The Orchid: Chapter One


Written by Leeto Mshweshwe

Chapter 1

“This is one of your best work ever” Mrs Rose from waterfront says as she analyses the piece of furniture I finished carving last night. I am exhausted!! I sigh as she grins at me. It’s a mini bedside pedestal type of thing. I don’t know what I call these things but I carve them anyways. When inspiration comes, it just comes. And for the past week it has been crashing on me like the sunset beach waves. I smile politely at her as she takes a minute smiling broadly at the furniture then turn to look at me then look at it again. I look at my hands; they are still covered in dust just as I am in my blue overalls. I never wash those by the way. They are covered in paint, clay, dust and anything I lay my hands on.

“Oh Cat, this could sell for thousands you know” she says with a begging and concerned tone. She knows how I feel about selling my work above the price I have in mind. A few hundreds would do me just fine, besides I know a suitable customer when I see one, for each and every piece I make.

She sits down on one of my original bamboo tree chairs, the first chair I made with my hands, the very same chair I can’t bring myself to take to my shop and sell.

I yawn, trying to show Mrs Rose that I am tired and that she needs to seriously leave. “Oh child, you must be really exhausted. Tell you what, I’ll leave you to sleep and then later today I will bring you that list of art exhibitions” she says as she gets up and makes her way to the door. I still have not found the strength to tell her that I am not showcasing any of my furniture, even my painting and sculptures, it takes a whole lot of consideration before I actually give one up for an exhibition. Like my heart of the sunset painting, I sold it last week at an exhibition for a couple of hundred thousands to an Italian art fanatic. She said it reserved so much pornography and yet romance that it reminded her of the first time she had intercourse with another woman. She was lesbian yes.

It’s barely an hour I’m asleep and already there is some idiot knocking on my door. “Whaaaaaat” I scream covering my ears with the pillow. I hate it when someone wakes me up after an inspirational night. The knocking doesn’t stop, I have no choice but to drag myself up and go open that door. That person better pray I don’t bite their head off. I open just as he is about to knock again. “What!!!” I scream and he shrieks in fright. “I’m really sorry ma’am but I am looking for a Miss Cataleya Mfiki” he says, only then do I notice that he is a delivery man. I nod, he hands me the board to sign then he hands me the black lavender envelope.

‘You have been invited to attend Black Lavender Art Gallery opening …..’

Arg. I toss it on the kitchen counter and head straight for the fridge. Oh gawd! Where’s my dad when you need him? The fridge is empty, the cupboards are empty. That’s what happens when inspiration attacks me all three corners: The Paint, The Clay and The Wood in one month!! I am so hungry and there is no way in heaven I am going back to sleep now. My silver antique clock on the wall says 11:45. Oh well, it’s still morning, there’s still breakfast at Mug & Bean downstairs. I quickly put on my beanie on top of my freakish afro. Gosh, I need to see CJ about this hair. I grab my wallet and phone, then head out.

It’s almost lunch and people are starting to come in, the place is starting to pack and I’m getting restless standing in the line waiting to order, I will have to wait again to get that order. I am starving!! No really, I need to call Dad and ask him to visit next time my brain decides to go all artistically Einstein on me. I even forget to eat because of it and yet it knows I need to feed it to function. My order comes, I can’t wait to get to my flat and dig in on those cheese cocktails and that steamy cup of tea with lots of sugar. My phone starts to do that vibrating thing I hate, I never get used to it vibrating or ringing because Most of the time it’s off.

One minute I’m holding the cup of tea and box of cheese cocktails in one hand and my phone in the other, with both my eyes and ears completely concentrating on it. The next, I’m on the floor, the whole cup completely spilled on my overalls, as hot as it is.

“What the hell!!!” I yell, so loud that I’m sure even someone driving on the streets got a fright and missed a turn. He’s looking at me, squinting his eyes like he is thinking of something to say. I’m way beyond furious, frustrated and brushing off the liquid from my thighs. He lets out his hand, with a smirk on his face. He is so rude, I can just sense it. Even though I don’t want to take his hand, I end up doing so because the tables and chairs are far from me to balance. All eyes are on us, he pulls me close and smiles, exposing his teeth. Oh my gaaaawd!! Are they real?? Crispy white, all levelled and perfectly placed in his mouth, that smile. Oh my, he has a slight dimple on each of his cheeks. Wait? Am I really describing how hot this idiot is?

