first if wewe havent, please read link
here is a part I just decided to add, to give a little zaidi background to the story. its part of part 4...lol
please rate and give constructive critizism! :)
and stay tuned for the continnual story!
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The winter grew sparse as it blew toward spring. The trees had significant buds, the nyasi had shed its deep white barrier, and perhaps the most tell tale sign of winters end, the wind shifted its face to bring air from the southern most tips of the sky, instead of the cool Canadian air. Though the wind had its’ fallacies, most knew the wrath of such a time and complied with its views.
Giving into the relief, a man sat indoors, staring deeply into a fierce fire. The coals beveled and crackled the stiff flames along the pit. Colors of reds, oranges, and yellows flowed through the room, trailing shadows along the walls and floor. Again one wall, a figure illuminated through the firelight. It was a small girl. Her angelic hands traced her knee as she posed. Left hand on right, her hands stretched along her black and white polka dotted dress. Her legs were curled behind her body, extending out of the man’s view. The cream ukuta depicted the true white koti, jacket of the little girl and, although it was short, half covered the bright pink ribbon that ran the waistline of the dress. Above, the koti, jacket extended, buttoning toward the very juu of the continued pattern of the dress. Her smooth skin matched the texture of her summer sandals and, almost burning through the air, a pair of strune brown eyes flowed again yielding, russet hair. It was pulled back into a gppony, pony tail, revealing only strands of loose hair, strategically placed to shape the little girl’s subtle face. She wore a smile, alluding to an inner secret she was sure the world already knew.
The man shifted his eyes from the flame to the photograph, and smiled the same generational smile. He sighed, “Happy Birthday, my little Elise.” Across the room, the picture did not move. He stood, slightly wobbling, and paced to the wall. Reaching out his free hand, he touched the frame, tracing its outline in and eight kwa ten manner. He moved his clearly wrinkled hand onto the glass, just about the girls face. A sekunde passed. He withdrew his hand and, closing his eyes, lifted a half filled glass to his mouth. He sipped the auburn liquid gently.
Unrealizing the movement, the liquid shook in the glass, wavering and swirling around until finally, breaking over the rim. A drop of bourbon soaked into the man’s pressed white shirt, placing itself perfectly along his left sleeve cuff. Millimeters from the spill, a pair of shiny dhahabu emblems shined, connected the buttons of the cuff in fashionable tones. The man’s eyes drew to the stain and nodding from shoulder to shoulder; he shook his head and chuckled. “Figures…” A knock on the door rang through the air, startling the man. He moved back toward the chair that he had sat, and as he passed it, set the glass upon the mizeituni, mzeituni green cushion and continued toward the door. Inches from the door, the man stopped, adjusted his black bow tie, and placed his granddaughters smile upon his face once more. He grasped the antique doorknob, and opened it.
Across the entry, a beautiful woman stood, her had still in a fist in midair. She matched the man’s smile and lowered her hand to his, pulling his body around her, hugged him. “Hi, daddy.” “Hi, sweetheart.” The tension broke as the two pulled away. The woman lowered her head as she did so. Her hair was parted right down the middle, allotting her slight curls to round about her face. She lifted her head at the man’s touch. His thumb and forefinger broke across her chin, lifting it high into the air until again, they stood face to face. sekunde had passed from her entry, but years had shown through her eyes. Tears streamed down her even shaded face, carrying destruction as it took pieces of mascara with it. The man moved his fingers slightly up from her chin to wipe the wetness. She countered his expression and searched his infinite eyes. Licking his lips, the man spoke. “It’s okay. She watching, and doesn’t want us to be sad. She wants us to know she is in a better place.” These words flew into the woman’s ears like an ocean breeze, and uigizaji as a medium, deflected another tear to fall from her face. She did not speak, only stared back into the man’s eyes; everything she needed was there in front of her.
The moment densely passed as the man motioned for the woman to enter the doorway. She did, and as she moved, her high heals pinned against the floor creating pretentious sounds from the wood. Through the air, her red dress swung freely around her body, flowing in and out of synchrony. Her back was bare, inaonyesha the low cut V-line of her dress in careless atonement. She wore a thin shall against her shoulders and neck, extending down in the front along her bust, and tying off into a loose knot. The crimson shined against the moto as she walked to the mizeituni, mzeituni chair and ignoring the half empty glass of bourbon, reached for a black cover. She opened it, causing a pair of tails to fall from the jackets body. The woman motioned, reeling the man to her side. The pair smiled again. Then, holding out the sleeve, the woman slid the koti, jacket onto the man’s arm, twisted, and placed the adjacent sleeve onto the man’s other arm. She stepped back. “Well…” The man turned now too, buttoning the front of the kanzu, koti and fixing his cuffs. “How do I look?” The woman laughed instantly, eyes fixed on his left sleeve. Following the path her eyes took, the man found his stain. He too giggled. With a shrug, the two figures walked toward the door. The woman grabbed an off white clutch from a side meza, jedwali and exited the home, followed kwa the man. A lock sounded and the nyumbani was left alone, shots still penetrating from the fire.
