Writer’s Quote: Nick Flynn

Writer’s Quote: Nick Flynn

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Something horrific happened recently. I hear you say, “which one?”, because sadly, every single day brings on a new horror story. The incident in question is the suicide by an 8 year old boy Gabriel Taye, after he was brutally assaulted in school by some students to the point of unconsciousness. A video released showed Gabriel lying unconscious on the floor being beaten and kicked by other students.
His mother had no idea about the incident, (which I believe the school should have called and explained the situation to the mother because, her kid was assaulted to the point of unconsciousness), and after Gabriel got back home, he killed himself.

I am saddened by his death and the incident surrounding it. It is stories like these which remind me that I cannot stop writing. Something needs to be done, kids with anger issues need to be taught ways to express themselves and an 8 year old kid should be playing with dolls and toy cars and not be tortured to the point of not wanting to spend another second on earth

It’s due to this I’m going to share a poem by Nick Flynn called Cartoon physics Part 1 as my writer’s quote/poem Wednesday submission. It Better expresses what I want to say than I can. Thank God for poetry.

Cartoon Physics, part 1 BY NICK FLYNN
Children under, say, ten, shouldn’t know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down—earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes. You can run
back into a burning house, sinking ships

have lifeboats, the trucks will come
with their ladders, if you jump

you will be saved. A child

places her hand on the roof of a schoolbus,
& drives across a city of sand. She knows

the exact spot it will skid, at which point
the bridge will give, who will swim to safety
& who will be pulled under by sharks. She will learn

that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff
he will not fall

until he notices his mistake.

I apologise for my absence, will try to Get back on track with my writing and blogging ❤

L- Life after dusk

L- Life after dusk

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She grew up with laughter,
At the dinner table,
Holding hands across the street,
Kind of parents-
She was that kid with pink ribbons,
Daddy’s doll;

He was that kid- a replica of
hand me downs,
Wiping mama’s tears and cleaning
After papa’s mess,
He was that kid with barely average
On every test;

Life after dusk brought women-
Drowned in assortments;
Men elated for the peace at home.
Kids cradled- by soft hands
who’ve not experienced,
The touch of labour,
neither it’s sweat.

Life after dusk brought on a stench,
The kids knew too well;
An image they wish-
They could forget.

Life after dusk is different-
In every household,
Some build sweet memories,
Some dim the lights
Of Children, and their innocence.

F- For my people

F- For my people

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The ground trembles
As one, after another
Drops in succession,
While the night is enveloped
By darkness,
And the residents,
Deluded-
By a false sense of security
Because-
Night is for sleep.
The ground trembles,
And many do not awaken.

Many do not awaken-
The sky turns hazy,
It’s smoky, choky
The kids are crawling,
Crawling towards an escape
There is no escape-
The ground is trembling,
The atmosphere hazy,
Death is overtaking,
While the world is asleep.

In line with my blogging friends Jade (an elegy for them) and Maria (emc2) who have each written a beautiful tribute to the people of Syria who have been victims of a cowardly chemical attack. I consider the people of Syria as my family. My sisters and brothers. And we as writers will keep on writing about their plight and the atrocities against them until the day peace resides once again and we won’t have to.

The beautiful Syrian sunset above was taken by Debra Ellis 

Flash Fiction: Off Limits

Flash Fiction: Off Limits

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Johnny raced to his mother, clutching her hand and dragging her to the riverbank,
There mama”, he pointed at what appeared to the ordinary eyes as a slow-moving swamp river, with over grown bushes on the sides.
“Isn’t that the most beautiful river mama, like those of fairytales.”

“Oh Johnny,” his mum ruffles his hair, “there’s nothing remarkable about a muddy water.”
Johnny looked up at his mother in bewilderment. Why couldn’t she see what he was seeing.
But ma,” he protested until she pried him off the site reluctantly, telling him not to let his imaginations get the best of him.

That night, under starless skies with a solitary half-moon shining, Johnny’s mother made her way to the river bank, the same one Johnny had seen.
“I know what you are trying to do”, she spoke into the flowing river, her face as fierce as an angry gypsy,
So let me make something clear, my kid is off limit. And I’m sure neither one of us wants me to come back here again, because that won’t be pleasant.”

With that, Johnny’s mother made her way back to the camp knowing the intended recipient had got the message.


word count: 198. This Flash Fiction is in response to a photo prompt hosted by the social underground.

Flash Fiction: Coincidence

Flash Fiction: Coincidence

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“My son is missing”

Within minutes, Parkland Forest was thronged by Law enforcement officials- tents were set up and search parties, dispatched. D.I Lucy and her partner D.S Fenworthy were seated in one of the tents, across a woman with dishevelled brown hair and tear stained cheeks. She was fidgeting in her chair, looking from one detective to the other.

Can you please take us through everything that’s happened, Miss Jerome?” It wasn’t a request on D.I Lucy’s part.
You can call me Susan,” she answered in a low voice and began to talk the detectives, somewhat calmly, through every detail of the trip, up until the moment she couldn’t find her 8 year old son.

At D.I Lucy’s request, Susan got up to get the detectives a picture of Jake, the missing boy, giving the detectives time to converse.

She obviously looks distressed“, said D.I Lucy, “and notice how she chokes whenever she mentions Jake by name.”

“Yes, but boss”, added D.S Fenworthy, “I haven’t been in this department long, but I have never met the mother of a missing kid who didn’t lash out during interview, wondering what on earth we were doing seated instead of out there looking for their kids”.

Nice observation”, remarked D.I Lucy.

