The dilemma of love_Woebegone Miracles_MUM'S LAND_Block 66
Catalog Guide:
The dilemma of love
It had been 24 years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. The sun was shining meekly and the slow breeze of evening felt fresh and the sky looked clear. She stood at the doorway for quite some time observing her surroundings. Samantha was visiting her house after 24 years. Her grandmother died last month. She could not visit back then as she had certain personal issueswww.onedoor.cc. Samantha, she is a successful entrepreneur and lives in another city quite far. She is a quiet and shy lady. She was never quite attached to the house nor to the members residing in it. She only ha...
Woebegone Miracles
It's only by the grace of the gods that Francis doesn’t laugh at her mother-in-law’s bellowing wails. Davith’s funeral had ended three hours ago but Maryanne Warthwood had always been dedicated to her dramatics. It was no secret that Maryanne hated her eldest son; he wouldn’t like the foods she wanted him to like, wouldn’t go to the university she wanted, and refused to marry the woman she’d prepared for him since he was six. Everything Davith did was a crime after that last slight, but now the woman of sixty-five years cries buckets in a corner behind the head table, a half empty wine glass ...
MUM'S LAND
It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. The long, muddy driveway leading up to the huge litchi tree right in front of the main entrance of the main house, with plumpy, red fruit gravitating towards the fence-less balcony on the upper floor. As she stepped out off her cousin, Sid’s, 1994 Toyota Corolla (the first new thing she identified), her foot went: “puch!” Her new Puma takkies were initiated with chocolate coating of the puddle she stepped into. “Oh, well,” she struggled in annoyance, knowing very well that this was what she should ex...
Block 66
The last box in the room was the old noodles carton, eaten up by mites and whatnot. She sighed and shuffled across the room. Squatting in front of the box, her knees gave a loud crack. She sighed. Picked the box up. Walked back to the table. Dropped it. Musty dust rose to her face. She coughed and swiped at it. Useless. She kept coughing. The books in there. Too old. Decades old. A Selection of African Poetry. West African Verse. Chinua Achebe's 'Anthills of the Savannah'. Hammer on the Cock, with the author's name neatly eaten off. Charles Dickens' 'Oliver Twist'. She stopped coughing. A...