Shancia Speaks: Short Stories Superb!

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...