Susan came into the tent after a few mintes and with her was the picture of a young boy- raven black hair, brown skin with a smiling face. She handed over the picture to D.I Lucy, and for someone who was a pro at her job, she couldn’t mask the shock on her face. D.I Lucy looked from the picture, to the woman standing in front of her. The recognition of the face in the picture registering in her mind and the words Fenworthy had just said, playing in her head. Susan didn’t lash out earlier because this wasn’t her first time being in the situation; she’s been through it before and knows how the investigation goes.

Miss Jerome?” Blurted out D.I Lucy
At that moment, tears descended across Susan’s face as she nodded in affirmation.
Yes,” her voice was breaking, “Jake’s twin brother got missing three years ago and was never found.”

D.S Fenworthy looked to his partner in shock and then asked the mother, “what was the date?”
24th of March.
D.S Fenworthy immediately looked to his phone although he already knew the answer. Today’s date was also 24th of march.
That’s one heck of a coincidence.


wrote a flash fiction about two weeks ago with the characters D.I Lucy and D.S Fenworthy, and I loved the idea of writing a story surrounding detectives ad partners so I thought I’d write another one again. And I’m sorry, but that is where the story ends, it’s  not a series and there’s won’t be a continuation. Though I might occasionally write on the two characters.

The above image is courtesy of Scary Mommy.com

Flash Fiction: The slithering guest

Flash Fiction: The slithering guest

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“You know the drill, so let’s get moving,” ordered Big Sis, to nods and stamps of the ten year olds assigned to her.

“Batch A, head North.”
“Batch B, East, and mind the slopes.”
“Batch C, continue west and be wary…”

Whatever batch C was supposed to be wary of, nobody found out. Little Jim interrupted by pointing with trembling hands, towards the dead-beat car which had been in that forest for as long as anyone could remember.

Em, big sis“, he was saying “There’s a snake on the car.”

Big sis smiled, then said “Is that so Jim, just like there was a roach in yesterday’s dinner when you didn’t want to eat.”

Little Jim protested, joined by the other kids.

She reluctantly turned her back to the kids, to face a slithering creature on the car roof.

Big sis swayed on her feet,  before slumping to the ground with a thud so loud, it brought Big brother to the site. The kids were never more grateful to have an extra camp master.


word count: 174. This story is In response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers challenge. Where, each week we are provided with a picture and are to write a  75-175 word story in it. A big Thank you to @Tim Livingston for providing us with this week’s photo.

Those close to home-

Those close to home-

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Mummy is weeping,
Daddy is grieving,
Come back home- little sister is pleading.

Uncle is saddened,
Aunty is weary,
Come back home- danger lurks outside it.

Daddy was blinded,
Mummy was absent,
When danger- made a place in our home.

It dressed up as uncle,
Armoured by Aunty,
Danger- is within our four walls.

Mummy is weeping,
Daddy is grieving,
Little sister- I am breaking within.

Uncle Is saddened,
Aunty is weary,
No one’s there- to take on their torment.

Danger ain’t always,
Reflected by strangers-
Stranger danger isn’t often the case.

Those close to home,
Sometimes commit the worse sins;
I wish mum and dad had believed me.

And I wonder-

And I wonder-

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And I wonder,
If the seas,
Ever wish,
They could be me,
Free to wander,
Farther than the shore,
Unattached to the moon,
And it’s pull at dusk,

And I wonder,
If the moon at times,
Gazed at me in awe,
Dreaming up
a life
Without binds to the sun,
Free to live and shine,
Without needing a source.

And I wonder,
If the women across,
Sullen eyed,
With faces white,
Ever wonder,
What life would be like
Without a child to cater for,
Free to live and travel,
At the whim of desire.

And I wonder,
If the slates were cleaned,
And the freedom was of my choice,
Would I choose to be bound,
To be needed and need,
Would I choose my life
Or theirs..

Flash Fiction: Progress-

Flash Fiction: Progress-

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Jeremy Abdul-Kareem Green!” A voice roared from across the parking lot, “you will not kill me before my time.”

The recipient of the intended threat, a young boy dressed in accordance with the impending storm expected to downpour any moment, stopped in his tracks. Jeremy had heard that same statement everyday of his life, he’d mastered a meek appearance with downcast eyes and pouted lips in response.

His mother sighed, then asked in a much lower voice, “what did you do this time?
He had made paper boats and sent them down the toilet.

And they sent you home for that?” She asked quizzically. Turns out, they weren’t just “a few” boats, which resulted in the clogging of the school drain.

Jeremy’s mother paused for a moment, then said, “9 days…The longest you’ve gone without getting into trouble so far,” Jeremy smiled.
I wish you’d made it to ten, but, well it is progress”.

The teacher looking out to see if Jeremy’s mother had arrived was astounded to find the duo hugging.


word count: 173. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring writers photo prompt challenge where each week we are provided a picture to write a 75-175 word story on. Thank you very much @Jessica Haines for this week’s photo.

Day 13: I wish I could

Day 13: I wish I could

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I Wish there was more I could do,
Than merely,
Put words in writing,
echoing the same thing,
over and over,
Let the children be children
In a land,
where the river’s turned red,
And the cries, of our young ones
Pierce, the atmosphere-
Pleading for mercy.

And I wish,
my voice held the strength
To impact,
every person with the power
To make, a difference
And bring, the bloodbath
To an end.

And I wish, My heart was
as wide
As the ocean, to absorb
Your pain, so you won’t
Have to carry, this grief
On your own.

How I wish,
There was more I could do,
Than put words in writing.


prompt: I wish I could (for December Poetry Challenge). So far, this prompt was the most uninspiring one yet for me. My heart goes out to the victims of the current crisis going on in Aleppo (Syria). 

The above image is courtesy of if.LovedThispic.com