AGOS: Life without Summer

AGOS: Life without Summer

Here’s the 3rd part to A Glimpse Of Summer (AGOS). The 1st and 2nd parts are linked. For this part I used pure narrative with minimal dialogue and descriptions. Although I apologize for the lack of descriptions, it’s been a tough week (no excuses still), so I promise to be back in full gear for the next part.

The day summer left, everything changed. The weather forecast could have been windy with a turbulent storm approaching because that was the atmosphere when the news broke out. Life was never the same for either one of us. I thought I had it bad, but seeing Sam break down when I told him- it crushed me. For a moment there, I was glad summer wasn’t around to see him in that state.

We never talked about it- I and Sam, about why Summer left. I was scared of the question and he, the answer. I think Sam knew he was the reason for Summer’s leaving. It was just too coincidental that when he got married she decided to go AWOL. In a way, I was relieved he never brought the topic up.

Each day, I awoke to check the mailbox, hoping against hope I’d see a message from Summer. Days, months passed by and all I got- nothing. With Sam, the question was the same.
“Any news from Summer”, he’d ask

“Not yet”

“Maybe tomorrow”, he’d reply reassuringly

“Maybe”, I’d answer back with a lot of doubt. Read more

A Glimpse Of Summer 2

A Glimpse Of Summer 2

Here’s the second part of my fiction piece ‘a glimpse of Summer’. You can read the part 1 here. Hope you enjoy it, I tried to make sure it wasn’t too long.

The wedding day came and my God, it was perfect. Summer was a perfectionist and even though I knew that, the sight of the hall still amazed me.

Emerald green and gold curtains draped the formerly bare white walls; the floor was littered with cream and and rose flower petals. Each table had a centerpiece filled with wild roses and two scented candles on each side. But my favorite was the three tiered cake that stood on one side of the royal couple’s chair.

The bottom layer of the cake was decorated with green frizzy petals made from icing. The middle layer was plain gold and the top layer- it was emerald green with mini doves and butterflies scattered on the sides.

As both I and Summer Walked through the hall, inspecting it for the last time before the time for the I do’s arrived, she spoke. Reaffirming what she had told me previously which I brushed off.

“I’m leaving” she blurted, without as much as a glance at me. Her gaze was directed towards the floor.

It wasn’t the first time I was hearing it, but there was something in the tone of her voice when she said it; it was said with determination. I had known Summer all my life and I knew when she meant her speeches; and that time, she did.

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The House That Made Me

The House That Made Me


I was only 12, what did I know then. All giggles and excited as we moved into our new home. It was a duplex and only a few blocks away from our former house. But- This house was bigger, way bigger. We had 4 bedrooms, each with a bathroom. An extra guest bathroom for visitors was situated at the ground floor; A massive kitchen which brought pleasure to my mum and two extra rooms in the ‘boys quarters’ which is an extension of the house at the backyard.

It was all very fine, fun and homey until we had to share the house. My dad was getting a second wife and we had to pack our things and move to the ground floor. It wasn’t funny. I loved my room which was beside my mum’s. It was bigger, and it was upstairs where all the other rooms were. I couldn’t understand it.

And then, slowly and gradually our home became a mere house. Built of four walls and filled with drama- my raging teenage hormones didn’t help. Family dinner at the dining table stopped; watching TV with my dad stopped- my step mum isn’t exactly pleasant company. Most nights were spent in my mum’s room, that became our solitude- my siblings and I.

Next came the lies; I had to make up stories to explain why there were two women living in our house. Polygamy isn’t really common where I live. I went with, ‘the woman’ was my mother’s sister, which they believed. To date, some of my high school friends still don’t know she was my step mum.

Those four walls hold stories, memories that some might find unbelievable; but they were real and they happened. That house broke me, but it also made me. It was there I learned to appreciate , love and cherish my mother.

And that’s one thing i learned in the house: houses may change, rooms may change, but my mother’s love and support, it will always remain.