Another Prize Delivered

Tiffany Smith who tied for first place in the 13 to 17 age category of the 2012 Wadadli Pen Challenge collects one of her prizes, a copy of Nana Ekua Brew Hammond’s Powder Necklace from the author herself via Wadadli Pen partner Claytine Nisbett.

See full listing of 2012 winners and prizes here.

Thirty-Six Hundred by Aarati Jagdeo

Between the hours of 7pm and 8pm my mother sits in the living room and stares out at the driveway. She feeds me and my brother precisely at 6pm and then we all sit and force small talk for an hour before she begins her strange ritual. During that hour, my brother and I speak very quietly or do our homework. Then, promptly at 8pm, our mother gets up and invites us to watch TV in her room.  We never decline her offer.

It’s been five months since our father left us to start a new life with his girlfriend. That’s nothing new in today’s world I suppose. However, the fact that his girlfriend is 16 years old is what causes us to get the stares at the supermarket and at school.

People who know and like my father always try to make excuses for him or lie about his girlfriend’s age. “His wife too disgusting”, they say or “his wife let herself go after she had kids”. The issue of him leaving us and bedding a girl only three years older than me never seems to carry much weight amongst them.

His girlfriend, Cherie, is one of those girls that developed early and is very aware of her effect on men. Her mother is a loud, obnoxious woman who I hear has been married three times already. Her first two husbands left her and the current one, apparently, hardly spends time at home. Some people used to feel sorry for Cherie, especially since she doesn’t know who her father is. However, that all went out the window once word got out that she and my father were “dealing”.

I saw Cherie and my father out grocery shopping the other day. He looked so old standing next to her. He had his arm around her shoulders and she had hers around his waist. I remember I felt rage creeping up inside me. Didn’t he know how ridiculous he looked standing there with his thinning hair and his stupid paisley shirt tucked into his khakis? She was no better with that annoying way she chewed her gum in her batty riders, with her sloppy orange lipstick and her too-tight t-shirt.  He spotted me that night and tried to say hi but I just turned my back on him and left.

Last night, one of my only true friends, Chris, asked me if I ever noticed my father looking at other women before. I told him no. “Maybe I just never thought…” I said.  I couldn’t tell Chris my true feelings yet. They were still too alien.  I wondered about so many things now, things that no 13 year old should have to wonder about.  Was my father a pervert? Was he a “paedophile”? Had he ever had those kinds of thoughts about me? I didn’t really want the answer to those questions but every night, before I went to sleep, they were waiting to haunt and taunt me.

Tonight I’m watching the clock in the kitchen. It’s 7:00. Like a moth to a flame, my mother starts to make her way to the living room and that wretched window. I look at my brother but his head is down.  I’ve decided I’ve had enough.  I walk to the sofa and put my hand on her shoulder.

“Mom, he’s not coming. Do you hear? He’s not coming.”

She looks at me and starts to cry. I cry too. My brother comes in and sees us. Then he stands there and weeps.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Arati Jagdeo describes herself as “a Caribbean girl living in a material world. I like chillin’ like a villain, kickin’ it old school, shootin’ the breeze and any other activity that involves an apostrophe.” Her entry, The Yard, which earned her second place in the 18 to 35 age category of the 2012 Wadadli Pen Challenge is about how a young girl, in an attempt to escape the heat, takes a shortcut through her neighbour’s yard and sees something she’ll never forget. The Yard also earned her third place overall. In her other story, the “well written” Thirty-Six Hundred, which earned third place in the same category, a young woman laments her father’s indiscretion as well as the state of her now devastated family.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

The Yard by Aarati Jagdeo

Days in Antigua run the gamut from pleasantly warm, to suffocatingly humid, to scorching hot. Lorraine was accustomed to those. Today, however, was like no other. Today was the kind of day that made you believe the hole in the ozone layer was hovering above you. To make matters worse, she felt every inch of her sweat-drenched uniform clinging to her body and then, there was the issue of her knapsack; the book-laden burden on her back. It wasn’t fair. She never saw adults struggling with heavy books and they were grown.

