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Showing posts from May, 2017

Painters

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Little Stories of the People: Kinship

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She's heard it again and again, a worrisome refrain: don't go out after dark.
But the days are growing shorter, and the thing that frightens her more than the prospect of what could happen is the possibility of living a life bounded by her own fears. So she says a prayer, keeps a firm grip on her purse, and projects an air of untouchable confidence.
Aboard the chappa, the air hangs heavy with the beat of Afro music, dust, cologne. Passengers cram inside, a solid mass of anxious people trying to get home. She squeezes up small to make more space, glad of the crowd that forces her to focus outside herself. 
A young mother scrambles in, vying for space for herself, her little boy, and the baby tied to her back. She watches the mother perch precariously on a broken seat, watches the boy face imminent danger of being knocked down by the urgent crowd. 
"Senhora, o menino pode sentar no meu colo."
The woman flashes her a smile, brilliant in the semidarkness.
"Obrigada…

We Could Have Lost

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Put Yesterday Behind You, Dear

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My family used to read a devotional publication that talked a lot about 'morning demons'; the worries, problems, and failings of yesterday that threaten to steal this morning's joy.

It's a new day. A new week. And God's mercies are new every morning. Don't let anything take away your hope and joy.

Happy Monday, my friends!

Reaching Tall and Proud

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The In-Between

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Morning Hymn

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Little Bug; A Short Story

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He was too hungry, now, to feel much fear.
He crouched in his habitual place, one eye on the door, the other idly watching the big, black roaches that prospected hopefully about for dropped crumbs. There were none, of course. The lopsided cupboard had stood tall and empty for days now. 
One of the roaches ventured too close to baby Bea, and he reached out and flicked it away. His movement disturbed her and she whimpered in her sleep, curling up tighter against him. He could feel the knobbly bones of her spine digging into his leg. 
He grimaced at a sudden, tight hunger pain that clawed his gut, and wondered, briefly, if roaches would be any good to eat. Little Bug was always putting strange things into her mouth, he thought, so why not? He studied her face, shadowed by a tangle of black hair, watched the way her rounded lips moved in the half-remembered act of sucking, and decided, no. There had to be a better way.
A sound from outside caught his ear, and his gaze lifted automaticall…