Fire and Ice: A Very Short Story

yin-yang-fire-iceDelve into the writer’s weird mind here.


Like a raging fire his temper would rise, burning all in its path. He could feel his insides writhing in suppressed fury, almost like a volcano it would explode soon. The reddish yellow lava could be seen in his expressions, the heat felt in the burning stares from his deep brown eyes, the smell of burnt earth would soon fill the air when he started speaking.

She was all too familiar with this grand phenomenon, a character like nothing she’d witnessed before, her heart palpitating but she wasn’t scared, it was hard to be when the day looked this beautiful. Standing on their 19th century inspired balcony, overlooking a street that belonged in its time; 21st century, she marveled at the beauty. How could she be scared?

The air smelt of lavender mixed with wood and a rising sense of near horror and wonder. She walked briskly to the edge of the 9ft room to retrieve her silver bracelet, sapphire. For some reason it always seemed to calm the fire storm that was welling up inside of her, for she was he. No matter how close the volcano was to erupting, she always kept him in check. He had to be the girl all the time so his masculinity would not get the better of him.
Author’s Note:
The question: How many characters are in the very short story? I’ll post the answer in the comments if anyone gives a suggestion.
 
Have a nice day!
Baci

IV

Another story from the e-book: Love and Other Cures of the Common Cold. Find more of the writer’s works here.


She was unable to sleep all night. He in contrast did and rather soundly. She was miffed. How do you drop a bomb on someone and calmly go to bed like all is well with the world. Several times she wanted to wake him up, they had to talk. The air stank and it was his fault. He could not really have meant what he said, did he?

She went to check on the kids. 2.30 am. The night was quiet, her head was not. In the living room she put on the TV, there was a rerun of a popular soap on. Abstractedly, she watched and never Continue reading

The Initiation

Editor’s Note:

Nnamdi Anyadu is a reader, writer and movie enthusiast. Find him on Twitter @The_Africanist


We stand in the dark shadows, in the dead of the night, in company yet alone. Hands bound behind our backs. Eyes covered even in darkness.

We stand in line, shoulder to shoulder, wearing but our undergarments. We can hear the night cry of the bush baby, the sinister ruffle of the forest leaves, the ominous song of our rebirth.

Some of us have come to seek power, others belonging, a few even, salvation. Continue reading