Short Stories, Tale Africa



By Vimbai Chimanikire, Zimbabwe:

Ted grunts as she squeezes him tighter crushing his face into her bosom, his button nose cold against her bare skin. She always felt Teddy was a rather cliché name for a brown plush gift from another friend long lost. Murdock would have been perfect; something less obvious, less…conforming. But a change of name would not change the fact that he was a stuffed source of comfort. Of course better provided by a human being, but he would work for now.

Of all the two decades plus she had lived, she had finally mastered the painful art of calling a spade a spade. Many of those years, if not all until now, had been lived in oblivion. An absolute illusion of hope for light-hearted laughs and absence of any form of fear. A prayer muttered every morning and to think she had even gone to lengths writing letters. Burning them, thinking the smoke would rise to heaven and pass on the request for change, a slight drop of happiness.

“Have a little faith, child. Hold on a little longer,” the old woman's voice whispered in her head.

“Heaven is always watching over us, your prayers are not all lost”.

But maybe Heaven also got tired. Often tired, she dosed off sometimes; the many episodes of her life. Or maybe she had gotten older; after all it was too lengthy a period since the times of Moses. And perhaps minding every soul had become too much of a burden.

“Well, you better stay awake tonight grandma,” she muttered her spirit bitter as his face flashed across her mind. Tonight would be the last his hands, larger than any evil known, ever layed on her.

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