The Shortest Story Ever Told
Countless days She had placed herself in the exact same spot for 350 or so days.
She sat gazing out at the vast endless sea. Next to her, a beaten up dirty pair of Nikes and an unused Bible. She looked down at them and pulled the trainers into her chest and held them tightly. The Holy Bible was left at her side. Surprisingly, it had been left intact, brand new almost.
She smiled. Reminded that the trainers were a birthday present from her children. It was the twins’ birthday party was in seven days and had promised them that she was going to make it.
Narrowing her eyes, She picked up the Bible, already marked, the page fell open to a story. After reading it again and again, she felt less awkward and braver. She had an idea. This time she sighed and let out a big “YESSSSS!” flopping back into the sand.
Squeals of delight could be heard from the dining room. She rang the doorbell. The door was answered. “Mommy,” screamed the twins’.
How did She get home?
The End.
By Sarah Louise Brown
Welcome to Marshmallow Land
My name is Oscar and I’m three and three quarters years old. I live with my Mommy and Daddy and Boots, my cat. I call her Bootsie. I love my Mommy and Daddy very much. They are very kind to me and make sure I’m happy. My birthday is on 4 April and this time, I am turning 4. Daddy said he’s going to get me a Colin the Caterpillar cake so I can blow out my birthday candles. Mommy was going to make me a caterpillar cake but its gunna take her hours and hours to make.” Oscar chuckles, “I don’t think Mommy would be happy about that,” cos caterpillars, have more than one body, like 8 or 9 round balls for a body and not sure if Mommy has a lot of green to paint my cake or a lot of black sticks to make its legs. “Oh-oh,” and Oscar laughed because it wasn’t his problem. He just knew he was going to get a birthday cake.
That evening, Oscar was in a bit of trouble with Daddy…here’s why:
Daddy was chatting to Aunty Sarah on Zoom. He was telling Aunty Sarah about the delicious Victoria Sponge cake that he, Mommy and Oscar had made a few days ago. Daddy had sent Aunty the photos which showed three large slices of sponge cake. The jam dripped and oozed over the thick clotted cream. “Oh so glorious,” said Aunty Sarah. “Mmmm, I wish I could have a piece.” “Yes, but,” said Daddy, “Daddy’s not very happy with Oscar. When Daddy left the room, Oscar gobbled up my slice of cake.” Aunty Sarah replied “Oh that’s OK Daddy, you can have another slice.” “Nope, I can’t.” Daddy was very upset. “Ahhh. Are you upset because Oscar had eaten the cake,” asked Aunty Sarah or that it was the last slice of cake?” Daddy nodded. “LOOOOOOOOOOOOL” Aunty burst into a thunderous laughter and couldn’t stop laughing, she laughed so hard that she kept moving her face to and away from the video screen so that Oscar couldn’t see her laughing. Poor Daddy, he really enjoyed this cake and that it “was a nice one too.” This is what he was really upset about and not upset with Oscar eating his cake.
So the lesson that Oscar was supposed to learn, I am not sure what because Aunty Sarah had busted Daddy’s grief. But the conversation stayed with Oscar, he felt sorry that Daddy was upset. So he set in his heart to make another viccy spunge cake as a surprise for his dad. He searched in the kitchen cupboards and there was no more flour, no more sugar, butter or strawberry jam left. “Oh-no,” Oscar thought, “We’ve got no more ingredients left.” Oscar asked Mommy “Mommy, can we make another cake?” But, Mommy said “Mommy wants to make another cake too, but that there’s no more ingredients in any of the supermarkets.” This made Oscar very sad. But, he did not give up, for in his heart, he had an idea….
Oscar climbed into bed and nestled himself into Mommy and Daddy’s arms as they read him a bedtime story. He felt warm and toasty, it was nice to see both of them reading to him together. He was happy about the miracle of staying at home during Covid-19, he felt that it brought his family together and a super plus was that he got to see a lot more of Aunty Sarah, and he loved his Nursery Circle time every morning especially speaking with his friend Amari.
In his bed, Oscar always had his favourite toys to help him sleep and keep him safe, watching over him during the night. As he let out a large yawn, Oscar, scooped up Horris is cuddly hippo toy, under his arm, smiled and kissed him gently on his head and whispered “I need yooouuuuuu”. Then he fell into a deep sleep…
“Horris, will you come with me to Marshmallow Land?” asked Oscar. “Another adventure,” replied Horris. “Yes please.” He jumped and twirled a few inches in the air at the excitement of going on another adventure. He was delighted. “I was getting a little boring, and wondering when our next trip will be. I was beginning to think that you were super tired all the time at nighttime”. “We need my backpack” said Oscar.
