This was the ninth time for the week she had noticed it: a splitting migraine . . .
Tag: short story
We all sneezed. Or maybe I just sneezed, but we all looked away at exactly the same time and, at exactly the same time, looked back . . .
The long wooden pirogue knocked lazily against the concrete pillars of the jetty . . .
It was almost dawn when a loud shriek of anguish and pain could be heard at the end of Guayaguayare village . . .
We never give up being wanted . . .
Albert was cross with himself. He had left Annabelle’s home far too late, at 9:30 in the evening and now faced the long ride back to St. Joseph from Arima in the dark . . .
“J’Ouvert morning is when the angels and demons dance,” PaPa had said. His words were on a loop in Viv’s head as she made her way through the crowds on Back Street in Kingstown. Daylight had caught the night, melting dark tendrils until they turned grey . . .
Cold permeated. I’d been shaking uncontrollably, teeth rattling, for the better part of an hour; every time I’d try to make myself stop, the shaking would multiply by an exponent and my mind would wander off somewhere else . . .