Mawu_Glimith_The Storm God and the Conch Shell_You Are....Not Welcome
Catalog Guide:
Mawu
The small hut is loud with screams and crying. The mother, Veroti, is in extreme pain. She is givwww.onedoor.ccing birth to a newborn. The hut is of cobblestone and straw. It held over three generations of family – it was not to hold any more.“Mawu, god of moon, we call on you to help my daughter, let her child be healthy!” “Mawu is not a god to be acquaintances with, Ari!” Veroti screams in pain.”The sheets are soiled and damp with blood and other bodily fluids. The moon shines bright upon the little hut. The air is calm and the entirety of the village is asleep – with the exception of the neighbors.“It is...
Glimith
According to the records of Dalawan Palace, Glimith had no parents. Nobody is aware of how he fell into the hands of the common folk but what they do know is that they needed to treat him like he was a heartless monster and as if he were without heart and mind. The people of this land believed that one day he would bring misfortune upon them all, if he didn’t kill them first. From as early as childhood, Glimith felt their eyes tell him that he was a creature from the pits of hell. Even as a baby, King Fyzin ordered his execution just because he was born into the scales of a goblin. On the day...
The Storm God and the Conch Shell
The summer sun seared the pavement, causing waves to rise up from its surface. The temperature on the dash read 96, but the wind roaring through the open car windows and beach sand still sticking to my ankles seemed to say that heat could actually be beat. Just a few moments earlier I had been pulling out of Abby’s beach house driveway. All day I'd been with her and a handful of other friends hiding away on her private stretch of beach. Together, we’d played games, waded, sunbathed, and walked, thoroughly enjoying the sun while avoiding it’s heat. As I soared down the interstate back to my own...
You Are....Not Welcome
I knock on the mahogany door, the last remnants of their holiday spirit in flickering light bulbs buried in slush, and plaster on a charming smile, dimples armed and ready. The uniform is rough against my skin and I adjust the white, starched sleeves of my button-up, shifting the bible to one arm. Clearing my throat, I straighten my back and tidy my tie, but it seems no one is planning on greeting me.But, that's fine.Oftentimes, I have to ring the doorbell multiple times. However, in the end, someone always comes out due to my persistence. Whether it be a wrinkly grandparent or a sleep-deprive...