Black Short Stories : Angel From Kastanchawan

Discussion in 'Short Stories - Authors - Writing' started by true love, Jan 18, 2004.

  1. true love

    true love Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Last night, I had this dream. David, you know David, right? Well he came over. We had drinks and talked for hours suntil he decided it was time for us to part. That's when things got a little crazy.
    Well first, my phone rang. Just as he was about to go out the door. I didn't want to answer but he insisted. So i did. It was his mother, so he took the call. While he was taking the call, I locked my back door so he couldn't go anywhere. After he finished with the phone call he turned around and smiled at me with gleaming eyes. I wondered if it had been an emergency, if so I was more than ready to unlock the door so he could leave.
    Instead of telling me if it was an emergency or not, he sat back down on the couch. I took my cue and sat down right beside him.
    Ofcourse he began by asking me where i was from because his mother commented on my southern accent. I said right here. He glanced down at his watch and remembered what he had been doing before he got a call.
    He stood up and headed for the door again and I just watched him from the couch. He noticed all of a sudden his shoes were untied. He bent down to tie them. By the time he was done I had slipped into the kitchen to get him another drink. He was about to protest but he took it anyway.
    "Where are you from?" He asked again halfway through his liquour.
    "Kastanchawan," I said without thinking.
    He smiled and said he remembered.
    When he finished his drink, I removed his shoes. He looked confused at first but then he decided to relax.
    "I knew an angel from Kastanchawan," he said shaking his long dreds and running his fingers through them. "She died," he said solemnly. "Do angels die?"
    "No," I said not even bothering to look at him as I removed his other shoe.
    "Then what was she then?"
    I shrugged and went to the kitchen to get him another drink. When I returned he had his shoes back on.
    "I've got to go," he said shaking his head like a resilient child.
    I snatched the shoes out of hands and threw them against the wall. Then I shoved the drink into his hand. He just shook his head and reluctantly took the drink. "I can't drink all this ****," he whined and drank it down anyway. He was starting to sway from side to side and his eye lids were begining to droop.
    "You know I never been out of Kastanchawan," he said sleepily.
    It surprised. He always acted so well educated and worldly. Like he'd been every where twice. His southern accent that he tried so deperately to lose was begining to shine through.
    "You konw I see little slave children all the time," David said shaking his head again. "Just runnin' around like they not little pickaninies. Laughin' and playin'. What the **** they got to be happy about?"
    "What about your baby, David? Do you see your baby?"
    We looked toward the picture window in my living room. You know the one where Grandma use to hang those ugly old beige curtains? The ones I took down when she died so I could hang the peach ones? Well, we looked at the picture window and we could see the little brown skin girl standing infront of it. She had two pigtails, parted in the middle and braided all the way down to her elbows. She had high Indian cheekbones and on closer inspection, she was the color of burnt sienna. Her eyes were large sad and brown like his at this very moment. She wore a yellow dress that came to her ankles. There was a white collar on the dress that came down in a pretty bow right on the little girl's chest. In her small delicate hands she held a white wicker basket.
    He got up from the couch and headed towards the girl. She looked frightened as he approached.
    "What you got there, little girl?" He asked pointing to the basket.
    That was when we saw the slave children behind her, beckoning for her to come with them. There were three little boys and two girls. They all wore ragged brown and tan clothes. Brown pants and skirts, brown vest and tan shirts. They wore no shoes and socks. Their hair just puffed up uncombed around their heads like nappy halos.
    "Come on, Delia," they said in unison, each one reaching their dirty rust color hands towards the clean little girl.
    "Don't play with them, you gonna get dirty," he yelled as the little girl turned to leave. Her eyes never left his face until she had turned completely around.
    Then she dropped the basket and ran to join the other children who were already leaving. Her pigtails swung from side to side and that's when I noticed the yellow ribbons tied neatly to the ends of each one.
    "Don't play with those pickaninies!" He yelled but she was gone. I could hear her playing with the other children already.
    He shook his drunk head and looked down at the floor. The wicker basket Delia held so protectively lay on the floor infront of him. He bent down on one knee and almsot fell over. but he managed to turn the basket up right some how. It looked terribly small now compared to when she was holding it. His hands were shaking as he reached into the basket and pulled out what I thought was a miniature rabbit. But then he screamed and dropped it. I looked down at the puke colored carpet, that had decorated this room since before I was born, and saw that it wasn't a rabbit at all but a baby. A little brown baby that had it been regular size, probably would have been about three months. Instead though, it was only big enough to fit into the palm of his hand and in that tiny basket. It was a girl, and the only movement she showed was a spiratic twitch in her right arm. I couldn't tell if she was alive or dead.
    His mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear anything he was saying. My world seemed to be muted as he got closer and closer to me. At last when our faces seemed to be only five inches a apart, I could hear him loud and clear.
    "What are you doing to me?" He was whining and crying like a *****.
    I could hear myself laughing, but I couldn't feel the laughter. I seemed to be on the outside of myself looking at me. And I was laughing, holding my stomach and laughing. Then in a voice I swear wasn't even mine I said, "I'm not doing nothin' to you. You did this to yourself. That's your little angel from Kastanchawan." I pointed directly to the baby.
    David looked at me and saw the blood spreading over my white pants. Yeah you know the silk ones I had Alethia make for me that cost me about sixty dollars? Yeah those. Well the pubic area of the pants became red with blood that made a trail down both of my thighs. A puddle was starting to form on the floor between my feet.
    He fell to the ground, crying and pointing at the blood. He was drunk, you see. He was mouthing something but I could not hear a thing he was saying. This time it wasn't me that was in mute, it was him. He just cried and pointed, and I laughed and laughed.
    "So if she had been born, what would her name have been?" You ask me.
    "Delia, of course."

    THE END
     
  2. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    dis was very nice story here
    pt.2 please
     
  3. true love

    true love Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Rich, i'm about to edit this and make it one whole part, so please check back. Thanks for the read.
     
  4. cocobutterskyn

    cocobutterskyn Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Whoa True!

    This is deep!

    I need to read it again!


    feelin'it souldeep!
    Coco :heart:
     
  5. true love

    true love Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    coco...thank you sooo much for the read. i wrote this a long time, i think i was trippin' when i did! LOL i'm glad you like it though. thanks.
     
  6. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    great so i can get my read on
    hurry sistah i want more !!!!
     
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