She was getting closer to Corrine’s house now. Corrine was in fourth form and lived in the biggest house on the street. Her mother had married Mr. Neeson and moved in with him two years ago. Since then, (people said) Corrine started to act “nuff”.  Lorraine didn’t know Corrine personally but had no problem believing the rumours about Corrine’s attitude. All those butterskin girls had an attitude as far as she was concerned. Combine that with her newfound status as Mr. Neeson’s step-daughter? Hah! Nuffness will abound!

Mr. Neeson had an impressive backyard. However, it was one that Lorraine had grown to hate. If she were able to walk through it, she could shave off at least four minutes of walking time to her house.  Four minutes which, in this heat, was a matter of life and death. As she walked past their wooden fence, Lorraine noticed two planks lying in the street. The hole created by their absence was just large enough for her to squeeze through.

She looked around to see if anyone was looking then bent down and slowly went through the hole. She was careful to not rip her uniform on any nails or splinters. She looked over to the other side at the hedges and then glanced at the house. The windows were massive but so were the curtains. She would just have to walk briskly.  Lorraine began her trek across the freshly mowed lawn praying that no one would visit the backyard.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. Without thinking, Lorraine hid behind a lawn chair. She saw Corrine in her room, sitting on her bed reading. Then, Mr. Neeson came in.  He closed the door and said something to her which made Corrine stand up and go close to him. He started stroking Corrine’s face.  Corrine didn’t look at him, not even once and her body stiffened. He grabbed her roughly and kissed her on her mouth. It was like those kisses Lorraine had seen in the movies except this one seemed angry and loveless.

Corrine’s body stayed stiff. Not even her hands twitched. Mr. Neeson pulled away from her and gave her a long, disapproving look. Corrine’s eyes didn’t leave the floor. He never stopped looking at her as he unzipped his pants. It was when he took Corrine’s hand and put it there that Lorraine began to run.  She wasn’t sure whether it was sweat or tears pouring down her face when she got to her house.  Once inside, she went straight to the bathroom and locked the door, ignoring her mother’s greetings.  She ran cold water in the sink and doused her whole head with it. She was sobbing loudly now.

Lorraine’s mother banged on the door concerned about her daughter’s state. She didn’t want to open it but it soon became clear that her mother was not leaving. Lorraine unlocked the door and sat on the toilet. Her mother came in and stood over her.

“Child! What happened?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Arati Jagdeo describes herself as “a Caribbean girl living in a material world. I like chillin’ like a villain, kickin’ it old school, shootin’ the breeze and any other activity that involves an apostrophe.” Her entry, The Yard, which earned her second place in the 18 to 35 age category of the 2012 Wadadli Pen Challenge is about how a young girl, in an attempt to escape the heat, takes a shortcut through her neighbour’s yard and sees something she’ll never forget. It is, said the chief judge, “scary without going over the top”. The Yard also earned her third place overall. In her other story, Thirty-Six Hundred, which earned third place also in the 18 to  35 age category, a young woman laments her father’s indiscretion as well as the state of her now devastated family.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

The Legend of The Sea Lords by Vega Armstrong

Long ago on a small island in the Caribbean a young girl named Freya went on a sailing trip with her friends. The sea was calm at first, but as they got further out to sea the rougher the waves got and soon there was a horrible storm. The girls were terrified! The storm blew them to a mysterious island, the likes of which they had never seen before! It was absolutely beautiful! It was a fairly mountainous place, with dozens of waterfalls.

“Are we on Dominica?” Freya asked nervously.

“Nope,” replied one of her friends named Leila who had been to Dominica before.

“We’ll be fine!” Jane assured her friends.

Freya wasn’t so sure about that. The girls decided to explore the island. Further inland they found a waterfall with a large plunge pool. Close by the plunge pool they found a cave.

“Let’s sleep here!” Leila suggested. Again Freya wasn’t so sure that that was such a good idea.

“What if there are bats?” Jane moaned. Typical Jane, Freya thought, always moaning but this time Freya sort of agreed… Well maybe not the whole ‘what if there are bats?’ part but Freya wasn’t sure she wanted to go into the cave far less sleep in it! There was just something she didn’t like about it.

“She has a point!” said Freya finally.

“Fine! But where do you suppose we are going to sleep?” Leila asked with crossed arms.

“I don’t know!”replied Jane “but just not there,” she said pointing at the cave.

