Few men could stand the fire in her stare. She was hesitant, but whatever started that flame could not die. But she was like the unruly waves of the ocean that call out to an audacious sailor. She gave herself, then she withheld. She gave, then she retracted.
Precisely two years ago the man she loved had walked out that door – she screwed her eyes on it and felt nothing – days later she had received a call
“Hello, report on Mr. Dubois?”
“Yes” she squealed
“Today we located his body on the shores of Fonte-Ambre” Continue reading “Embers in Pearl”
Home is like this doctor sitting in front of me wearing a loose, plain blue shirt. Home is like the fan rotating lazily above me. In here the silence takes on a certain denseness, once you cross the door from the waiting area into his office. It’s a small room, green walls closing in on you. Continue reading “A Painting in Tranquil”
I asked a lady for directions to an event centre
Woman: Okay do you know power line?
Me: No ma. Ok is it that place with many electricity poles?
“Yes. So when you get to power line, enter the tarred road on your right. Do you know the tarred road?”
“Or you can use the untarred road. Do you know the untarred road?”
“Okay, just enter the tarred road on your right sha”
“Be going straight you will see the place on your left.”
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Denrele is always pitched at the left corner whenever I come into the class to teach. His stare is vague. It is not questioning or expectant like those from the other students. His eyes suggest hope, but it is one tempered by experience. He doesn’t have to sit apart from the other students for one to notice that he is older than all of them, but he does. His large frame and brush-like stubble already say so.
There is a carriage that blatantly betrays a determined spirit. Continue reading “Painting Denrele”