There is a fine line between sanity and insanity. The two are apparently distinct entities. At least that’s what they said.
Part 1. The jacket had to be taken off again. And the shirt as well. His undershirt was soaking wet and the white shirt’s armpits had dark wet patches, and so did the back of the shirt.
Author: Rachael A.Z Mutabingwa Genre: Speculative Fiction Book Blurb: It is 1975, and it is 1850.The Twijuk family is trapped on the front lines of a civil war, and a terminal illness.AndKunda, the pregnant daughter of a Life-Witness is torn between her love for a former pirate and her duty as a half-spirit.
The notification went off. A ding on the phone that caused a ding in my heart. A good morning to get my day going. He was miles away but it felt like he had just whispered the words.
By Sue Nyakubaya-Nhevera
Day One We are leaving our home. We are going to lands unknown. The elders say we have to, that it is required of us by God to do so. The Amuron, I am apprenticed to, says this land we are going to will be ours for generations to come. A land that was blessed by the hand of God itself. A land that our descendants will enjoy.
This is a never ending chain story challenge that I was quick to hope on to, to try and get my creative juices flowing. And of course, having been part of a ugbloc chain story way back in the day and it was so much fun seeing were the story went. I’d love to see where this story goes.
Hello Bloggren, it’s my birthday and as this new year begins for me, I promised myself that I would blog more than once every three months. I hope I hold myself to this resolution. I wrote this story a while back. At the time, I was trying to break free of the comfort zone I had found myself in. The comfort zone of writing in the first person. If you’ve been a long time reader, you’ll notice most of, if not all my stories are first person stories. However, I suck at giving my stories titles, just see what happened …
An article of clothing becomes infinitely more interesting when it has a story attached to it.
She’s staring into nothing. Her eyes, seeing yet unseeing, leak tears like a faulty faucet that can’t fully be closed. Drip…. Drop.