“Forgive me, my empress” he says, politely like he just discovered a precious gem in me or something. “Watch where you are going. Nxx” I yell. I pull away my hand from his, pick up my phone and box of cheese cocktails. He can keep that empty cup for all I care. I am angry and wet as I make my way to the lift back to my flat. My phone vibrates again. I look at it and realise that if it didn’t vibrate, then I wouldn’t have bumped into that man and spilled my tea. I curse under my breath. .


The road is buzzing as I wait for a taxi to take me from Woodstock to Cape Town then I take another one to waterfront. I hate these trips but I have no choice. I placed my craft shop in waterfront then refused to get a car. “My poor car has to suffer because you are scared to drive” Lebo always says when I ask her to deliver my crafts and paintings from my studio apartment to the store. Yes I know what you are thinking. Why am I afraid to drive? Well, that’s a story for another day.

My thoughts are interrupted by a scrappy metal parking in front of me. I get a slight shock when I see him. Yes, Mr spill tea all over me and then flash your teeth. Him! He is in greenish overalls, covered in soil. He was in a fancy suit just a few hours ago. “Hi” he says, flashing those gorgeous crystals we call teeth. I return the gesture with an annoyed pretend smile and a wave. “Need a lift?” he asks. I shake my head, the wind is blowing in my face, and I think it’s going to rain soon. I look up in the sky, he does too. “It’s going to rain soon, I’d hate to leave you here and then have to come get you again when it rains. Waste of fuel really”

What!! The nerve!!

“No thanks” I say and begin walking. I just want to get away from him before I tell him a piece of my mind because I already have it up to my neck with him. He’s driving next to me. This old piece of sh** that he is driving is making so much metal noise I can hardly hear him speak. Or maybe I am just not listening at all.

Thank God. A taxi comes and I quickly get in it without warning. “Aaaah, just like that?” he says with a disappointed tone. That was my aim anyways. I sit next to the window and I see him drive past us. Bye!! I think to myself as I take out my “Things fall apart” I can never get enough of this book. It was part of my syllabus in high school 6 years ago and each and every year after that, I find myself sitting on my bed, reading it over and over again.

The smell of paint, clay and wood ooze into my nostrils the moment I turn the key to open the door. How I love that smell. I look around the store and just exhale heavily. I still get the tingles I got the first day I opened that store. It has been 3 years and I have not found an assistant. I open when I want to and I close when I want to. Sometimes I don’t open at all. “That is bad for business” my father always says when I tell him I am at home during the day. Flip! I forgot to call him. I rush to the office telephone, plug it in and dial the home number. He’s in Eastern Cape, retired as a banker at 55 two years ago. When I asked him why, he just said “I’m too old to open other people’s bank accounts”.

The phone rings twice and the cleaner picks up, I ask for my father and she says he went to play golf. She says I should try his cell or call the driver. I thank her and hang up. I’ll just call him later then. The doorbell rings. I walk excitedly to meet my yet another curious customer. It’s a white couple, European I presume. “Hello” the man greets, yep, they are European. The accent just sold them away.

“Welcome” I say with an enthusiastic smile. They giggle as they walk towards me, hand in hand. Newlyweds on a honeymoon, I take a wild guess. “We saw your store passing and thought we could check it out” the lady says.

“Oh? Well feel free to browse. You can ask me any questions” and with that they move around the shop. There’s a picture on the wall of me standing next to my heart of the sunset painting, she is staring at it with so much curiosity. I think she either understands art or she is bisexual. “Where is the original?” she asks, pointing at the picture. “Sold, I’m afraid” I said. She looks disappointed but nods with a smile anyways. The husband looks at the picture trying to understand what it is. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is a painting of two woman making love in the sea…”

“Under the sunset” the wife interrupts him. He frowns. “Well that is unexpected” he says, looking rather disturbed. I’m sure it’s not the painting but by the fact that his wife had so much interest in it she even asked the original. Had it been in the back room, I am so very sure that she would have signed a cheque right there and then.

It’s 8 o’clock, my feet are killing me. The store was quite busy with tourists going in and out asking questions about each and every craft and painting in that store. I close up and cash in today’s earnings. There’s a knock on the window. I check the surveillance screen before I open. He walks in, he’s carrying a smartphone, something like a tablet. “Good evening” he says. I nod, still holding on to the door knob. “You must be Cateleya Mfiki, the owner?” I nod again. He concentrates on his tablet, I’m getting annoyed. I pushed the door and it bangs closed. He gets a fright. “My apologies” he says, then lifts up his tablet, showing me a painting. My painting. He looks at me with authority eyes. “I am here to purchase Mama Africa” how did he know the name of that painting. My mother named it, before she died.

