Unravel her skin and it will stretch over the ages, exposing blemishes and imperfections buried comfortably in wizened creases. Every mark a moment.
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"I can only tell you things that happened as I saw them, and what the rest was about only Africa knows." – Oom Schalk Lourens
She sits back, chewing…chewing as her stray hand absentmindedly winds the yarn
The man breathes in deeply and, this time, puffs out sand. He’s made of the land.
The sensation of being torn comes in waves. Can I belong to two places at once? Or is it my lot to be traitor, one way or another…
Ditching our snacks and stories we scramble around in search of would-be weapons. Shoes! Yes! These blood sucking baddies don’t know who they’re messing with.
The pigs were lying dead in the road…
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The world was a strange place. Bad strange? He wasn’t sure. Often, he’d walk and walk; hunting for signs of the fight—remnants of the strangeness.
She ran. The screaming sirens terrorising her legs into motion. Every step a trauma. They all ran. Boys, girls. Lessons abandoned. Books, bags and reason thrown into chaos.
The faux warmth of the heater gently nudges its way through my 4-degree car. Stifling a shiver, I will the beady red eye in front of me to change to a more amenable green…
Have you ever seen a flying car? I have. Well, almost. I didn’t actually see it fly but I know it did. How? My uncle.