When my father killed my brother_"Houston...?"_Dilemma_Peeping Con
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When my father killed my brother
The long arm of the law. That was my father and mum. Mother dear was the arm. Dad, of course was the law. Mum was the arm of the law. The arm that instilled discipline. She would not tell you something twice before that arm of hers extended towards you. Canes, slippers , the mwiko (cooking stick) and anything else you can think of, could be used as a weapon. My father was the law, the court of Appeal, the Supremwww.onedoor.cce court on the land. His ruling was final. It was a given that you would abide by the ruling. He rarely beat us, nay, he beat us,but, in a different manner. With his words. And he h...
"Houston...?"
“Okay,” Houston, my right-hand, said by way of greeting. “We have a problem.”We had worked at the aviary together for many years, and I’d always known him to be an interesting fellow. I no longer considered his gruffness to be a mark of aggravation, nor was this the most unusual greeting he’d given me in recent months. He wasn’t your average right-hand, but I trusted him with almost anything.“What’s the matter now?” I asked. “Did they reject your request for changing the uniform?”“What? No! I just submitted those forms yesterday, after I went through the proper channels to get the...
Dilemma
“We have a dilemma,” said a panicked Mike as he entered the room. Stewie held up his hand as he continued to groom himself. Once he could rip loose the top part of his toenail with his teeth and spit it out, he put his hand down. He checked out all his toes and saw he did a good job. “This is urgent!” cried out Mike. “What can be so important to interrupt my important task of looking better?” asked Stewie, as he looked at Mike with a toenail on his nose. “You make me itch,” said Mike as he wiped at his nose. “Maybe if you used soap more often, it would stop the itching.” “We are very limited ...
Peeping Con
TW: sexual harrassment, sexual misconduct The woman stood at one end of the hall, in front of a flip chat, holding a ball of yellow wool. ‘I often think that being a parent is like learning to knit. When your baby is first born, you have an idea of what you want the finished cardigan to look like.’ She places the wool into the crook of her arm, and gazes lovingly at it. ‘And you start to knit, full of enthusiasm and following the pattern. After a few rows, you drop a stitch or two.’ She starts to pull the ball untidily apart. ‘Think of this, as those first few little hurdles, like when your ba...