I painted it during my mother’s sickly days. She had been a nurse, too busy taking care of patients, she never had time for herself. By the time the doctors discovered the cancer, it had spread all over her body and there was nothing they could do. The night she died, my painting was half done. She told me she had an idea of what it was, so she named it and told me to finish it before her funeral. I doubt Mr Shiny suits here in front of me knows that story.

“How did you know?” I ask. He’s walking around the store admiring and touching. I am following him like a puppy, tears are already threatening my eyes. I am such a baby, I can’t control it. He looks at me, no emotion whatsoever. “My boss was at your exhibition and today he finally knows where he’s going to hang it, so he sent me to buy it”.


Well let’s get right on to it then. Although I would have love to meet your boss! I bite myself in case I said that out loud. I lead him to my desk and offer him a seat. He sits down, such gentleness. If he is like this, how is his boss? Who is his boss?

We finish the paperwork at almost 9pm, gosh, I still need to catch a cab home. He excuses himself when his phone rings. He moves a few meters away, I can still hear him. He is receiving instructions and all he does is nod, like whoever he is speaking to can see him. Finally he says “consider it done sir” then he hangs up. I figure it was his boss.

“So since I delayed you from going home, please do not refuse as I am offering to take you” he says. “That would be lovely thank you” I say. I grab my belongings, switch off the lights and we head for the door. The Range Rover is waiting for me. The few rain drops have created tinkling diamonds all over it. He opened the door for me, I enter and he closes it again. He carries the painting to the passenger side and carefully places it, locking it with the safety belt.

As if!!

Kenny G is playing softly in the background. It quickly reminds me of Sikho. I still have that vivid image of him in my mind. It was only a year ago but it’s still fresh. Him, hanging by a tie in his bedroom. His wife laying in a pull of blood on the floor. We had met 6 months before then at one of my exhibitions. There were no signs of him being married so we hit it off. I was in love, I loved him. Then one night, the door swung open, his wife screamed “surprise”. It was a surprise indeed, he was on top of me, on their matrimonial bed. That night I went home by a cab, crying my eyes out. Feeling betrayed by the man I thought was the one. The man I was already planning my life around already. The sms came in the morning as soon as I switched on my phone. He said he was ending it all. All the pain, all the anguish and he was taking her with. I don’t know how I got there but I was the first to arrive. I think the gardener and the helper only realised something was wrong when they head me scream my lungs out. Police determined time of death to be 3am.

“We are here” He interrupts me, looking at me through the rear view mirror. He frowns. Oh Crap. My face is covered in tears. Yes! That’s what Sikho left me with. Tears, every time I think of him.

I look out the window, avoiding eye contact with him and I realise we are in front of my building. How did he know? He gets off and opens the door before I can ask. He waits until I reach my flat which is on the fourth floor, only then does he leave. I know this because I checked through the kitchen window after turning on the light.

Weird!! I make my way straight to bed. Feeling heavy as hell, I know it’s the memory train I took to the morning I found my boyfriend and his wife cold as ice.

I still get the shivers you know!


I don’t know what time it is but it’s in the middle of the night, I’m tossing and turning. I can’t catch a wink of sleep. It has been hour of non-stop visions. Yes, I get those a lot. Sometimes they are inspiration and sometimes they scare the shit out of me. I get up and go to my clay room. The picture is still in my mind as I turn on the light in the room. I grab the nearest modelling stand and box of pottery clay. My eyes are closed, I start kneading it on the stand with all the might that I have. I am tired, I know but somehow I get the strength to fight with this clay and create the image in my mind. I have to, I know I have to. If this is inspiration, let it come now or forever disappear in my head. The last thing I need is an unfinished clay model in my studio.

Okay, I think I am done now. I open my eyes. Yes it is, the same lion that has been hounding me this whole night. King of the jungle indeed. It’s taking up the whole model tray, its size is equivalent to that of a human head. I smile. I have done it again.

The sun comes up right in front of me, I am staring at the lion in front of me and it has dried up. I couldn’t sleep after the whole episode. I never really do. My roommate in varsity used to mock me about that. She said I was a sleepwalker, well in my case, a sleep-artist. Weird? Yeah she was weird like that. I look at the clock, 7am. How long have I been awake?

