Know Your Onions

Know your onions.

I thought I knew mine. Thought I’d gotten pretty good at “consistently irregularly writing down something on my blog for the world to see”. Then one day I realized it had somehow gotten away from me. I walked into my pantry and barely recognized said onions. Like my writing, they’d been neglected, forgotten, desperately searching for an exit. Continue reading “Know Your Onions”

Letter to a Powerful Man

Dear Mr. Power Company Guy,

I returned home this evening to learn that you had cut off power supply to my entire apartment block. You left a note citing various reasons for your action: one flat’s line was illegally routed, bypassing the electricity meter and consuming power for free; another flat had not recharged its units in two months. Most importantly, you detailed your company’s bank account where transfer of a specific amount was to be made—“fines”, you called it, for the breach discovered.
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A Literal Eclipse

News of the impending celestial manifestation reached me less than twelve hours before its occurrence. I didn’t have to brush it aside enviously as this time, it was accompanied by the information that most of Sub-Saharan Africa would see it as well! A quick scouting of Google confirmed this, and not even the fact that it would only be a partial solar eclipse, could eclipse my child-like excitement. What can I say? Life is somewhat dull at the moment. Continue reading “A Literal Eclipse”

Staffing Requirements

A black panther has found me lying on the floor—grimy, hungry, and reeking of neglect. My clothes are torn in fifty places; the soles of my flip-flops almost worn off. The harsh light of the street lamp glares off my platinum blonde hair. He sniffs at it, irritated.

“Thought I told you to wash this off.” A calm statement loaded with disapproval, I am uncertain whether a reply is required or not.
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Slinky Boots

Terry had never seen her in his life, but would have known her in a sea of coveralled women.

Five days earlier a chopper had dropped him and eleven others off on the vessel that was to be their home for the next four weeks. He’d smiled and inhaled the salty ocean air. The floating old rust bucket was three generations outdated but it held sentimental value for him. At least twelve hours of each of the next twenty eight days, he would spend working on it, so there was no point moaning about its limitations.
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