NaNoWriMo

It might say NATIONAL novel writing month but the truth is its should actually say Worldwide because trust me there's people from everywhere participating. I thought maybe about fleshing out the Bulitia story for this one but on further reflection, I didn't think I could get 50,000 words out of him, much as he's a great character. So I decided to do my CINDERELLA BY ANY OTHER NAME story about a girl called Shadya who is a refugee from Somalia living in Kenya. Its not as sad and oppressed as it sounds...yet, it is. Its really about family and how far one would or should go to give of oneself to one's family. Wow, I managed to summarise. Awesome.

I'm going to leave a small excerpt here, and what I need from you is to ask me and remind me and push me to finish this story within the month of November. Nanowrimo books are generally free and mine will be the same I think. Follow my progress here, on smashwords and on the wrimo site. 

Life is A Bitch and then...

The beat of the music was like a hammer to her brain, pounding and pounding until her nerves felt like ash. She wanted to get out of this place but Amina was still busy flirting with the dude in the pretentious green fedora and yep - Shadya peeked downward - he had white shoes. I mean…everyone knew that any guy worth their salt never wore white shoes. Amina was giggling at what ever the guy was saying.  Shadya caught sight of his friend sidling toward her out of the corner of her eye.

Nope. She was not going to play this game. She wasn’t the spare, or the co-pilot, flight attendant; whatever people called the friend one went with when they were going to hit on people. She was here strictly to make sure Amina behaved herself. It was the only way to make sure they weren’t both married off to the nearest willing chump forthwith. Shadya had every intention of completing her degree before she agreed to be anyone’s wife. And sure her father was willing to entertain her fancies for now; but if he ever caught wind of any misbehaviour, both of their lives were over.

She hadn’t even wanted to come to this club. Amina had just really been wailing to her about how it was her friend’s birthday and they never got to go anywhere and yada yada yada. Until Shadya’s choices had narrowed down to strangling her right there and then; or give in to her begging and pleading. Shadya had really had to think about her options before she concluded that she really couldn’t kill Amina at this time. She hadn’t violated any sharia laws after all…not yet. Nothing requiring murder at least. Her mother might frown on her committing fratricide for any reason less than that.

The guy’s friend was sitting right next to her now. Shadya studiously ignored him.

“Hi”, the guy said. Shadya stared into the middle distance, willing the music to explode her head right now.

“I like your hijab. Very stylish”, the guy said leaning in to talk directly into her ear. Shadya turned her eyes only to give him a glare. Clearly non-verbal communication was not his strong suit. What did he even want?

“Leave me be”, she growled tossing her head the other way as she picked up her soda and sipped determinedly as she watched the dancers on the dance floor.

“Do you want to dance?” the guy persisted. Shadya contemplated pouring her drink  over his head. Amina was throwing glances her way that Shadya knew were reproachful. Her sister was always throwing herself at men; and she fully expected Shadya to do the same when they were together. It drove her mad. She didn’t deign to answer the guy.

“Look, Shadya”, the guy said making her stiffen and turn toward him. How had he known her name? “I don’t want us to start off on the wrong foot but I have to say that you’re being really rude right now”. Shadya could only stare at him in shock.

“Nobody asked you to talk to me”, she said in her surprise.

The guy frowned and glanced back at Amina, “Your sister asked me to”, he said, looking sincerely puzzled that Shadya wasn’t up to date with the news. Shadya laughed out loud.

“Well you can just go tell Amina thanks but no thanks”, She told him. He stuck his hand out.

“My name is Gregory Kariuki, ahsalaam aleikum”, he said.

Shadya looked at his hand like it possibly might be a hunk of bacon accidentally put on her plate.

Pick up my other books from smashwords here: http://bit.ly/1Lrq7ob

Porn with Plot

For this month's East African Friday Feature, I have been challenged every Friday, to write 1,000 words of a supernatural story. It can be an ongoing story, or bits and snippets but four times for the four Fridays of October. Now in honour of the release of my baby CHILD OF DESTINY on my birthday October 9th (So Y'all know what I want for a present...buy! buy! buy!) I'm going to do an outtake story that can be read on its own. As a nod to East Africa, I'm going to give the story of the ghost slaves in the wood - how they came to be there, and their hopes and dreams for the future. As a nod to my late father, my protagonist is named Bulitia. He's the slave ghost everyone from BDAH to The Swamp to COD keeps meeting and talking to.