There’s a knock that startles me. I look at the lion then at the door. I drag myself to get the door. These people just love waking me up in the morning, don’t they?

I open. It is Mr Suits from last night. Wait, how did he know my flat? I frown, waiting for him to tell me what he wants. “Good morning Ma’am” This man is too gentle I tell you. “Yeah what can I do for you?” I choose to be ghetto. His eyes widen just to confirm to me that he was expecting me to be gentle as well. Dude, its 7am, I am supposed to be still sleeping, so please a little grumpiness is allowed.

“Mr Malinga asked me to deliver this to you. As a thank you gift for your very much artistic piece that you sold to him last night” was he reading that out of a script? I nod, accepting the envelope with one hand as the other one is covering my mouth while I yawn. “Thanks, what is it?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. “it’s a 5 nights all-expense paid experience at one of the best hotels in the cape, close to the waterfront in fact” if I wasn’t so sleepy, I would probably laugh at this handsome errand man slash driver in front of me. It’s like he is trying to get me to buy this holiday thing.

I look at him. He has this grin that reminds me of the tea guy. No! Here I go again, thinking of him. Why do I let this moron, who spilt tea on me, dominate my mind? Did you see his car? I am sure the suit he was wearing was borrowed. Errand man slash driver clears his throat, I am interrupted. “It’s for you and a friend ma’am” he says. “Wait, wait, wait! Who is your boss?” I am now getting quite alert by this whole issue. “Why is he giving me this? I sold him a painting, now what is the fuss?”

No! Why am I fussing? The rich dude is probably just being nice.

The poor guy is tongue tied. He has no answers to my questions, the least he can do is tell me the boss’s name. “Mkhululi Malinga” I shut up when he blurts it out. “That’s my boss’s name” he says. “Okay, well tell your boss thank you for the gift. I will give it some thought” I close the door behind me and examine the crisp white envelope with my name in black italics on it, wrapped in a pink silk ribbon.

Its 11am when I get off the cab in front of my shop. Hmmm, that lovely smell again. If you could ask me what colour I would associate that smell with, I’d probably have a tough time deciding. Each and every single colour I have worked with just comes to mind. I set up everything and then grab a broom to sweep a little. It does get dusty around here. “You are such a witch, you devil with an afro” only Lebo would burst into your space by saying such words to you in form of a hello. It’s her nature, I am used to it by now. “You are such a….” I take time to think of something to match up to her. “Arg, you are so slow” she says, hugging and blowing air kisses at me. I am really slow, by the time she is blowing the second kiss, only then am I blowing the first one.

She has always been bubbly. We met in varsity. She was doing marketing and I was doing fine art. I had chosen drama as one of those passer by subjects and she chose it because it helped with her confidence. We got close, realised that we are related. We are both ooMamgcina.

“How are you cuz?” she asks, gladly helping herself to my peanuts that I keep on the desk for customers. “Oh I’m fine, just tired” I say. Placing the broom against a painting and then joining her in chewing those dry nuts. I never liked them. “Still hunger struck?” she says with the naughtiest look on her face. “Yes Lebo, I don’t have a man yet and no I don’t need one” I say rolling my eyes at her. She burst out with laughter, almost falling from the chair. “I’m sorry cuz but I’m sure spiders have found a home in your cookie” she says in between her laughs. I spank her arm playfully and we both laugh, she even harder. “You are just teasing me because you get it everyday” I say. “Girl I work for it, how do you expect to get a man with that rusty hair and those sandals?” She is totally undermining me now.

She is the weave ad stiletto type. Wears designer clothes and owns designer watches and handbags. Whoever marries her is in for bankruptcy. I laugh and shake my hand as she twirls around for me, showing me all her hard work into getting some sexual healing every night. From who? Please do not ask me.

It’s almost lunch time so she suggest we visit her favourite restaurant across the street. It’s her favourite because she crushes over the manager. Always has ever since I opened my shop. “Do you think Blue eyes is working today” she asks. Oh I knew it. I shrug my shoulders as I feel a certain aura around me. I look behind me just to check the coast. I immediately get goosebumps. I look at my arm, my hairs are literally standing. This is not good. It really feels like there are eyes on me, gawking and staring but when I look around. There is nothing suspicious. I shrug it off as my insanity getting the better of me. We enter the restaurant and immediately order. Peri-peri chicken strips for me and her, some Irish salad with dark veggies. “What? I am on a strict diet. Mandla says I should watch my figure” I am not even going to ask.

