This was the ninth time for the week she had noticed it: a splitting migraine . . .
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 . . .
Daddy Bats lives with you in a one-bedroom flat in Belmont—until today. This morning, Daddy Bats flicks the cold from the corners of your eyes, and just after Radio Trinidad announces the day’s deaths, he marches you between lively trucks and horn-blowing super saloons up the hill to the orphanage.
“Don’t worry, son,” Daddy Bats says as he kneels before you. “Is only for a few days. Then I will save you . . .”
When the First People found her sparse remains, Karinya’s body had already entered the Eternal Circle of Life, her spirit as free as the corbeaux circling overhead.
Wait. It’s chilly here. Let me get more comfortable . . .