Journey’s End

A dark wave broke against the boat, tilting the starboard lip precariously close to the waterline; not for the first time, nor for the hundredth time.  The boat rocked on, cradling our nausea, nourishing our fear.

We were no seamen, not a single one of us. And yet, here we were; fourteen souls packed tight on a piece of wood barely qualifying for the term ‘boat’.

Adjoa screamed; a sound that cut through the thunder and made my insides hurt.

‘Shut that pie-hole, woman!’

Eniola sent a poisonous look in Paki’s direction and shifted slightly, barring Adjoa from Paki. He had been raising one hell after another since we left Libya, but Eniola had so far managed to contain him. Continue reading

Bygone Heroics

‘…and tonight the witch shall be punished for her sins, her soul purified.  She shall taste the wrath of the Almighty…’ the priest was shouting at the highest chord his voice could muster.  With each invocation of the Lord’s name, his eyes dilated and his hands trembled; lost in self-righteous ecstasy. Continue reading

The Approach


From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyright- Indira

There are many of my kin I admire; those whose death made history.  The Great Cedar who was cut down and shaped into a cross.  My great uncle that supported the Roman soldier named Sebastian while arrows pinned him tighter to his bark.  Others, nameless, whose bones formed ships that discovered the Americas and the Orient.

Will my death, like theirs, mean anything? Will I be turned into necklaces, icons in silver and gold?

A woman is hugging my midriff, praying that my roots hold against the monstrous cyclone approaching fast.  My prayers join hers, as I stand and wait.

Rochelle from Friday Fictioneers chose a wonderful picture for us this week by Indira.  I hope you like my story and if you wish to read other inspired stories featuring mystical foliage, scattered ashes, ancient barks and magical leaves, be sure to visit this page here.



I look at the letters and dwell on them.  The tiles dance in front of me, the letters blur.


The tiles scream the word back at me in their blatancy.  The word I can opt for is obvious.   There is even a place for it on the board.  An ‘A’ from ‘anger’ is free. Triple Word; the points would spawn if I just place the tiles on the board.  But I won’t give in to it, even if I have to relinquish the game. Continue reading