“I know! Why don’t we go for a swim in the plunge pool,” Freya suggested eager to change the subject. Jane and Leila both agreed that this was a good idea, so the three girls jumped into the pool. It was fresh water so the girls opened their eyes. Freya saw something strange; it was in the deeper end of the pool so she signalled to the others to surface.

“What’s wrong?” asked Leila

“I saw something,” Freya muttered lost in thoughts.

“What?” Jane prodded.

No answer from Freya.

“Let me try,” Leila told Jane. “Can you at least show us what you saw?”Leila asked Freya.

Still no answer from Freya. Leila sighed. Suddenly Freya dove under the water, the others quickly followed her. When they caught up with her they too saw the mysterious creature. This time it saw the three girls. Leila signalled to Jane and Freya to re-surface.

“What is that?”

“Whatever it is it was weird!” suddenly the strange creature surfaced the girls were amazed. It looked like an octopus but it transformed into a little girl with pale skin and white-blonde hair.

“I’m not an it or a that I’m a sea lord and I am certainly not weird!”

“You talk?” Jane asked astonished

“Yes of course I talk!” replied the sea lord “my name is Mako. You must help us to escape this pool. You see that cave on the shore has in evil powers soon they will grow so strong that the whole island will explode! And you mortals can help us to escape to the ocean. Now Freya realized why she didn’t like the cave.

“How can we help you and how long do we have?” asked Freya.

“To the summer solstice, that is when the cave will be its strongest.”

“But that’s ……”

“Tomorrow, yes and you can help by getting the rock that is purple, not far into the woods.

“But that’s not very far from here in the pool. “

“Yes but if sea lords get out of the water they die and turn to dust.”

“Well….” Freya said hesitantly. She looked back at her friends, they both nodded as if to say Mako was to be trusted.

“Ok then,” Freya said. “But we have to hurry, time is running out.” Jane, Leila and Mako all cheered. Freya and her friends got out of the water and headed towards the woods. The three girls went separate ways as to find the purple rock faster. It was Leila that found the rock; she was admiring the magnificent stone when a ghostly being started to stroke her hair. The fingers were that of an old man, long and bony.

“Come with us and you may keep the rock,” said the strange man in a hoarse voice. Leila was terrified, but she stood her ground. “Don’t you love it on this island?”

“No,” she said firmly “I want to go home.” She burst into tears, her friends heard her and came running, the ghostly man vanished into the trees. The girls congratulated Leila and they hurried back to the pool.

Leila asked Mako about the ghostly man that she saw in the woods

“This is bad, very bad,” Mako said worriedly, “You see the man that you saw was a Cumba. The most evil of all spirits. They live in the cave by the water’s edge. The reason that he wanted the purple stone was so that we could not escape. Anyways now, Leila, please place the purple rock against that wall over there then when a hole appears you must swim through it until you reach the ocean, do you understand?”All the girls nodded. Leila submerged and placed the rock against the wall as she was told to. Suddenly a large opening appeared in the wall, all of the sea lords and all of the girls swam to freedom.

“Thank you so much for helping us!” Mako said “if you want anything, you can have it!”

“Well,” said Jane “I have been wanting this really nice pair of earrings for a while ooh and also this really nice pair of shoes and….”

“Stop that Jane!” said Freya in an annoyed tone “Mako, what we would really like is to go back to our homes in Guadeloupe.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes,”

“Very well, sea lords let us return them to Guadeloupe.”

So the sea lords swam with them on their backs and they returned home and everyone was happy.

AUTHOR BIO: 10 yr old Vega Armstrong is a 5th grade student at St. Nicholas primary school. Her teacher Ms. Nicholas has on many occasions commented how wonderful her essays and short stories are written. Vega loves to read and is very creative, and recently illustrated a children book called The Christmas Log. Her Wadadli Pen Challenge 2012 entry, Legend of the Sea Lords takes you on a journey with Freya, Jane and Leila who get caught in a storm at sea. The three young girls find themselves washed up on a mysterious island. When bathing in a plunge pool Freya discovers a strange creature…

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

The Adventures of Mr. Coconut by Akeile Benjamin

Once upon a time there was a large coconut tree which grew high on top of a hill in the rainforest.  There on that tree was a bunch of the juiciest coconuts you ever saw.  On a very hot day in the middle of the summer the coconuts started falling.  Among the bunch of coconuts that fell, there was one special nut, who felt he was meant for greatness.