“What did the jitu want with you Bulitia?” the woman whispered to him as they lay facing each other on the bed. He shrugged, not wanting to even think of the mama and her cold hands penetrating his anus like…he cut that thought off fast. Turning to the woman next to him he turned her so her back was on the bed and vaulted his body over her, looking down at her luscious body as his heart beat fast in his chest. He needed to forget.

my vision of Leo/Armand when I started to write

He leaned down and placed his teeth on her left nipple, biting down, hard. The woman hissed with pain and hit him over the head but he ignored her, using one of his strong thighs to make a space between her legs. She got with the program pretty fast after that, widening her legs on her own and allowing himself to lower himself onto her. he grunted, transferring his mouth’s attention to her lips; and bit her lower one before sucking it into his mouth. She moaned softly, arching upward gently, urging him. He took it for the invitation it was and reached between them, fisting his penis in his hands and guiding it none too gently to her waiting, dripping hole.

She’d snuck into his cabin one night as they slept; five to a cabin – surprisingly luxurious accommodations for slaves. She had stepped over the other men and came to lie next to him, pressing her naked body into his. His heart was still in the hills of Mt. Elgon, with his new wife and their offspring; but his body had needs in the here and now. He had turned to her, pushed her under him, and pounded her into the floor. She’d been back every night since.

It made him angry that they were reduced to this; late night trysts that would never mean anything more than physical relief. At least not to him; he was not getting involved with anyone who would be taken from him on the whim of some not quite human master who had somehow managed to reduce a bunch of people into commodities. It was hard for Bulitia to wrap his head around and he was angry all the time.

He slid into her warm, soft, wet hole and it expanded around him, welcoming him with open arms as he thrust into her. and again. And again. The woman reached up and folded her strong thighs around his waist, pulling him as close as she could. Bulitia let out a breath, hips stuttering with desire as he tried not to come so soon. Her moans were getting louder as she came closer to her own climax. The other men around them lay still; pretending to be asleep. Bulitia caught movement at the corner of his eyes. A hand moving rhythmically up and down as Abednego, his roommate brought himself to his own completion on his right. Bulitia cast his eyes to the left where he could see the shine of eyes in the dark. Someone else was watching them; most likely Jefta. He was a short man, teeth stained brown from tobacco and a freaky little bastard.

Bulitia redoubled his efforts, pounding harder into the woman, giving them a show. He found to his surprise that it turned him on to know that the men were watching him fuck this woman. He withdrew himself from her to the head of his penis and then thrust back in with renewed force. She cried out in shock and arousal, pulling her own legs further toward her shoulders to give him better access. He did it again, grunting with effort and heard someone in the room groan. His mouth was set in a rictus of effort and he let go of the fear and anger; drove them into the woman with every thrust and then released it all in a flood of seemingly endless come. She took it all, begging all the while for more, her muscles clutching and releasing him as her own orgasm took her. he dropped down beside her, turned away and closed his eyes. She could stay if she wanted; just as long as she was gone by morning. There was no guarantee though, that one of the other men would not try to rape her if she did. Bulitia heard the woman gather her clothes and creep out. He closed his eyes and slept.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night Bulitia?”, the monster disguised as a woman asked him the next day as he raked out the stable. He was in nothing but his small clothes. Louisiana was sweltering with summer humidity; Bulitia could barely abide the weather. He was used to the mountain coolness of his home; still. He ruthlessly cut off that thought. To think of home was to stab himself in the soul.

“Beg pardon ma’am?” he asked submissively hoping she would think him slow and leave him to his raking.

She took a step toward him and ran a hand down his sweaty back.

“Your session with Asha last night; was it good?” she asked. Bulitia froze, but only for a moment. He would not show his fear for any reason. But she was watching them? Of course a creature like her probably had many ways of finding things out. But how had she found this? Did she perhaps watch them in her fire or perhaps she was right there in the cabin with them, invisible to human eyes.

But no…Bulitia would have known if she was there. He was sensitive like that to the supernatural. Just as he had felt her coming long before she appeared around the cow pen.

“Are you a man or a mouse?”