“So what are you doing this weekend?” I ask. I figured I should just accept the gift from the mysterious rich Mkhululi Malinga. Don’t get me wrong, I can afford a month’s holiday in Dubai or somewhere but I decided to I accept this because I need the break and well, I don’t want to be rude to this rich guy.

“Probably at some lame ghetto picnic with Mandla” she says, looking rather displeased. I know Lebo, when she is unhappy, she shows it. Those lowered eyes and that pout, I just know she is not in a good space. “What? You don’t like those chillas?” I ask, paying attention to the dish in front of me. I love hot food. “I don’t mind going with him because yeah I have fun but cuz, each and every weekend we are there! Him drinking non-stop and then I have to drive in the middle of the night in some doggy Khayelitsha Neighbourhood. I can’t deal” she says, she is really in a bad space.

From what she tells me, this Mandla guy is quite the money spender and party lover or any place with alcohol. “Do you love him?” I ask. She looks at me like I have farted. “I never really thought of that you know”

Wait. So she has been Bonking this guy for months, letting him drive her BMW Series, buy him clothes, spend weeks in his back room, going home when the coast is clear because he lives with his mother, and she is not sure if love is involved? She is truly there for the dick!

“Okay since you don’t feel like a picnic, how about a week in a 5 star hotel” I says, dangling the envelope in her face. She lights up. “You are loaded! You can even afford this?” she says, excitedly analysing the envelope.

I begin telling her about the painting transaction and the weird factor of how the driver knew my flat or the name of the painting he bought.

“You and your paranoia!” She says, totally in love with the envelope in her hand. “So when are we leaving?” she asks excitedly. I take out my phone and call the number on the envelope to confirm that we will be checking in Saturday afternoon. Today is Thursday.

It’s 8p when I arrive at my flat. I am exhausted. Now I realise that I need that 5 day holiday at that hotel. I wonder which hotel it is. If I like it, I might just pay extra days myself.

I am starving.

Shit! I forgot I don’t have any groceries. I really miss dad. I search for my phone and call him immediately.

“Nkosazana?” that is how he has always called me. Always said that I am fit to marry a powerful man, a man who will embrace me and my weird talents. “How are you daddy?” I ask, feeling a quickly growing lump. I’m about to cry. I miss him so much and missing him makes me miss mom and then my brother and then it goes down to the day she died and then her funeral and how I spent a week in her clothes, going crazy. I was almost admitted to an institution.

“I am good my baby, how are you?” he interrupts my thoughts but not my tears. They are already slipping down my face. I clear my throat and try to speak. “Do I have a son in law yet?”


Trust my dad to be random like that.

“No dad, I do not have a boyfriend yet” I say, rolling my eyes. He and Lebo have been on my case. She, because she thinks I need to get laid and become a woman again. He, because he wants cows and a son in law and grandchildren and great grandchildren, oh the list goes on and on.

“Boyfriend my left paralysed foot young lady. I want, no… I need a son in law. I am getting old damn it!!” the last part cracks me up a little. My lump is gone too, I am smiling again. He has a way of cheering me up without even realising it.

“Not now dad. I just opened shop and I am going online soon, I have exhibitions lined up… it’s hectic to even have a slot for a boyfriend” I say.

“Then make a slot for a HUS-BAND” he emphasizes.

Oh God! Please take me now. I will never hear the end of it.

The door bell ringing interrupts our crazy conversation about his ideal son-in-law. Educated, talented and respectful man who knows culture and tradition. It is 2016, where will I get such a man nowadays. That combo rarely exists.

I cut the conversation short with “when I have a suitor, you will be the first to know” he laughs and we say our goodbyes, promising him a visit in the coming weeks.

I rush to my door and open. And here he is, Mr You-are-gorgeous-but-you-spilt-tea-on-me. He grins at me exposing those teeth that make my knees weak. I don’t smile but give him a ‘what are you doing here’ look.

“Hi” he says.


“Sorry for just coming in un-announced, my butler went home early” Is he serious?? Yes he is. He has his hands on his back. He is still smiling. He is becoming very weird. “Aren’t you going let me in?” he asks as he reveals his hands, holding a bunch of pure red roses, scented with mint flower spray. Just the way I like it.

