The frilly purple underwear fought the peg that held it to the clothesline as if in protest against being held down. Its vigorous flapping attracted the attention of several eyes’ – it was simply the prettiest thing in sight.
Casting second, third and fourth stealthy glances, imaginary thoughts of its softness encasing and caressing the skin was worth taking the risk.
With no one watching, in a quick flash of hands, the clothes pin was removed, but the gust of wind was faster and the flowery slip sailed over the fence and attached itself to the radio antenna of a van zooming past.
In dismay, he watched the van weave its way down the street with a purple slip of silk waving in mockery.
© 2018 Jacqueline
She had to work fast ‘cos it was now or never. Agatha felt a slight pang of guilt at what she was about to do, but her resolve hardened at the thought of freedom and new beginnings.
Finally, she would escape Simon’s pimping clutches. With her mind on the dream of a whole new life and personae, some money in the bank and a new home in a city where no one knew her or her sordid past, she stuck the feathered note under the lapel of his jacket as instructed. The agents have enough evidence of his drug runs, human trafficking, and organ harvesting to put him away for a very long time.
Generously helping herself to the stash of cash in the wardrobe, she adjusted her Spanx, joined the men in the smoke-filled living room and waited.
Written in response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you, Raymond, for the photo and PJ for hosting.
Rube knows that Sebastian is not in her league. As a country girl, his slick city ways are a novelty and disturbing, but everytime he honks his horn, her heart skips a mile.
She knows she would regret her actions tomorrow, yet the pull of attraction is all she can follow as she hurries to his Jaguar.
Word meaning – Rube – A rube is a country bumpkin or an awkward inexperienced, unsophisticated person. Rube is also a nickname.
In chase of a dream, he kept funnelling their money into his bogus projects and his wife thought he had simply gone mad.
The Daily Post prompt – funnel
The Heron stared longingly at the water and the other side. There was barely a nibble in his line of sight, yet across the lake, the tangled webs of deceit from the greedy humans brimmed with fish.
Through the ripples, he could see his own reflection as clear as the day. He noticed his neck had grown thinner and longer from rationed portions of fish and he croaked in annoyance.
His fishing hours grew longer by the day but each new day brought more boats and humans to the quay and the water grew darker with oil from all manner of engines.
In response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you J.S for the photo and PJ for hosting.
Mama counted the coins carefully and tied them in the old handkerchief which she always tucked into her thick cotton half-slip hidden under several layers of wrapper to keep them safe.
I sprinkled water on the freshly harvested pepper and pumpkin leaves, arranging them in the basket; their luscious healthy colour would attract the eyes of good buyers.
With ease, mama balanced the basket on her head, her headscarf formed a cradle and she set off to Orie Ozuda; she would walk tirelessly for miles and that basket would stay put.
‘Nwamaka my daughter, I hope today’s market day will be a good one and if I sell all my goods, tomorrow I will buy you that shoe for running that you’ve been asking for.’
‘Thank you, mama,‘ I replied with happiness ringing in my voice. I imagined my feet encased in the white canvas and I could hear the voices of my schoolmates cheering me on as I raced to the finish line; they always say that I run like 440.
Tomorrow never came. Mama never made it back. Her crushed body was brought back to the compound with her coins still carefully tucked under her half-slip. Nwamadi’s 440 car killed mama. I never ran again.
Run like 440 – a term used to emphasize how fast she ran.
Orie Ozuda – a market day
Nwamaka – an Igbo name for a girl. It means beautiful child.
I am innocent of May’s death. Yet, I am as guilty as ever.
I may not have killed her physically but, I had conspired her death many times over in my heart.
She is called many names; the wandering woman, mystery lady, the medicine woman, the mad woman of Katoke or the nuisance.
She always appeared in the neighbourhoods for a couple of weeks before the start of each season bearing numerous pots and bags of exotic plants. Each boiling pot served broths that cured various ailments and all that was required for any to work is faith.
Whenever she visited the poorer quarters, the inhabitant’s welcomed her presence. They would come bearing little gifts in exchange for helpings from her healing condiments, but the experience was the opposite at the more prestigious parts of town where the policing guards did their best to discourage the charlatan ‘as she was called.’
On various occasions, they ran her off the premises with a stern warning of arrest if she kept visiting but at dusk, these uppity members of high society went to the poor side of town to see her secretly.
Thank you Yarnspinner for the interesting photo prompt and PJ for hosting.
Little stabs of jealousy struck Cody as he stood at the corner and watched Josh and Sam cycle their latest acquisition around the neighbourhood park with such glee,
He envied how they always got the latest and best toys and momentarily, he felt sad and angry that poverty kept his mama from buying any of such things for him. He was tired of their scrounging for food, for hand-me-downs and their broken television.
From past experience, he knew not to ask them if he could join them because they would only laugh and make fun of him. Last time when they were flying a kite and he came closer to watch, Sam made fun of his ill-fitting clothes and oversized trainers and he had walked away red in the face and ashamed.
He really wanted to fit in and he was tired of feeling out of place, but what could a ten-year old do? Maybe if his dad hadn’t died, they wouldn’t be so poor with his mother juggling several jobs. He hoped mama was right in saying that things would get better some day.
Thank you, Dorothy, for the photo prompt and PJ for hosting.
She was almost convinced that the Reverend’s sermon on giving up one’s sins was directed at her; a Church service had never left her literally feeling the heat of the brimstone.
Heaving a sigh of relief at the end of mass she rushed to the bus-stop and boarded the city bus back home, tussling in her mind whether to continue going to Church or to give it a break for a while.
As the bus wove its way through the city, the first message came in.
Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead, her heart accelerated and she developed an urgent need to use the toilet when she stared at the undeniable photo of her finagling money from the Church till.
Every hour that passed was a stab of fear; messages promptly came in from the unknown number at the turn of each hour.
Stretched Part 1