His father’s voice reprimanding him in his head shocked him so much he almost stopped working. And then he decided that he would stop; he would stop being so afraid; such a craven that he could not turn and face his fears. He stuck the shovel back in the cow patty and turned to face the monster.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

Amistad Ain't Got Nothin' on Me

For this month's East African Friday Feature, I have been challenged every Friday, to write 1,000 words of a supernatural story. It can be an ongoing story, or bits and snippets but four times for the four Fridays of October. Now in honour of the release of my baby CHILD OF DESTINY on my birthday October 9th (So Y'all know what I want for a present...buy! buy! buy!) I'm going to do an outtake story that can be read on its own. As a nod to East Africa, I'm going to give the story of the ghost slaves in the wood - how they came to be there, and their hopes and dreams for the future. As a nod to my late father, my protagonist is named Bulitia. He's the slave ghost everyone from BDAH to The Swamp to COD keeps meeting and talking to.

Bulitia looked up at the black hole that narrowed until there was just a small circle of blue at the top. This place was aptly named; Shimoni. Bulitia had never been anywhere so dank and dark and miserable. The woman lying next to him was dead. He knew she was because he'd been listening to her laboured breathing for the past three days. It was the chest illness she had; and no way to treat it down here. He didn't know if he would treat it if he could. The slavers looked out for such things. He didn't want to make himself more attractive to them. Perhaps when they were loading them into the ship, and they saw that the woman was dead, and threw her overboard...he could pretend to be dead too. His father, Mulungu bless his soul, had taught him to swim long ago. He could hold his breath under water for as long as it took. Then he could make his way back...back to his people and his new wife; his little baby that must have been birthed by now. Yes, Bulitia was motivated. If he had any leverage, he would have climbed up the hole to the sky. Perhaps enough people would die down here so he could pile up their bodies, climb over them and escape.

No such luck though; the slavers came for them before enough people were dead. They were led out, through a tunnel to the very edge of the sea. Bulitia had smelled it; but that was the first time he was seeing it. It was vast, endless and intimidating. A person could get lost just trying to find the horizon. How was he to get back if they took him away now? Bulitia rattled his chains, looking left and right frantically, trying to find a way; but he was securely tied between a woman whose baby was dead on her breast – yet she clung stubbornly to it – and a man with a potbelly so large it covered his nakedness quite effectively. Bulitia shivered; there was a cool breeze blowing in spite of the heat. The slavers were whipping their backs so they could get moving; get on the huge ship waiting on the docks. One last time Bulitia looked around, looked for a way out. But there was none.

The lady they sold him to scared Bulitia more than the slavers. There was something about her that wasn’t right. He could not say what it was but he knew in his bones she wasn’t all the way human. There were five others with him; all from his own tribe. They spoke Bukusu among themselves, speculating on what she might be, and what she would do with them. Bulitia hoped that it was something that would end in death. He was not about this slave life. It was not his destiny.

The woman took them to a plantation in the bayou where sugarcane grew high in the damp humid air. The air smelt sweet and cloying yet familiar to Bulitia. He’d been somewhere like this before, in the time of Nabongo Mumia he had travelled to his kingdom to trade. It smelled sort of like this. Only without the underlying smell of blood, excrement and death. Bulitia wondered why he wasn’t dead yet; he was starving, he had wounds from the whippings some of which were infected and he wanted to be dead. So why wasn’t he? Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps he would find a way to go home again. Bulitia didn’t share this thought with his companions; they would just laugh at him for his naiveté after all; there was no getting out of this life.

Bulitia was assigned to cattle pen; there were six cows on the plantation and one bull. He was to feed, water, and milk the cows and make sure that the bull remained virile and ready to serve. This was familiar work to him. On his own land, he had thirty cows and three bulls. He wondered who was looking after them now.

One day as he was cleaning out the cow pen in preparation for milking a shadow fell over him that made him cold to the marrow of his bones. He did not have to turn around to know who was there. He went down on one knee and tried to still his trembling.

“Mama”, he said submissively, hoping she would get whatever she wanted and go.

“I have been watching you, Bulitia”, she said in a low voice and he trembled. The slaves had been stripped of their names; they were nothing but numbers. How had she known what his was?

“Don’t be afraid”, she whispered coming closer her cold breath fanning on his naked shoulders. Bulitia wanted to shy away, to turn and run. But he could do nothing but stand there and wait to see what the creature would do to him.

