Day 6: The Lady In Black

Day 6: The Lady In Black

Today’s writing prompt is ‘character building’; it is the hardest assignment to me so far because description is one of my weak points. But as they say, practice makes perfect, so here goes:

Coffee in hand, she roams the street
Cares on her sleeve- she sips, she blinks
Looks to me, then turns away
The lady In black- but a mystery

Never a hello, nor a goodbye
Walks with the world beneath her feet
The men agape- in love they say,
The dark haired lady- sways away

Oh but a mystery- she is,
Cold stares but i caught- within the blink
A story to tell, I think they yearn-
The red lipped lady, never speaks.

Day 4: serially Lost

Day 4: serially Lost

She picks up the phome, ‘mama, I need help’ ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me’

She was trembling, shaking, barely getting the words out. Okay, I was trembling and shaking barely getting the words out. The tears were streaming out, my nose was clogged, and my head was spinning. I knew I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t handle it. There is only so much a teenage soul can take. Teenage soul, or rather an adult soul, I was turning 18 that day.

For almost a week, I could barely hold myself together. A week of hell on earth. The only person I trusted enough was over a thousand miles away from me, my mother. I didn’t know what was happening. I wake up in the morning feeling good and then slip into the depressive cycle. I was way behind In school- I stopped going to school. Nothing felt right anymore. I could barely eat, I was losing weight ( which at the time I thought was the only good thing, to become slim again).

“Baby, breathe” …
Stop crying and explain to me, what’s going on?”
Mama, I don’t know”, I managed to say amid the sniffs

How do I explain to her, I feel like my head is about to explode, my body is trembling and I can’t stop crying. It’s been a week, I can’t stop! I can’t read, I can barely function properly. I get tired and agitated easily, the list goes on and on. Still, I managed to explain to the woman that gave birth to me, to the best thing I ever had, roughly what was wrong with me.

What could she do, she was in a different country. Maybe that was a good thing, seeing me In that state was sure to break her heart. Knowing I wake every morning with the hope of not making it through the day. I was prepared for the angel of death, or so I thought.

“Don’t cry, it’s going to be okay“, she says
Okay? Never in my life had I felt so lost as I did in those few days. And she says it’s going to be okay. And yet, whether I believed things will get better or not, there was something just so true in her voice, that I knew I wasn’t alone. It was time to find that lost soul.

Day 5: The tragedy of life…

Day 5: The tragedy of life…


The goal of today is “BE brief” which is something I find extremely hard. When it comes to writing, I tend to go overboard. But today, it’s time to change and try something new. A 100 word story- fingers crossed, here goes –

June 17′ 1960
The war has ended, the fight is over
My love I’m making my way back home
We’ve got independence, our nation a president
But joy ain’t for me till you say ‘I do’

Two days and I’m home
With Your ring- a ruby stone
The train arrives at one
I’ll be home before dusk

My dear please don’t fret
The war is gone, your love will be here.
To my dearest Mary Margaret

This was the letter I found at a drawer I just got from a yard sale. I thought it was oh so sweet, and then it hit me. On June 19 1960, there was a bomb blast on a train Set to arrive at one O clock. The tragedy of life….

Day 2: Ropes of the Past

Day 2: Ropes of the Past

There is no place like home. Tabu knew that saying better than anyone else. She felt the meaning deeply and it stung her every time. If only… If only she hadn’t listened to those busy body so called friends of hers then maybe, her home would still be… No, she snaps herself out of the delusion. She could blame them all she wanted but in reality it was all her fault. That still didn’t stop her from remembering her home, what it felt like being where she could call her own.

Stepping into the gigantic black colored gate which towered in front of the duplex house, now her house, she automatically felt safe. With the sharp pointed spikes and electric wires that ran around the house, she knew only a fool would try to break in. It made her feel special that she was worth so much guarding, oh how naive she was then,

On her right, as she walked into the compound, was a small garden filled with flowers of different colors and type. She hated the mosquitoes that came with having flowers in the house so she wasn’t really trilled. What she’d give now to see those flowers again.

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Prologue: Rebelling to Survive

Prologue: Rebelling to Survive

My name is Ameena and this is my story. I am an 18 year old 3rd year medical student or rather I was. A few months ago, I was forced by my parents into a marriage which I do not want. I had two choices, accept the marriage proposal, go through with it and spend the rest of my life miserable and suffering just like all the other Nigerian women I’ve seen but still have my family. Or I could run away with no help and little money and stand for what I believe in. I chose the latter.

I had about a thousand dollars which I had saved up in the past few years. I am now in Sudan where I school, or rather used to, in hiding. I don’t know who to trust here and certainly don’t plan on going back to Nigeria. My friends have abandoned me after various tricks to force me back home to my sealed fate. The embassy has been informed to deport me upon sight stating I am a mentally unstable girl whose parent wants her back home. As Sudan is a ‘so called’ Islamic country, it doesn’t care about the rights of a child, whatever my parents agree is how it will be.

I am running out of money and disguise. My anti depressants and anxiety pills are finished and I am scared of getting into a panic attack anytime soon. I’m running out of legal options to sustain my self cause the place I’m managing to rent has taken up all of my money. I can’t return back to to the gruesome fate that awaits me. I’ve seen what happens to girls who runway from arranged marriages. The torture they are forced to endure upon their return Is intolerable. They break you down mentally and physically up until the point you begin to believe it truly is your fault.

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