I am tongue tied. Speechless. Not only because the man in front of me is wearing a designer suit, smells fresh and looks so handsome but because he is also holding my favourite flower in his hand, how he knew, I have no idea. Oh, his left hand is empty, so he is not married! LOL

I move away from the door and make way for him to enter. I close the door behind me and stand against it with my back. He looks around my flat and says “nice crib”. I look at him, trying so hard to analyse him and get into his mind to find what he thinks and of course why he is here. “How did you know where I live” I ask, frowning and getting pissed remembering the smug he had on his face when he spilt tea on me.

“I Googled you” he says, totally emotionless. He What?

He hands me the flowers. I accept them and put them on the table immediately. “Even if you did, no site has my home address. That is private.” I say and look at him in the face with my hands on my waist.

“Then I hired a sweeper, PI and a detective to find you” I choke. He is serious, there is not even a sight of a smile on his face. He fixes his jacket cuff links as he walks around my flat touching everything he can. “I mean, I had to find you. The first day I saw you. I knew I had to find out about you and hopefully make you my Mrs”


“Oh please…” he raises his hand to interrupting me.

“I then went to your exhibition at UCT. You were showing your Soul Child painting…” I nod. “Then I saw you again at Women in Art Gala in Tsitsikama” I nod again. “Your last Exhibition was in Waterfront, where you sold Heart of The Sunset to a Lesbian Lady. Creepy old woman I tell you.”

I blink, rapidly before I actually realise that he has stopped talking and is staring out the window of my apartment. “This window is not safe, at all” he says. Just like that? Out of the blue he changes the subject?

“A sniper could hit you with a silent riffle from that building across the street.”

What the hell is this man talking about?

I am still trying to process everything when he comes close to me, very close that I can smell his underarm deodorant and his minty breath. Is he eating a sweet? “What do you want from me?” I ask. In a very low tone, more like a whisper. He is looking down on me and he is making me so nervous that my hands are sweaty and they start to itch.

“I came to apologise, for spilling coffee on you the other day” he says, also whispering. Lifting my chin, with his soft hand, to look at him.

“It was tea” I say.

“Oh tea, still, my Empress please forgive me. I know I should have bought you another one but you ran out so fast like Cinderella.”

Yeah Right!

“It’s fine” I say as I yawn. I look at my antique clock and it says 9.05pm.

“Well, now that we have sorted that out.” He looks at me

“I will see you tomorrow morning.” He says those words as he comes closer to me. Each word with every step, slow steps.

He plants his lips on my forehead, his left hand touching my face and slowly stroking my cheek. I gasp.

Trust me, I wanted to step back, my heart said STEP BACK. My mind said ‘Girl You better move those legs’ but my body, it just, locked!

I open my eyes. Wait, they were closed? I raise my face as he disappears behind the door.

I stand there, for a good 15 seconds, trying to come to terms with what just happened.

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13 Responses to The Orchid: Chapter One

  1. Paul November 11, 2016 at 2:32 am

    Damn that’s good.

  2. Yada November 11, 2016 at 2:34 am

    This is the one I came here for.

  3. Bob November 11, 2016 at 2:35 am

    Came here to say this. highly recommended!

    We want more

  4. Lillie November 11, 2016 at 2:43 am

    That guy who bumped into her and offered to give her ride, I see romance brewing there. Can’t wait to read part two.

  5. karen November 11, 2016 at 2:48 am

    I just love it! I like how you bring your characters to life, it’s just captivating. Love it!!!

  6. Helen Kimpler November 11, 2016 at 2:56 am

    Great read but the suspense makes me look forward for chapter 2

  7. Tendai November 11, 2016 at 3:21 am


  8. Brendon November 11, 2016 at 3:30 am

    Imagination is everything! It’s the preview to life’s coming attractions.

  9. marysue November 11, 2016 at 3:38 am

    “Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.”

  10. TheBoozehound November 11, 2016 at 3:40 am

    Oh my!! what happens next

    You have my attention

  11. goesbump November 11, 2016 at 3:48 am

    The human mind is such an impressive thing, look at how the author creates his characters. I wish I could write like this.

  12. sasha November 14, 2016 at 6:35 pm

    Well written, the author truly knows how to captivate the mind. When is the 2nd chapter coming.

  13. Southern Belle November 16, 2016 at 10:33 am

    Super, would be even better if Zamani never realy died 🙂


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