I did some blog hopping today and found the Three things challenge on pensitivity 101 ‘ real, button, designer’
Hazy eyes’ peered through the glass, gazing at acres of palm trees disappear as they sped past. The bleak look in them grew with each mile covered, widening the gap between her and home, between the known and unknown.
They told her that she is heading for better things; for greener pastures. They told her that she’s the only hope for the family, they told her many things…
Yes, Akunnia wanted to help the family. Indeed, she truly wanted to be a saving grace. Yet, she couldn’t stop the incessant trickle of hot tears and the lump in her throat from getting bigger with each speed bump the van took as it gradually wound its way away from the dusty paths of her village to the big city.
How did greener pastures leave her feeling like a chattel used to repay family debts to a grouchy tradesman well-known for his poor treatment of others? The weight of her looming situation sat heavy on her slight sixteen-year shoulders.
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
Helena loves chasing rainbows even when everyone thinks that she’s cuckoo.
They remind her of her dad and the stories that he shared with her throughout his life.
He was particularly fond of rainbows and his last words to her before he passed were ‘anytime you see a rainbow, I am somewhere there riding it.’
Written in response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you, Mark, for the photo and PJ for hosting.
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.
The sparse cupboard with the solitary pack of Batchelor soup and canned beans stared back at him as if in mockery. His posh apartment was a sorry mess. Take out boxes and dirty mugs littered the kitchen and George wondered when his life had become so empty.
He was fatigued from months of insufficient sleep and taking work home; the promotion came with more responsibilities than anticipated. He was tired of eating out of paper boxes, he missed having a decent relationship with anyone and would have given a tooth for some helping of the curry flavourful dish that floated down the corridor from his married neighbours’ apartment; his tummy grumbled at the thought.
The ping of the microwave interrupted his thoughts and the cup of overflowing soup that looked more like lava made him swear. With a sigh of resignation, he picked up the phone to call Chinatown. The hum of voices and laughter from next door sharply reminded him that a robust bank balance did not make up for loneliness.
Check out my latest book ‘Unbridled.’
Tara hated herself for what she was doing, but her clogged mind just couldn’t think of any other way out of her problems.
Her meagre earnings were stretched beyond its capacity that to eat one meal a day was now a hurdle.
Sending money back home to the Philippines to assist her folks with the younger siblings and her dad’s medication took virtually everything.
With a pounding heart, she prayed for forgiveness in the silence of her heart, cast furtive looks around and quickly dipped her hands into the offering bag; the small clutch of cash felt like burning coals in her palm.
John Paul saw her through the CCTV and smiled to himself; what a golden opportunity, he had her where he wanted her.
She had known that she was in trouble right from the first time they met during her interview.
From his firm handshake to the curved smile on his full lips that shouldn’t belong to a man, everyone else in the room seemed to fade out from her sight.
Is this what they call love Linda wondered to herself as the months went by and every single thought of hers had him in the centre?
She wasn’t even sure that he actually saw her beyond being a competent assistant at his beck and call.
She didn’t know how long she could continue working closely by his side each day without revealing her feelings.
Rhonda sighed in relief as they checked out of the airport and headed to their hotel. Another long-haul flight concluded.
Fourteen and half hours from Geneva to Los Angeles, via Zürich, would wear even the most toughened cabin crew out and she was beginning to wonder if it was time to seek for desk job opportunities.
As far as she could recall she had always being fascinated with aeroplanes and wanted to work at the airport. Going to the airport had been a treat for her from her growing up years – when they would pile into dad’s car for a drive to the next towns local airport to see the planes – till now that she works as a hostess on AirVoyage.
She never grew tired of flying to different destinations, or the busy hubs and the millions of faces hurrying along in different directions with their wheely luggage.
Some would hug and kiss, some would wave and beam in smiles, some eyes’ glistened with unshed tears of mixed emotions, some with sheer relief of touching down.
Her life was filled with a lot of hellos’ and goodbyes’ but she hoped that a welcome massage from Dirk would help answer some questions on her mind.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Thank you, Dawn Miller, for this week’s photo and my lady P.J. for hosting us.
She decided to come clean and tell the truth.
What she didn’t anticipate was the depth of peoples’ reaction.
Many wanted her to pay with her blood; for the blood of the innocent young man she had falsely accused.
She wished she had kept the secret to herself, but the burden had eaten her alive for decades.
Opening the bottle, she gulped the vile syrup, that should put an end to things.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post – Clean