“I think you were meant for greater things than this Bulitia, am I right?” she asked putting one hand on his shoulder in a light caress. Bulitia wanted to scream but he knew better. She didn’t know that they knew that she was some creature from hell. She thought her human disguise held. He could not show more fear than a slave would at being singled out by his master. But what was he to say to her? He had no words to answer. If he told the truth, then Mulungu knew what she would do. If he told a lie…she would know. He was doomed. So he kept silent.

She ran her hand slowly, speculatively down his back until she got to the crack of his ass. He tensed as her finger dug inward, sharp nails causing injury as she pressed into him. He bit his lip so as to not to make a sound but he couldn’t still the trembling.

Suddenly her hand was gone from him and she stepped away. He dare not turn to see why.

“You’ll do”, she said.

For Those About to Rock, We Salute You

This week's prompt was also a picture. Rock concerts are rock n' roll. and so are Sam and Dean Winchester. So I decided to make this prompt the latest chapter of my little fanfic that I write. Enjoy. All you need to know is that Sam may have lied about some things and Dean is mad about it.

“You’re fired. Have you things packed and out of here by noon”, Sam breezed into the office, throwing the information at Missouri as he passed. She stood up and followed him into his office.

“You said get it done, I got it done. What are you in such a tizzy about now?”

“You told Dean that our child was sick! Have you no sense of boundaries. I want you out of here now or I’ll turn our enforcer on you so help me”, he growled, looming over her like a volcano about to erupt.

“Sam. I got the job done. You know he wouldn’t  have come back for anything less”, she soothed arms making calming gestures like there was a hope in hell that he could calm the fuck down. AFTER WHAT SHE DID. there were limits. I mean sure he lied to Dean; he did. Mostly to save him from some sort of  worry or heartache; NOT TO GIVE HIM A FUCKING HEART ATTACK!

“I need you to go Miz”, he bit out pointing imperiously out the door.

“You can’t fire me”, she fired back.

“Why not?” Sam asked momentarily perturbed before he remembered that he was the boss here. He was the rock star. People did whatever he fucking wanted. Not the other way around.

“Because there is a clause in my contract that says so”, Missouri said. Sam stared at her flummoxed.

“That’s not true. None of my employee contracts have such a clause.”

“Mine does.”

Sam drew himself to his full height and folded his arms, hazel eyes narrowed as he glared at her, “Let’s see it then”, he said. There was a flash of light and then Missouri was holding a paper. On first glance the paper seemed to be flaming slightly, with an eerie otherworldly glow but then on second look it was just an ordinary parchment. Wait. Parchment? They didn’t use parchment to write employee contracts.

“Sam Winchester, erstwhile boy King. The witches didn’t exactly bring you to other-Earth out of the goodness of their undead hearts. They needed you here so that you weren’t there to stop something from happening. I am your very own guardian witch and you can’t get rid of me.” She said her voice slightly lower and hoarser than Sam was used to.

“What did you do with the real Missouri Moseley then?” he asked. It was the first thing that occurred to him. That Missouri existed after all; and if he could find her…maybe she could help.

Red-headed Missouri inclined her head to the side, “She’s a vegetable confined in a mental institution by her family for her own good”, she told him, “Oh relax”, she said as she saw him flinch, “She was there long before you came here. Some of the things she saw were a little too much for her poor psychic mind to take. This wasn’t your fault. It was a gap. Just like you and your brother filled a gap. Suck it up.”

Sam was breathing hard, “You caused me a lot of trouble Miz”, he said.

She was nodding sympathetically, “I know. I know. Who knew Dean would take his child’s fake illness that hard? But I’ll make it up to you. I have tickets. To AC/DC.” She said proffering them as if giving a two year old candy. Sam’s eyes cut to the tickets then back to her face.

“I can buy my own concert tickets thank you”, she said.

Her smile widened and she beamed at him, “Not like these; these are exclusive back stage passes mate! And an invitation to the after party where Bon Scott will be taking requests. You know he didn’t die in this realm. Can you imagine how surreal it’ll be for your brother?”

Sam just stared at her.

“Give him the tickets. Don’t offer to go with him, don’t make him take you. Just give them to him as a gift and then back off and look like a lost puppy. I guarantee you; you’ll be humping like the wolves you partly are before the end of the evening.”

