The way she lay there whenever I climbed on top of her, like a dead body, sapped all my desire.
The way she lay there whenever I climbed on top of her, like a dead body, sapped all my desire.
You are careful not to build castles on her words like the fool in your Sunday school lesson who built his house on sand.
Sizwe winced, almost as if the woman’s words had struck him. In some ways, they had. But, instead of causing him physical pain, they opened wounds he had been trying hard to stitch…
The elders welcomed me as if Moses himself had descended from the mountain as in the holy books, except, instead of tablets of stone, I carried a battered laptop tucked under my arm.
Because he was different, the bus conductor let a lofty hope bud within him, a hope too high for his type: love.
It had been three months since the last time I heard Om Sagda’s screams. I marked those empty days on the calendar.
