Their solace was then interrupted by a knocking at the door. Sylvia didn’t hesitate for a second to answer wearing nothing but her undergarments. The hotel attendant at the door was as shocked as Athen to see her standing there, even in near total darkness, with the door wide open.
“Ma’am,” he said, “We are passing out candles for your inconvenience. We hope the power will return shortly.”
“Can we have two, please?” she said. “This room really calls for two candles, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes, ma’am. I suppose.”right now at this very momentCrutch reached into the sink and resumed washing the plate. It was black ceramic and embossed with Latin words around the perimeter. Crutch had no idea who thought plates like this were a good idea. They were Rocky’s, originally, but even Rocky couldn’t remember where they came from. Rocky said the words were magic – forgotten spells and arcana. Crutch hated washing them. Food coagulated in the letters’ crenellations.a story about werewolves and vampiresThe villagers from just outside Kumasi town had gathered in two lines on either side of the road that gently snaked up the hill. The two lines of people met at a throng on the hill's crest, where Chief Kwaku Dua's grand white colonial mansion stood. Oh, the sight of the waiting crowd alone was enough to stir such excitement that one would have been forgiven for not holding down one's breakfast. I remember watching the hornbills overhead in the cloudless azure sky. Their flight usually regal and relaxed, on this day their movement was oddly jagged, as if they could not keep straight bearings. Was it that they saw two pythons lying on the hill below, in a mating dance? Pythons of sizes large enough to raise their bodies high into the skies and pluck out the hornbills? Pythons with scales of iridescent hues?nana yaa, kwaku dua and the green-gold fire•A Journal of Quality Short Fiction From Australia and Beyond•Contents