Sam Winchester so wanted to believe her. But he was experiencing for himself the seismic shift that happened when someone you thought you knew has been lying to you about who they are for the longest fucking time. He reached out though and grabbed the tickets. Then he slammed the door in Missouri’s face.  He grabbed his phone and called Dean’s agency.

“Winchester Security, how may I direct your call?” a female voice answered at once.

“Macy, I need to speak to my husband please”, Sam said. As far as anyone in this realm knew, Sam and Dean shared the same last name because they were married. It was a surprisingly easy sell. Dean had been pretty perturbed by that shit but for Sam it was just another lie that was maybe based in more truth than all the other lies they were telling. Okay, he was telling.

“Good morning Mr. Winchester, I’ll connect you now.”

Macy had been to lunch at their house more times than Sam could count. She had baby sat their kids on more than one occasion. Still, when she was at work it was always, Mr. Winchester for either of them. Sam listened to Dean’s office phone ring, wondering if he would agree to even speak to him.

“Hello”, he said in Sam’s ear, intimate in the way only a voice on the phone could be. And what a voice Dean had. It was low and gravelly like honey pouring over grits. Sam loved it in a visceral way that could not be enunciated with mere words. He could feel himself stirring with arousal just listening to it. He didn’t think that he and Dean had ever gone this long without seeing each other. Not in this realm anyway.

“Dean”, he said and what he was thinking must have been reflected in his voice because Dean gasped. there was silence on the line.

“Can I see you tonight?” he asked, eyes closed, fingers crossed.

What If...

This week's prompt is about this so I thought why not go back to the original story and reimagine it. Jesus? Mary Magdalene? Welcome to 2015.

Mary Magdalene woke up late, her head throbbing with misery. Tequila was really the devil; newsflash. Somebody needed to tweet that. Not her though. Someone else. She could hear her notifications going off at the rate of a mile a minute and she knew what it was about. She knew she was being trolled like nobody’s business. It was that nude pic that Rick had posted of her. Her friends had warned her about him being a nasty piece of work; but did she listen? Nooo, she went ahead and let him woo her into an affair. Even though she knew he was married to that Paris chick. He said his wife didn’t understand him; that she was cold to him in bed. He’d been so needy. How was Mary to know that he was a stinkin liar. Well…okay, maybe there were signs. For one thing, his Facebook page was full of pictures of him and his supposedly cold wife doing fun things together. Rick had told her that it was all show. Just for the cameras. That as soon as they got home, Paris barely spoke to him. Who was she to dispute that? Heaven knew she’d never been married so she didn’t know that married people did or didn’t behave like that. Besides he was so nice to her, so attentive. He picked up every time she called; texted her like two hundred times a day. It was intoxicating. Plus there was that Mazda he’d bought her for her birthday – to show her how much he cared he’d said. Okay so it turned out to be leased and she’d had to pay like a thousand dollars  which Rick had neglected to pay…he’d apologized so sincerely. Said he’d forgotten to pay that cash and promised to pay her back. I mean he was so sweet! Who wouldn’t be taken in?

When he’d asked if he could take her picture naked, just so he had something to look at when he was lonely, how could she say no. besides they were really classy. Only one really showed her cunt; and it was a pretty cunt anyway; all womanscaped and such…she was proud of it. In fact, Rick had also promised to get her some cash so she could have it vagazzled. I mean, how cool would that be?

But then…last night, she’d gone to surprise him at his club appearance in Miami and she’d caught him tongue wrestling some other chick. Some tall blonde leggy slut with obviously plastic double d’s and a body modeled on Barbie. Mary hadn’t been able to control herself. She was so mad. She’d grabbed at Rick’s drink and thrown it in his face, badly stinging his eye. Then she’d called him a cheating liar and left the club. Too bad that TMZ had been on the scene and taken a video of the whole thing. Worse, Barbie girl found Mary’s nude pics on Rick’s phone and posted them online. Ever since, she’d been getting nasty messages from trolls and she didn’t know what to do.

rickswife67 wrote: kill yourself bitch. You’re nothing but a husband stealing slut!!!

nastygalzsquad wrote: your vagina looks like it smells of patchouli and regret.

videovixen78 wrote: If I ever find u anywea nia ma man I’ll burn your nipples off cunt

kissmyattitude wrote: whore. God will punish you for being a husband stealer

songsoffireandice wrote: if u wa in GOT they’d have made u walk in the street naked already. SHAME on you.

