Read the first part of Lovers here. TW: Sexual violence By Yovanka Perdigao She paced furiously in her room. “I knew it! That son of a ….” she thought. She felt it coming, the anger so devastating, controlling her by the neck. In that sense she was like her father, unable to control her emotions. She sat on the edge of the bed sweating in fury.
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By Marcelle Mateki Akita Pastel yellows, pinks, and mauves flash in kaleidoscopic patterns across the blank canvas of her lids, she smiles that beautiful smile and sinks. Vibrantly her vessels bump a deep gravelly bass of colours, rich and flagrant, into her wiring. Her lids dance trying hazily to keep up with the flashing pastels. Glitters sprinkle and she squints. The sun rises, a throbbing citric orange explodes against the
By Marcelle Mateki Akita Let me tell you a story about a girl who was not particularly popular for all the right reasons, but for all the wrong. A girl who constantly fought social stereotypes by consciously obliterating behaviours recognised as the conformable norm (or straightforwardly put: racial prejudice – innit!). This girl, well in actual fact she’s a woman now, is not specifically remarkable. But since she is my
By Yovanka Perdigao She had fallen in love with the professor. Suave gentleman known through campus for his impeccable manners and style. He was everything she had expected in a man. He was a true connoisseur of Jazz, spent considerable time drinking coffee whilst reading Chinua Achebe poems, and carried neatly folded handkerchiefs in the back of his pockets. He was a complex man, sometimes arrogant and egocentric, and
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