The day he fell from the tree he set out on a mission to find his destiny.  He rolled down the hill and met many creatures, like a frog named Hermey.  Hermey asked, “Hey, what’s your name?”  He said, “My name is Mr. Coconut.”  They both became friends.

Mr. Coconut then met a bird named Twitch.  She was looking for some worms for her babies.  When Mr. Coconut rolled in a dirt patch some worms appeared so she picked them up with her sharp beak and put them in her nest.  She thanked Mr. Coconut and they became friends as well.

As Mr. Coconut continued his journey he soon reached the sea.  He heard someone crying, “help! help!”  so he went and found a crab stuck under a rock.  Mr. Coconut rolled away the rock and set the crab free.  The crab thanked Mr. Coconut and they became friends.  When Mr. Coconut reached the sea, he started to sing his song, “Mr. Coconut Look Out here He Comes. Mr. Coconut Look Out here He Comes.”

He went home and told all the other coconuts about this great adventure.  When night came he went back into his tree and there he lived happily ever after.

AUTHOR BIO: Second Placed Writer in the 12 and Younger age category of Wadadli Pen 2012 is a Fifth Grade Student at the Wesleyan Junior Academy. The illustrations accompanying what the chief judge described as “a nice, simple story” were provided by the school.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

Origin by Naleka Beckford

Kieshana was very disappointed when she heard the news that they were moving back to Antigua.  Not that Antigua wasn’t a wonderful magnificent island, the reason was because back in the fourth grade they’d started learning about slavery and when everybody heard about all the horrible things that slave masters did, they grew very racist to Kieshana.  Soon everyone started to hate her.  Although Kieshana wasn’t white she was mixed, it made matters even worse.  When they heard the things white people did, they started to pick fights with her.  Every time she said to leave her alone, they would reply, “or what, you whip us to death?”

Remembering the horrible event made her even more mad.  Too bad, she had no choice because her father, Mr. Philips, was a successful business man until he fell into bankruptcy and lost all his money.  Their only choice was to live with his sister Megan in Antigua.  Soon they felt the cool atmosphere and came to a nice warm tropical climate.  After three months Kieshana went back to her old school and Mr. T. Philips got a job as a bank teller in the town.  Kieshana was soon in her old red, blue and white uniform.  After a week she could tell that the people still hated her for her origin.  She actually thought that they would put it behind them after two years.

Nobody wanted to be friends with her, and she was lonely and outnumbered by twenty nine students which were like the whole class.

A couple weeks passed and everyone forgot about the past and became less hostile until they started to review slavery.  It started all over again, all of her friends left because they were too scared to stand up to the ring leader, Jay.  The thing was that if she brought it to the teachers (who also hated her, except for Mr. Courts) they blamed her and she would get detention.  If that happened she would be in a lot of trouble with her parents who were always pressuring her about the upcoming Common Entrance Examinations.

The only reason the teachers hated her was because Jay was the grandson of Mrs. Walton the meanest teacher whom everyone was scared of. In class, Mr. Courts said they had to write about their origin, the majority of the class glared at Kieshana (as if it meant something).  It was very hard for Kieshana to find something good about her origin without offending Jay, because everything about whites would be offending. (What will she say my origin is white and we like to beat blacks?)  Kieshana almost forgot that she was black from her mother’s side so she wrote on that.

After everyone wrote and read their pieces, the teacher left the room.  Jay and twenty nine students hovered around her desk.  “How can you lie? You are nothing like us.” “How dare you insult me.” “I am mixed you know.” said Kieshana.  “The only thing I see mixed are your hazel eyes,” snorted Jay.  Kieshana gathered all of her confidence. “You’re just insulting yourself and being a racist. You do know that we’re apart of slavery, and, if anything, you’re the true slave master, pushing people around with your power,” she said in a loud confident voice.  The twenty nine children started to consider.  Soon they went over to Kieshana.  “What are you doing, are you going to let some white girl boss you around?” Jay shouted.

One of the boys answered, “We made that decision, and we weren’t forced.”  “Get back here,” Jay screamed.  “Or what?” a girl snorted as they all went back to their seats leaving Jay stunned.