Mary scrolled miserably through her notifications, looking for she knew not what. Would it stop soon or would she be hounded off social media forever? She couldn’t leave! Social media was her life; she might as well be dead without it. She tried tweeting some positive uplifting messages to maybe shame the trolls into leaving her alone but they just responded with even more gusto.

kissmyattitude wrote: you have nerve to even get on here with u’re fake messages. We know who yu r bitch.

pharisee123 wrote: yeah, go on run u’re lil bitch ass outta here slutty mcsluttington. How you even show your face? Your cunt looks sick

devotee101 wrote: YOU HAVE AIDS!! YOU’RE GONNA DIE.

fiftyshadesoffierce wrote: bitch u luk lik a man. Ugly ass vagina.

Mary threw her phone across the room with an anguished cry. It was the new iPhone 6 and the screen cracked as it hit the linoleum. Mary screamed even louder. She wasn’t anywhere near finished paying for that thing. And now it was broken.

“God!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks in despair. There was a soft knocking at the door. Mary stopped crying to listen.

“Mary? You in there? I heard screaming. Are you alright?” a soft voice floated in from the other side of the door.

“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously. Had her trolls found out where she lived.

“My name is Jesus. I live just down the hall from you?” he said.

Mary hesitated for a moment but then shrugged. If this was her day to die from some crazed ax man at her door well…it was a good day. She was just about done. She opened the door to behold a Persian guy of middling height, long brown hair tied in a pony tail low on his head and beard flourishing on his face.

“Is everything alright Mary?” he asked.

She shrugged, “I guess you don’t do social media much huh?” she said.

Jesus smiled, “Not really”, he said.

“Come in”, she said stepping back and letting him into her apartment.

“thanks” he said as he stepped in. he reached down, and picked up her phone, handing it to her. inexplicably, the screen was repaired.

“Is there anything I can do for you Mary?” he asked.

She smiled wryly, “Can you stop people trolling me on twitter?” she asked.

Jesus smiled and kissed her forehead, “Is that all?” he asked.

“Yeah”, she said.

“Consider it done”, he said and suddenly the constantly beeping notifications stopped. Mary stared at him.

“Why…? How…?” she stammered in disbelief.

Jesus smiled, “Let him who is without sin, cast the first stone”, he said, “Or tweet as the case may be.”

Mary bent her head, tears leaking in gratitude. Jesus stroked her hair, “Go forth Mary Magdalene, and do not sin again”, he said.

Never Complain Never Explain

This week's prompt is a picture and it reminded me a bit of The Swamp so I'm writing a Outtake.

Roy was walking in the woods, studying the tall redwood trees, looking for the perfect one. The one that would hold his weight without cracking and turning his suicide attempt into an embarrassing accident that would probably leave him with a broken leg or worse. Of course the leg would take forever to heal and it would probably get infected and kill him slowly and painfully. That was the nature of HIV after all, wasn’t it? It turned the body’s attempts at healing into a joke. The thought was almost enough to turn Roy Lestrange away from his quest. But no, fuck that; he wasn’t waiting around for the grim reaper to take him slowly and painfully. He didn’t want to hang around until his the skin diseases had the whole town knowing exactly what was wrong with him; maybe shouting ‘fag!’ as he passed. He wasn’t no fag. He didn’t even understand how he’d gotten the disease. All doctors were liars. And that bloody scary witch his mother had taken him to, who’d confirmed the diagnosis was a liar too.

Suddenly the sun came out, bathing the glade where he was in magnificent light. It was heartbreakingly beautiful and Roy wanted no part of it. How could such beauty exist amidst the ugliness suffusing his soul right now? Why hadn’t this darkness killed him already? Or at least overshadowed the light so that he didn’t have to remember that there was more than disease and sickness in the world? He slumped to the forest floor, leaning his head back against a vast redwood and looking up into the sky with despair. He howled his grief and rage at the heavens; there was nobody to hear him here after all…

Suddenly his vision began to blur, dizziness overtook him and he clutched his head in confusion.

“What?” he asked nobody in particular, realizing he’d shut his eyes when he opened them again to find a huge, naked, black man peering down at him.

“O hola si?” the man seemed to be inquiring…in a language Roy had never heard before. The man seemed to shimmer in front of him and then turn his head to look deeper into the wood.

