Ishkakfae: A Short Story

One morning when Jackson was getting a workout in and his mom called him downstairs. Jackson only lives with his mom he just turned 18 a month ago so he just getting ready to move out in a couple of months. He was wondering why his mom has called him down in the middle of his work out Once he got down stairs to his mom she handed him a letter. He was confused because he did not expect to get a letter. He opened it up and it was an invitation with and all round ticket to a get together with bobby witch is a friend that he has not seen or talked to since 7th grade but the only problem is that he live in Ontario canada in a town called Attawapiskat and it was in three days so he would have to leave tomorrow morning. Jackson lives

Slipping smoothly through the water came naturally to Duncan as natural as taking his next breath. He detected Adaira arms started to lose their grip around his neck; he realized the over seven kilometer's through the water had been harder than she would admit. She turned out to be a trooper, not one to complain. He would’ve never guessed her mettle from judging their first encounter at the nightclub in Hollywood, all dolled-up ready to hit the club scene. This was a woman full of surprises. Definitely, a female a male would need to keep his attention focused on, to stay at the top of his game.

Ishmeal begins his story in 1993, when he was twelve, and is leaving his hometown, Mogbwemo, in south-east Sierra Leone, for the day. He is going with his brother Junior and friend Talloi to Mattru Jong to dance in a talent show. His best friend Mohamed can’t make it. Thinking that they will only be gone a day, they don’t tell anyone where they are going. Although a violent, bloody revolution is being waged in Sierra Leone between the government and rebels, Ishmeal and his village have yet to be touched by it. Their only knowledge of it comes from refugees who pass through their town. After ten miles to Mattru Jong, they stop at Ishmeal’s grandmother’s house in the village of Kabati. She wonders what the boys could possibly being doing in Mattru

to the hospital with him but had me to pick him up. Ishmael was in a coma. When I asked him why he didn’t stay there with his friend, he said because the police will be there asking questions about the drugs.

“The map can be in its proverbial or literal capacity, so long as it provides ye blueprints (again, proverbial or literal) to finding all in regards to ye Artifacts.”

May Looke was sprawled on her bed texting her friend Jade, as any 13 year old would do. Since her bed was covered with magazines, she picked up the latest edition of COZMO Girl! and had started flipping through it when her phone buzzed. She managed to text back a single LOL right before her phone died. Crunch, crunch.

The young girl before me stood greatly apart from the rest of the crowd in Mumbai’s largest bazaar. She was wearing nothing but a faded, loose green cloth that covered her skeletal body. Her bare skin was covered in soot and grime, ashy and pale as her face. Her hair was long and unkempt, and it looked like she hadn’t taken a shower in months. She held a bowl to my face and motioned it closer and closer. As she uttered the words “Didi, Didi” meaning “sister” in Hindi, I noticed she had some breathing difficulty. She was wheezing heavily, her brittle bones shaking with each sound she made. Her eyes welled up with tears. Worried and unsure of what to do, I called to my aunt, several steps ahead of me. She turned to the girl and placed a few rupees into her bowl and said “Come on, Siddhi. Let’s go.” I was speechless. I wanted to do more, I wanted to help her. But what could I have done? I was just as helpless.

The students sprinted around the kitchen like ants heading for picnic. She watched as they dug their hands into tubs of flour and clapped them together, creating a cloud of white dust in the room. The long table and miniature sized chairs took up the whole room, leaving only enough space to carefully walk around yet easy enough to trip. Chairs just large enough for a preschooler to fit in but a kindergartener couldn’t make the squeeze.

It was around ninety degrees with a one hundred percent chance of rain on that long and gloomy Saturday. The air was hot and so humid you’d swear you were going to suffocate just standing out in the open. What better day to have the annual family reunion down in Iuka, Mississippi. As we traveled across the state line the cruel Alabama weather slowly started to fade within the back glass of my mom’s traverse. I remember looking through the front window there was sunshine for miles. I thought to myself “hey maybe this will be a good day after all.” I’ll be the first to tell you, that in fact I was wrong.

The equation on the page of his scribbler began to spread out a widening tail, eyed and starred like a peacock's; and, when the eyes and stars of its indices had been eliminated, began slowly to fold itself together again. The indices appearing and disappearing were eyes opening and closing; the eyes opening and closing were stars being born and being quenched. The vast cycle of starry life bore his weary mind outward to its verge and inward to its centre, a distant music accompanying him outward and inward. What music? The music came nearer and he recalled the words, the words of Shelley's fragment upon the moon wandering companionless, pale for weariness. The stars began to crumble and a cloud of fine stardust fell through space.

They woke up to shuffling feet and breaking sticks. A thick layer of steam shrouded the large basket, and the fire was going strong. Toke rose and stretched his back. “Surprisingly, that was a very nice sleep. My back is killing me, and I’m coated in dirt, but it wasn’t that bad.”

Hi Kacy, great story and I'm sorry for your lost. It's very sad to lose someone close to you and uusaully we tend to turn our backs from God in a time of a tragedy like death. Those deaths that take place suddenly and unexpectingly are the must difficult to grief. I’m glad that you regained your faith after

“Owwuuh…,” the person says. His yelp didn’t last long because he fell over and hit the ground as he passed out. The other one ran at me with a metal bar so I hit him in the foot with a dart, and he fell before he got to me.

A weight lifted off of his shoulders the moment the door closed behind Illkay. Finally he could have some peace of mind and move about his room as he pleased without eyes burning into the back of his head.

The winds were racing, the leaves were skipping, and morning was becoming day. The town of Kopenhagen, Denmark was awaking. The baker’s started opening up their shops, and the smells rose into the air. The fisherman were walking back up the shore, docking their boats and bringing up their catch.The smell of dead fish sliced through the fresh smell of baked goods like a knife through warm butter. Mass was ending, and the bells were chiming. The nuns and priests were already hours into their day. The men were kissing their familys good- bye, and they were off to work. The mothers were busy getting their kids up and dressed, but the hardest part was getting them out the door. Newspapers were thrown on the door steps of the houses one by one. But they never did make it the right place. The paper boy didn’t have good aim. The doors of the schools, hospitals, landmarks, and the bay were all getting unlocked and the drowsy workers were having trouble staying awake. This was the whole town going through their monotonous routine,except one family. Of