When they left home, Jack, Oscar’s next door neighbor, was waiting outside sitting on the wall. “Where you goin?” blurted Jack, “Marshmallow Land” said Horris, “then I’m coming too,” said Jack, with a big fat grin. They all rode on Oscar’s orange bike and when they arrived at Heathrow Airport, they entered at the side door at Terminal 3, (as this was the only way to travel to Marshmallow Land) and hopped onto a Marshmallow plane, yes, that’s right, a real Marshmallow plane. When the plane was in the air, it took a left turn and disappeared into thin air. “Are we there yet?” asked Oscar. With a cough and a splutter, the plane bounced, bent and walloped on the ground, smooth like butter. Even the plane was so relieved that it landed safely, it let out a nervous Marshmallow wind from its tail. Oscar, Horris and Jack all laughed.
I love this place said Horris, everything’s so chewy, so soft. “Why are we here?” asked Jack, “Lundun has finished all the Victoria spunge cake and there’s no more ingredients left. Someone ate Daddy’s last slice of cake and he wasn’t hap-happy. I want to surprise Daddy and make him another cake. I thought it was a good idea to get the ingredients from Marshmallow Land. They all found the ingredients at Mrs. Bakeroo’s bakery shop. She was more than happy to see the three together again. All the ingredients sat perfectly into Oscars backpack. “You’d better hurry said Mrs. Bakeroo”, you don’t have much time left to get back to Lundon to make the cake.” “Oh don’t worry, answered Oscar, I won’t be baking, I’m too young to put the cake in the oven, I will have a few big slices though. I know this cake will be extra special for Mommy and Daddy. They all said goodbye and left and headed back to the Marshmallow plane. When they all got home, Oscar and Horris said goodbye to Jack and closed the front door. Oscar put the ingredients on the Kitchen table, in view view so that Mommy and Daddy couldn’t miss them. Then he and Horiss crept downstairs missing the creaky step on their way down and got back into bed, kissed Horris on his head and thanked him for a wonderful journey. Horris smiled and snuggled up to him and both slept sound asleep until the morning.
Oscar woke up to find that Mommy and Daddy were already in the kitchen and he could smell the freshly baked cake in the oven. “hmmmm”, he smiled as he climbed onto Mommy’s lap, as Daddy had just made some fresh toast. “Good morning, Mommy” as he gave Mommy a kiss. Good morning Daddy”. “Both replied, good morning son”, would you like some Weetabix for breakfast?”, Oscar nodded. “What’s that in the oven?” “Mommy and Daddy have made another Victoria sponge cake. We don’t know where the ingredients’ came from, Daddy must have forgotten that we had some left. Oscar smiled, he was feeling quite happy with himself. Of course he would, he had saved the day as they would all get to enjoy another delicious Victoria sponge cake.
The End.
The Silly Little Tart
She spied in the colourful confectioner’s store. In the middle of the crisp window display, a standalone muffin sitting in a pretty polka dot case. It stood lean and tall, shoulders above the rest of the store tarts and pies, even though it was more than 3 inches high with an expanding rotund waist. “Just Like me,” she thought.
She was besotted with the beautifully obscene muffin. She kept flitting between her own mirrored second person in the window, directing to and fro glances of mischief towards her…SELF and the dessert. The window’s unrequited transparency encased her gangly demure figure through its fine reflection even if she was swallowed by her bulbous burnt orange bouclé coat. She wore a pink beret, poised on the side of her head.
The muffin and her reflection seemed as one representing the jamminess inside the enveloped coat. She rushed inside and excitedly pointed at it to the server. The muffin rested graphically in a 5 by 7 inch black and white box, protected by a graceful bow. Hesitant, aiming to leave the store, instead she sat randomly at a round table ignoring whether it was occupied and opened the box in disgraceful madness. Nothing else mattered. Her off white central incisors punctured the muffin, exuding a surprising fresh whipped cream from its core. It was pure. This was a once in a lifetime. A sight to behold, just like her. But she didn’t pay her beauty no mind. She stopped being important.
The Headmaster sat open gazed at the demolishing of the beauty eating the beauty. His heart softened at this sight, witnessing a glimpse of her carnivorous revealing after five years. She paused and stared to see the Headmaster. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t read his eyes. He couldn’t determine whether in his raging acrimonious heart was to arrow utterance to proceed from his mouth. A though tis a thought. Good or bad. There is no in between. The heart is wicked. “You are ugly and fat,” he blurted in his conscious morality.
His face remained stoic but he too had drifted away throughout this intangible interaction. He pictured himself standing in front of a mirror yelling these words. Aggressively so, his saliva stained the partially misted window. Back to view, the Headmaster slid from his seat and sat next to the model, dipped his finger in the centre of the muffin and the fluffy thickness of the cream attached to his index finger as he pulled it away. He savored both the cream and his finger.
“Hello Dahling, I thought you weren’t hungry. She gazed lovingly into her partner’s weary eyes. She delicately ate the rest of the muffin, put on her coat and these two real persons walked out into the winter’s evening arm in arm.
The End.