“báareende liikeenda” the naked black man said peering into the distance.

“I.don’t.know.what.you.are.saying”, Roy said with angry emphasis.

“Get out of here. The Ageless One approaches”, the man said in perfectly good English. Roy frowned wondering why he had to spout all that foreign shit if he could speak the language well enough.

“Who’s the Ageless One?” he asked. He wasn’t moving just because some naked black man told him to. Suddenly there was an inexplicable mist in the sunny glade and the man he’d been speaking to was just…gone.

“What?” Roy asked no one again looking frantically from side to side. Was the disease giving him dementia already? He’d heard that was possible. Then he heard voices approaching and scrunched himself low against the tree. For some reason, he didn’t want these new guys to see him.

“…Even the slaves are getting restless”, a deep baritone was saying as the shushing sound of feet on leaves indicated that they were coming ever nearer. Roy scrunched lower down against his tree.

“There is nothing to be done but wait Armand. The slaves are restless because they know their freedom might be nigh. Might. They’ve been waiting a long time.” The second voice said. This voice had a lower register than the first, like car wheels over gravel. It also shook with a timbre that Roy had not heard before. If he was a guessing man, he’d say that this one was the ‘Ageless One’ that the big black man had mentioned. Come to think of it, the naked man had been covered with scarring over his scary tribal tattoos. The kind of scarring produced by whipping if Roy remembered his history books correctly. Were these the ‘slaves’ these two beings were discussing? Had he somehow travelled back in time? It was all very disconcerting. Suddenly Roy found that he just wanted to go home to his mama.

He made a small sound which to his dying day he would deny was a whimper and then started when the shuffling on the leaves stopped abruptly. They had stopped walking.

“Did you hear that?” the baritone inquired.

“The whimpering? Yes I did. Nothing to be concerned about. In fact Armand, there is nothing going on right now that need concern you yet. Why don’t you go back to the hospital? Play craps with Bernard and just wait? You will know immediately when they begin to play your song.”

“Its easy for you to say. You haven’t been waiting millennia for this.” Baritone…or ‘Armand’ sounded a little sulky.

“Oh Armand, ever the impatient one. I have this to tell you. Already the signs begin to manifest; and whatever will happen, it will be soon. Your wait is almost over. There. Satisfied?”

‘Armand’ laughed bitterly, “Your idea of ‘soon’ probably doesn’t match other people’s Mama Ruth”, he said.

“Indeed”, she agreed, “But it certainly matches yours…”

Armand sighed, “I will go now…because I realise I cannot get anymore from you. One more question though, the Andrewes witches…?”

“Again, my eye is on them and when something happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

“The animals gather outside their shack every night and simply stare. Did you know that?” he asked.

“Armand, the swamp is full of mysterious things. If we wondered at all of them there would be no time to do anything else”, the ‘Ageless One’ sounded tired.

“In other words, you already know why they do that”, he said.

“Go home Armand”, she replied and this time, the tone of command was unmistakeable.

The one called Armand was silent for a bit and then he said, “As you wish, your highness”.

There was a terrible disturbance in the air and then after a time, the birds in the wood began to chirp again. It was then that Roy realised they’d gone silent when the black man appeared. Roy looked around him, searching for signs of danger but all he saw were motes of light dancing on the leaves.

“I need to get out of here”, he murmured to himself as he hastily got up and got moving.

http://ellyinnairobi.com/2015/09/10/the-red-kanga/ http://nilichoandika.co.ke/2015/09/11/dear-michael/ https://wakarindimaureen.wordpress.com/2015/09/11/the-haunting-of-mystic-woods/ http://flashes-of-vice.blogspot.co.ke/2015/09/the-human-shrine.html

Bitch Better Have My Money

Today's prompt is this. Let's see what I'll make of it.

 

The ringing telephone woke her up with a start. It was so loud and insistent; she was used to the soft tones of Westlife on her cell phone. Who kept these old fashioned clonkers around anymore anyway? The phone wasn't even a touch phone, it was one of those old ones which had to be at least thirty years old. The telephone was fitted with a Dial, Automatic, 21FA.  This had a number ring with black figures on an antique silver background and a transparent finger-plate.  The dial cord had spade-tags at one end for connection to the dial terminals and ring-tags at the other for connection to the telephone terminals.

