By Fungai Chigumbura, Zimbabwe One of the pitfalls of being a writer, or simply enjoying the spoken word, is the tendency to overthink. Your mind races to a million different possibilities about the most minute of details, soaring above the landscape of every different turn of events before settling on maybe a dozen or so to focus on. It […]
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By F. C. Stanley A thousand stains had his gift inflicted itself on him. And then a thousand more. Each time the line of events was the same: an argument, borne of some desire or deception, the decision to go to war, followed by a sharpening of swords, a buffering of shields, a whisper of plea to the […]
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By Fungai Chigumbura, Zimbawe: Every night it’s the same. The sequence always follows a specific pattern, a worn-out road to the same conclusion. The dream always starts with me. I’m on a hill in the middle of some grassy plain. My men are down in the valley, sweeping what remains of the enemy. None stand before me anymore. The wind […]
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By Fungai Chigumbura, Zimbabwe: I've been out on nights like these many times in my life. The cool air always stings when your drunk off your rocker. It's as if nature herself is slapping you in the face, caressing you with laughing fingers. I'd often wake up with a slight cold, my body worn from having to weather both my […]
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By Fungai Chigumbura, Zimbabwe: There’s a clinical detachment about hospitals that I’ve always found unnerving. My first experience with it was when Kaz was hospitalised for a few days after what I assume was one of his father’s worse beatings. The sickly, sticky scent of chemicals clung to my nose, and as I looked down at my friend’s swollen, unconscious […]
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