By Sarah Louise Brown
Let’s talk about Humanity = George Floyd
Hello Lovers,
When I think of humanity, I think of the whole human race, human beings. I am not directed to the colour or race of a person, but people.
Racism
Racism is an ugly experience for people of colour (POC) to walk through. A piece of innocence is taken from you and fatally, the beautiful impressions of People that you used to believe in is marred. Trust me, the first time you experience racism, it is something that you will never forget. Should you then become familiar to further incidents of racism, the naked vulnerability it exposes in you, fashions a fear set to seep deep within, to remain.
George Floyd
The knowledge of the wound of racism, has provoked hundreds of years of horrific episodic actions leading to the resultant deaths of countless POC. George Floyd’s death, has evoked the beginning of a mental and heart shift in most of us. It took the sacrifice of George’s death in 2020, to become “more than just another black death.”
I am finding it very difficult to lay these sentences down on this white space. I have never called myself to accountability in such a public platform. Normally, these conversations have been reserved and shared in the midst of my friends and family. Yes, my family who are POC: black, white and brown (my POC). I use the word “reserved” because having disruptive conversations is not for everyone. Is it? If you have not felt the gut punch reverberations of racism and social injustice, it’s time to become part of the narrative.
Will you become part of the movement? Are you ready to ask yourself the weighty questions on where you stand with race? I can just imagine you now, saying to yourself “I’m not racist”…perhaps you have answered too quickly. I am not an American citizen and I do not live in the United States, but I am following the uninterrupted list of POC who have died before George Floyd. I wasn’t expecting to hear about another death during this pandemic. “Another,” like it’s become the norm.
A friend forwarded the video of George Floyd. Did not expect it to open with a police officer kneeling on the neck of a man. I didn’t want to watch it, but I had to watch all of it. I became restless, I couldn’t sit still as I began to grapple with what was happening to George. My initial response, anger, and then I cried. My heart HURT. George’s words, “Mama” is still etched in my heart. I am hurting because I look at George and he could be a family relative.
What’s wrong with Brown?
I prayed for George’s family. I asked God why my skin colour is controversial. What is wrong with my skin colour? My Skin colour is brown. Why am I referred to as black when my skin colour is brown?A question I have asked not for the first time. Ahh yes, “black” is synonymous with a derogatory ugliness.
I was saddened to see the looting and rioting in America switching to become the news focus point. I felt nauseous watching this. An excuse to go on an organised rampage, ultimately causing further division.
The Remnant Collective
The unjust death of George, has, in turn, righteously provoked crucial conversations between people of colour and the leadership. This is where we will see the true nature of leadership in crisis. To see protestors in the United States marching for George, inspired a credible unity of people together: black, white and brown. People.
This is the remnant collective standing for social justice, for all lives. We must all become united and ensure that the generations of those to come after us know how we fought for all people to live dignified in a just system and world.
Another friend sent a petition against racism and police brutality. I signed and shared and amazed to see people from all over the world committing their signatures every few seconds. Within minutes, friends and family also signed.
George’s death means the willful act to searching our hearts, asking the difficult questions of where you stand with race. Yea, ouch!
Selah…
If it was your father, mother, brother, sister or simply a loved one who is not a POC, died because of systemic racism, you too have a narrative.
My personal experience
I am not ashamed of the colour of my skin. Never, would I change my melanin brown. No!
My own experiences of racism began when at age 11, in the first year of secondary school. It was a total contrast from my primary school, where there was nothing but a pure love and friendships. I didn’t look at the race or skin colour of my friends. We were children.
But “that word”…hit me like a hammer. I was standing in the dinner queue at the time. Her venom and force in which she, the other school girl pronounced at me. I froze. An uncalled for assault said to flex her hateful vocabulary at a younger student. I ate my lunch in silence, I don’t even know if I finished it. I was in shock. Not knowing what to do with my feelings in this moment, I kept what had happened to myself and didn’t report the girl to a teacher. I didn’t even tell my mom didn’t know how to.
I have experienced systemic racism in the workplace. It took me a minute to understand what exactly was happening to me. Ultimately, I did not qualify because of my skin colour and on the receiving end of the excuses and being told “no” when my counterparts were being told “yes.”
When I challenged my employer, I would be punished. I could not understand why (well I do and will discuss in a later post), I was prevented for wanting to excel professionally and receiving such responses over and over, such as, “ll have to check the budget,” or “we don’t need this position.”
The harder I worked, I found myself deliberately being set up to fail and humiliated before others so that my competency was called into question. Nonetheless, I was still able to complete all projects successfully.
Undergoing a process forgiveness and healing is important. I am doing this.
Whilst ‘we’ are in the Now
We were all created to share our lives and to live peaceably with each other in this one world. History has provided otherwise. But! Now is our time to bring conversation disruption for good, however raw. This is not about POC versus white debate but this includes every one of us in humanity.
We must be ALL accountable.
In your heart,
You are Worthy and Loved.
Sarah xoxo