 Diana hadn't seen its type since she'd been no more than a tween. But now here she was; in Back Water Australia; on a sheep farm, unable to sleep for fear of some king cobra curling itself around her confronted with the shrilly ringing contraption that used to be a communication device back when the earth was cooling. She reached out hesitantly and picked it up.

“’lo”, she said sleepily, her voice rough and cracked with disuse. There was no one else to talk to for miles.

“Di! You’re still alive. That’s great. How’s it going?” Andrew’s cheerful voice danced down the line, sharp and clear as if he was in the room with her.

“Fuck you Andrew, and the wagon you rode in on”, she replied, her voice lowering even further and hardening.

“Aww, don’t be like that Di darlin’. Hey, it coulda been worse. You could be here right now, facing the lynch mob known as your creditors.”

“Or I could be in the Bahamas, spending those millions you promised me”, she bit out, poison in every syllable.

“You could I guess; except…”

“Except you're a goddamned motherfucking liar is except!”, she shouted at him.

“Di, Di, Di…come on; I told you the risks when you decided to invest your client’s money with me didn’t I? I was upfront and honest about all of it. Not my fault you got greedy”, he said voice dripping syrup and toxins in equal measure.

Diana sighed rolling her eyes even though he couldn't see, “That’s what I get for sleeping with the enemy I guess. What do you want?”

She heard Andrew sigh on the other end of the line, “I just wanted to check up on you babe, see how you were; if you're doing okay. How’s my brother treating you?”

“Like poison ivy. He dropped me here in the middle of fucking nowhere and took off!”

“He’s a busy man Di, you have to cut him some slack.”

“Sure thing babe. I'll do that. Just as soon as I see him again. I’ll definitely cut him something.”

“Hey, I won't call you again if you're gonna be like that.”

“Like what? Pissed as all get out?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“Well fuck you Andrew. Fuck your brother and your mother who birthed you both.”

“Tsk tsk. Language my dear. You still want me to get you out of this jam you got yourself into don’t you?”

“Jam I got myself into!! You fucking bastard”, Diana’s voice was so high, possibly only the bats could hear her.

“I'm hanging up now”, Andrew said and matched his actions to his words. Di was practically foaming at the mouth she was so mad. Upside though, she wasn't currently thinking about snakes or snake bites.

“Did you get the location?” Andrew asked the CID officer standing beside him.

“Yes. Good work, that was long enough”, the cop replied with a curt nod. He turned to his fellow officer and said something soto voce to him. Then he turned back to Andrew.

“Once we have her in custody, you're free to go”, he said.

“Thank you sir. I was just an innocent bystander. She’s the one who was the master mind. You’ll see once you bring her in, she can tell you where all the money from the pyramid scheme went.”

The officer just nodded non  committally and left him in the room to marinate. Andrew could see them outside, discussing things in low tones. Probably planning to get in touch with authorities in Australia to see if Diana Lucifera could be brought in; and extradited to Kenya for prosecution. Andrew didn’t know how strong the relationship was between Kenyan police and Australian police was. It was the furthest point in the globe they could think to evacuate Di when they found out that the police were closing in on her.  Andrew had kept completely out of the limelight; he couldn’t imagine how the police had got his name. But he was a con artist first, ex-lover second. He wasn’t about to go down for something when he could pin it on someone else. Di had no proof he was even involved in the pyramid scheme, let alone the master mind. Good sex could do that to a person; it made them sloppy and careless. Andrew had learned that lesson long ago.

A cop came to return him to his cell. A little greasing of palms had made sure that he was alone in there, and a cleaning lady came by twice a day to keep it spotless. Also those pizza deliveries from pizza inn were like clockwork. It was good to be flush with cash. Especially outchea in these hard Kenyan streets.

Di lay back on her bed thinking hard. Why the fuck would Andrew call her? And for seemingly no reason other than to raise her blood pressure. There was more going on here than met the eye and Di’s spidey senses were tingling. She didn’t like it one bit. The last time she’d ignored her spidey senses, she’d ended up on the run with a target on her back. She sat up fast, looking around the room for her bag. She had not unpacked it so it was the job of seconds to swing it up on her back and exit the ramshackle she was in. She had a hundred thousand dollars cash. Time to disappear where no-one knew where she was.

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