The rain stops now and I shake my head to fling the last drop off my big straw hat. It have a freezing trickle of water running down my arm, a silver ball escaping down to the tip of my finger. Forest rain does be like that: cold in the humidity, shining like hell when the light touch it . . .
The Woodsman takes a nip of rum and stares out from under the brim of his battered ball cap. “Fucking Green Hell,” he mutters under his breath . . .
Eddie had always been a quiet man. Living on the outskirts of the village meant he was always met with a curious but hesitant eye. The village children were always warned to stay away from him . . .
At night you lie awake, kept up by the sounds of running feet and children’s eerie laughter . . .
Jariah feels remnants of bickering trailing behind her like afterbirth, spotting at times, or falling out uninterrupted at others . . .
Late one afternoon, while sweeping up, my uncle asked if he ever told me about how he almost make a jail, and immediately I thought: whoremongering . . .
Lydia scans the online travel magazine and sips her tea distractedly. Work is boring, and the weather outside is dreadful. She needs a break. She’s browsing for an adventure to lift her spirits when a headline jumps out: Come experience the real Caribbean, it beckons . . .
I been told their words will steal my heart . . .