There's the white door again, another scolding ahead. The green grass seems taller. I've been standing here for maybe 5 or 10 minutes I guess, hoping Jesse doesn't come out to call again. What would I say. For sure, it's going to be another excuse as usual. It just seems to get harder but I can't flick. I can't just give in or ebb, demand is on my heel to race. I know it's my responsibility. I know I've got no option. I know I'm gonna slither down the muddy loamy puddles just right ahead and go through that white door. It's just going to be another reminder of my failure, have I gotten so used to failure. Or am I tired of responsibilities, No! That's like being tired of life. There's the cool breeze that just whiff pass, it seems to carry away my troubles. But shortly after it reminds me it's still rainy season. I've got to get in. Okay, I'm ready to take anything. I can't risk getting wet. Now there's an improvement, I'm walking now even though my speed could be related to that of ants collective moving a dead earthworm that they probably battled to its death into their hole just right beside the wall of this tall building. The building contains 3 halls of at least 12 feet high. With blue coloured walls and 6 doors, 12 for each hall; all of same colour.
Even though I aggrandize the journey it's just been 6 meters from my start point. I knock as the norm expectsand push the door and the oil paint in on my palms. "Oh, it's just been painted" I remember. The rust had already chewed the width of the metal at the base to a thin sheet of paper just before the authorities noticed halls have doors.
I quickly pull back but my hands stick back what's the need, my hands are already stained.
Reading Children of Blood & bone . The narrative & descriptions felt so real. Whenever I got lost in a fantasy world of panthenaires, lionaires, maji, kosidans and magic I never wanted leave. Those moments felt like I lived the fiction & I wanted no escape. "Kwame brushes past me, running for the heart of the battle. He grips a dagger tight in his hands. Then he slashes open his palm. Blood magic. Horror settles into my bones. It’s like the world slows to a stop, stretching the seconds between this moment and the last Kwame will ever have. His blood glows with a white light, splashing as it hits the ground. In an instant the ivory light surrounds him, illuminating his dark skin like a god from above. When it reaches the top of his head, it seals his fate. A fire explodes from his skin. Smoldering embers rain from his body. Flames blaze around his form. The fire erupts from every limb, shooting out of his mouth, his arms, his legs. The blast towers meter...
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