Later that day Jay realized his actions and apologized to everyone.  After a week everyone finally forgave him including Kieshana.

A white girl named Anlea, started the school later that year.  No one was hostile to her.  She even had a lot of friends including Jay.  So in the end the school was once again in harmony and nobody hated each other for their origin.

AUTHOR BIO:  Naleka Beckford, 11, is a Grade Six student at Antigua Wesleyan Junior Academy. Her story, Origin,  which the chief judge said “covers some serious topics in a simplified way”, earned her third place in the 12 and Younger age category of the Wadadli Pen 2012 Challenge.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

The Colour Red by Tiffany Smith

‘What’s your favourite colour?’ Benjamin asked.

Surprisingly, Kadene had not been asked that question since childhood.  Instantly, it was as if Mrs. Mason, her pre-school teacher, was standing before her again.  She remembered she was colouring in her colouring book, using one colour.  Mrs. Mason had offered several other colours to her but she was content.  Then Mrs. Mason smiled and asked ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ – That was a memory she didn’t even know she had.  Maybe it was the first time she was asked the question.  She’d always had one answer to the question, but that was a long time ago.  It was a colour she hated now; the colour lipstick her beautiful mother wore every day to work; the colour ribbon she always put in Kadene’s hair; the colour of the most beautiful flower in their garden, and the colour always smudged on her palm when her mother kissed her goodbye.

Benjamin was still awaiting her response, and so many thoughts began to race through her mind.

– ‘Red!’ was what she had told Mrs Mason.

‘Ohhh!’ Mrs. Mason replied as if surprised.  She sat and watched her a while. ‘Do you know what red means?’

Kadene looked up, curious.

‘It’s a very nice colour,’ she reassured, ‘but it has a whole lot of meaning!’

‘Red mean pretty!’

‘Yes.  Very pretty, of course!  But red can mean BOLD!’ she said theatrically, sitting beside her.

Then it switched to high school’s sports day. Kadene attended a girls high school, but it was customary for boys to sneak in. Of all the boys trying to keep a low profile, just one decided to wear a blood red T-shirt and bizarrely play yellow houses’ mascot, during the races, but that was till he was escorted off the compound.  That boy was Benjamin.  She smirked.

Mrs. Mason’s voice continued, ‘Red can also mean bad, or danger.’

The scene then changed to her mother’s house.  After spending the weekend with her father, she walked into her mother’s house to notice the floor was red.  The sheets were red too as a matter of fact, and her mother lay on top of them, beautiful and bare. It was a foul.  The policeman said she was raped and stabbed.

‘Angry,’ Mrs. Mason was listing.

Angry became her father’s favourite word.  ‘It’s OK,’ he said.  ‘I know you’re angry.’  She wouldn’t hear.   Her mind had been stained, blood red, and she hated it.

She found herself staring at her lap.   Just thinking back, had made her heartbeat quicken.   She took up the knife and continued to cut the pizza.  For a second, she thought she saw the smudge of red lipstick on her palm.

‘Man,’ Benjamin chuckled, ‘I can’t believe I never aks you that.’ He was oblivious to how much had gone through her mind in five seconds.  She looked up at him.  It seemed out of nowhere a red hibiscus appeared in the window behind him.  In her colouring book, she still remembered what she was colouring.  It was a cartoon she still loved; The little Mermaid, looking at the prince.  Benjamin was her boyfriend of five years.  They were both now in their mid-twenties, but last night was the first time he ever told her he loved her, and for the first time, she believed it.  She had never felt a feeling quite like it, not since her mother kissed her goodbye.  Mushy. She chuckled. She just realized his shirt was red.  She sucked her teeth humourously and looked down at the pizza.

‘So?  What is it?’

‘Red’ Kadene answered.

-‘Most of all’ Mrs. Mason finished, ‘It means love.’-

AUTHOR BIO: Tiffany Smith is 19 years old; she is a graduate of both the Antigua Girls High School and the Antigua State College.  Her story The Colour Red was one of two Honourable Mentions in the 18 to 35 age category of the Wadadli Pen Challenge 2012. It is a story in which a question about the favourite colour sends the main character back to the past and actually helps her make peace with it. She tied for First Place in the same category with her other entry, The Untitled, in which the character finds herself in a mental tug of war about her family situation. Smith told us “I’ve always enjoyed writing and I’m very appreciative of the persons who have encouraged me in this art form. I hope that over the years I will have the patience to stick with it and continue to learn from it.”

