter dread. This...

 All this pain, all the struggle, all the hardships, really and truly what for? My mind is warped as I ponder that the inevitable end of this journey is death waiting at a not so golden gate. "I just spoke to him or her," people often say, and now they must find something black to wear to show their sympathy and help the family lay their loved one to rest. It is not fair, I protest. I am sitting in a loop right now, wishing I could push back the hands of the clock and bring it back to the point where you were healthy and free. When the news hits, it does not care where it slaps you or how deep it cuts you, it just expects you to eat it and swallow it, then digest it. I am truly engulfed in an existential crisis. Then comes the "I wish I could trade places," or "I hate God because He let you die," and "how am I going to tell my son." But would we really trade places if we were given the chance? Would we? Where does the balance strike in our lives?...

 As if I was not supposed to know that! Are you not her friend? This was so easy for you to unload; you are even foaming at the mouth, salivating, gossip tastes sweet. You enjoy this don't you? Sprawling all the details of her life and forgetting that you have sins too. But hey, let's cover yours and keep it sacred and expose hers, shall we? Now I am sitting here staring, and suddenly starting to feel afraid of you. Friendship should be sacred but maybe you missed that memorandum. It should be a safe space and calming energy shared along a bridge of trust, with signs pitched along that read "I've got you and you've got me." All I see though are shadowy creatures, lurking in the dark pits of competition, secretly hoping for the downfall of their "friends", yet beaming with smiles when they say "hello". All I feel is contention, because you believe I should not have attained before you or you just don't want me to have it because you do n...