Tag Archives: story

Simone

In my opinion an artist should attempt to reflect their own life, feelings, experiences and emotions and the way they tie in with current society. Sometimes to evoke change, sometimes to highlight differences, always to tell a story.

I’m sorry that I haven’t posted too much but you all know that the first instalment won’t be the last..I’m working on it :D  Can’t wait to share with you.

Don’t let me be misunderstood – Nina Simone

XVII. Dreaming Hour

His bedroom sat five shelters high above Rainbow. A window to the world. He would shove his arms through the slated wood and light a cigarette (Mr Avedias finest). Sunrise reminded him of Abia. Calming, sensually sweet but by nature naive, always posing questions and always desiring answers.

Tariq had lived life long enough to know that not all questions were answered. Why was pana with seeds and nutmeg cheaper than plain bread? How did they fit those tiny boats in tiny bottles? Why is it that we hurt most those we love?

Before bright light awoke the world Tariq would feel most settled. A population silenced in slumber, this was his dreaming hour. His thoughts free to run and all possibilities unrestrained. The golden hues quietened his internal quarrels, blinded his pride and flooded his ego. Only the days tasks lay before him, which he had learned to be a lot easier for a man lightened of such terminal traits.

This morning, the sky rose in blackened tones and reality dawned upon Tariq. His eyes dipped into a murky pit of purple his thoughts would not settle, and he found no ease.  He had known this day would come, when explanation would surpass him and instead, the complexity of change would attain a voice all of it’s own. His own held at ransom.

Deep in his chest he could feel it, rising and falling with urge to burst out and duty to stay hidden. A secret he had kept, a truth he had buried.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town

IX. Freedom

Three days passed. Two skies fallen.
Tariq and Abia sat underneath the last.
Perched on the Eastern point. The highest peak of the city.
The very tip-top, they stared up, making shapes out of the stars.

Abia’s eyes played dot to dot. A flower garden bloomed in carnations and roses and dutch amaryllis. Her mind filled in all the colours of their petals. Lillies floated on water the color of shinny onyx. It was a simple vision, a beautiful one. Since arriving to the favela she had not seen one plant. From the boat she remembered Red oaks and Paperback Maples, but they grew on the outskirts.

Tariq spoke and the colours ran.

“Look over there” he said pointing south easterly.
“Beyond the represas de agua (water dams), where the moonlight hits that circular tower of redbrick. That is the ciudad (city). That is where Merolas ends and freedom begins.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town

VIII. Make Believe

For the next three days, Abia and Tariq salvaged through the suns hours.
Abia was thankful for his help.
Tariq, for her company.

A task of men, they accomplished with the innocence of children.

Dust and gravel were stardust fallen from the night sky.
In the hunt for hidden treasure, they walked along the bank of an oasis.
When they plunged nets into cloudy water wells, they would retrieve prized ivory and gold.

“Imagine you are going to build a ship from all our finds. A grand vessel. It will carry kings and transport the most exquisite riches” Tariq repeated every morning.

She knew he was only playing, but it was here in this make believe world of mystery and adventure, that Abia could pretend that her and her family had a future.
It was here, that Tariq could pretend that nothing was going to change.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town

VII. Hatiki

The Story Tariq told Abia

He came from Hatiki (the golden lands), many moons walk away. A city great and plush which sat at the top of a thousand sand dunes. Rich in weather and in soil, just enough rain fell a year to quench the thirst of any drought.
When it came, it did so in monsoons that erupted harmoniously all over the city.

As if stuck inside a glass globe bubble, the city was self sufficient, but stranded. It had no enemies and it had no friends.
People did not come and go with ease, so it did not breed the open mind of a traveler.
Prosperity existed between its lines, but nothing evolved past anything else, so nothing ever changed.

It was bound by all it’s exquisiteness, which couldn’t escape beyond its thousand walls.

Now, he had called the Merolas home for five cycles of season, as after his mother had died, his father was frivolous with his fortune.

He remembered arriving, like Abia. Not knowing and not wanting to know what future he would have to juggle.
But like Abia, he saw a culture dipped in a magic beyond the stretch of his imagination. A community of contradiction.
For in the shadows of deprivation shone the brightest light of hope.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town