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

The Untitled by Tiffany Smith

It was the glass vase.  I was trembling.  I’m too small.  It would be dangerous.  It was going to fall and there was nothing I could do.  It rocked back then forth.  Back then forth.  It always housed a single, fake, rose, and she kept it on that lone shelf in the hallway, too high for us to reach.  I felt disappointed.  I had swung my schoolbag carelessly- wildly around my shoulder, so, it hit the shelf.  Stupid.  This morning, my only chores were to make breakfast, and get my little brother and me ready for school.  Those were simple, routine things.  Where do you make room for a mistake?

My mother was a single mother.  She’d raised all three of us on her own.  I was the only girl, the middle child, and she relied on me a lot.  See, sometimes, she gets so sad, or angry- a lot of things happened to her when she was younger, she says, so she needed me.   I just have to take care of my little brother, and let her rest.  The drinking just makes her feel better, she says.

I glanced towards the couch.  Her head still lay there, but I knew the minute that vase fell, Jay would not contain his scream.  He stood at the end of the hallway, watching.  I shut my eyes and braced myself then there was a noise.  Maybe she was already getting up.  Don’t cry.  First, she’d give one thump.  That would send me to the floor.  Then she’d grab my hair.  The expletives were in my ears already.  She’d grab my arm maybe, and force me to stand.  Maybe, she’d shake me against the wall again, or slap me a few times.  Then, she was going to come close and stare into my face and call me a wretch but if I stay quiet, maybe she won’t have to beat me with the belt buckle again.  Last week, she bruised my arm.  The scar on my back still hadn’t healed.

That was only when she was angry.  ‘Outside people wouldn’t understand’, she said, ‘so don’t talk about it with anybody.’  When she’s ok, she always apologizes, because she loves us, and she tells us so.  Ricardo never had anything to say, he was always in his room.  We only saw him the times he felt to come out and defend us.  She used to beat him too but he was too strong now, and even when she wasn’t upset, he never wanted to be around.   Sometimes, he never even came home.  We never spoke either.  It was as if it was just me and Jay.  We didn’t need him.  ‘Ricardo just think he’s a big man!’ she says.  ‘He think he so smart.’  ‘He think he can do better.’  She was hurt.  Why can’t he just understand that bad things happened to mommy?  Drinking just made her feel better.

The tears already swelled up behind my eye lids.  I was sure I heard a sound closer to me.  This must be it.  I thought.  You wild and careless! My mind yelled.  Wretch! Just to leave her to sleep you can’t do! You schupid?  You schupid?!!!

‘Yowwwww!’  – a loud whisper.  Ricardo, out of nowhere, was somehow in time to catch the vase.  ‘Be careful!’  He scolded.

She sleeping still?  She was.  You old drunk! I hate you! I heard myself think.  No!  That’s only when she’s angry, it’s only when she’s angry.  Jay was sobbing softly.

‘Jo-oyyyy!!’ Renee stood outside, brightly smiling.  She was calling for me and her to walk to the bus stop, and go to school.

AUTHOR BIO: Tiffany Smith is 19 years old; she is a graduate of both the Antigua Girls High School and the Antigua State College.  Her story The Colour Red was one of two Honourable Mentions in the 18 to 35 age category of the Wadadli Pen Challenge 2012. It is a story in which a question about the favourite colour sends the main character back to the past and actually helps her make peace with it. She tied for First Place in the same category with her other entry, The Untitled, in which the character finds herself in a mental tug of war about her family situation. Smith told us “I’ve always enjoyed writing and I’m very appreciative of the persons who have encouraged me in this art form. I hope that over the years I will have the patience to stick with it and continue to learn from it.”

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

Do us a solid, would you?

We’re trying to get the word out to Antiguan and Barbudan young people re Wadadli Pen 2012. Help us out, would you? If you’re a blog regular and live in Wadadli, please print a copy of our flyer –>   (more if you can) and post it somewhere prominent. We appreciate all the help we can get.