The two drove in silence. Passing in and out through lights and signs on a busy city street, the car stopped along a large, brick building. Exiting the car, the man moved quickly, glancing at his wrist watch. It was silver in color and shown, in water markings, the letters R, O, L, E, X, along the six o’ clock mark. The glass was very transparent, matching the man’s own eye glasses. Replacing his sleeve over the watch, the man kept in motion, tracing his fingers along the car’s exterior until reaching the passenger door. Then, gripping the handle, he opened the door. The woman stepped out of the car, and wheeled past the man. He waited for her dress to clear the path before slamming the door. Joining the woman on the sidewalk, the man left the car. The woman placed her arm inside his, and clutched her mfuko wa fedha, mfuko with her parallel hand. Together, they walked the dark pathway along the brick building, occasionally glancing at one another, and then back at the uneven walk. Coming to an open doorway, the woman felt a sudden brush; she shivered and continued past the billboard relaying the evening’s event. Still arm in arm, they entered the large room, handing a man in a white suit a set of keys and the woman’s bag.
dakika passed, leaving the woman standing kwa a stage, glancing around the room. She pursed her lips and smiled as she witnessed an older woman, just feet away, throwing down her two cards. The older woman still held a grin upon her face as the cards floated to the green, felt table.
Moving though the chairs and tables, the old man shoveled against bodies. He stopped in the middle of the room, in front of the makeshift bar. “Russian tonic, straight up…” The man eyed the bartender, “…and a Vercelli red wine, please.” The bartender nodded and left at the man’s request. Catching his ear, the man turned at a soft voice laughing, “You should just fold, Wilson.” He strode toward her. “Dr. Cuddy.” His smile reflected against his eyes. Cuddy, taken aback, turned in her chair abruptly, almost knocking the man off of his feet. She spoke without seeing his face, “I’m sorry.” Her eyes widened as she met his. “Oh! Dad…” Her sentence trailed off as she stood from her chair. The two embraced gently then broke apart. “Lisa, it’s so good to see you. Your mother always alisema wewe were a beacon, but I must say, tonight wewe have outdone yourself. wewe look ravishing.” Cuddy blushed. “Dad, I didn’t know wewe were coming tonight. I thought it was just Lynn.” His brown eyes turned away from her blue eyes. “Well she’s had a tough day, wewe know, today would have been Elise’s birthday…” He too let his sentence trail. She took his arms into hers again. Hugs were always a big part of the Cuddy family. The embrace ended and the man spoke once more. “I’ll see wewe later dear, it’s about time for my speech.” “Okay.” She laughed, “We’ll see if those years slacking off and playing poker in the army actually paid off.” The man too smiled at the comment. Sighing, he let go of Cuddy’s hand and walked back to the bar.
Retrieving his drinks from the bar, the man returned to the woman kwa the stage. He gave both glasses to her and climbed the three stairs to the stage. His words flowed as they pronounced through the microphone. Several times, his mind ran rigid, and if not for the fact that he practiced this speech early in the day, he would have surely endured painful silence.
“Please jiunge me in welcoming her…”
The man began to clap and as he walked away from the podium, let two tears fall from his eyes. The woman, who had already risen onto the stage, met the man at the edge of the juncture. He took her in his arms and, brushing against her ear, spoke four words. “I upendo you, honey.” His grip loosened and away walked the woman.
Suddenly, the lights flickered as the man watched the woman saunter along to the podium. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, eyeing the wavering lights. With a few zaidi steps kwa the woman, the lights died in abrupt anxiety. Following a loud POP in the air, the man’s heard pounded. He collapsed. sekunde passed in swirling madness, then as quickly as his moyo had beat, he felt it leave him. The lights exited from his soft brown eyes and as he drifted away, never returned.
He was dead.
here is a part I just decided to add, to give a little zaidi background to the story. its part of part 4...lol
please rate and give constructive critizism! :)
and stay tuned for the continnual story!
----------------------------------------------
The winter grew sparse as it blew toward spring. The trees had significant buds, the nyasi had shed its deep white barrier, and perhaps the most tell tale sign of winters end, the wind shifted its face to bring air from the southern most tips of the sky, instead of the cool Canadian air. Though the wind had its’ fallacies, most knew the wrath of such a time and complied with its views.
Giving into the relief, a man sat indoors, staring deeply into a fierce fire. The coals beveled and crackled the stiff flames along the pit. Colors of reds, oranges, and yellows flowed through the room, trailing shadows along the walls and floor. Again one wall, a figure illuminated through the firelight. It was a small girl. Her angelic hands traced her knee as she posed. Left hand on right, her hands stretched along her black and white polka dotted dress. Her legs were curled behind her body, extending out of the man’s view. The cream ukuta depicted the true white koti, jacket of the little girl and, although it was short, half covered the bright pink ribbon that ran the waistline of the dress. Above, the koti, jacket extended, buttoning toward the very juu of the continued pattern of the dress. Her smooth skin matched the texture of her summer sandals and, almost burning through the air, a pair of strune brown eyes flowed again yielding, russet hair. It was pulled back into a gppony, pony tail, revealing only strands of loose hair, strategically placed to shape the little girl’s subtle face. She wore a smile, alluding to an inner secret she was sure the world already knew.
The man shifted his eyes from the flame to the photograph, and smiled the same generational smile. He sighed, “Happy Birthday, my little Elise.” Across the room, the picture did not move. He stood, slightly wobbling, and paced to the wall. Reaching out his free hand, he touched the frame, tracing its outline in and eight kwa ten manner. He moved his clearly wrinkled hand onto the glass, just about the girls face. A sekunde passed. He withdrew his hand and, closing his eyes, lifted a half filled glass to his mouth. He sipped the auburn liquid gently.
Unrealizing the movement, the liquid shook in the glass, wavering and swirling around until finally, breaking over the rim. A drop of bourbon soaked into the man’s pressed white shirt, placing itself perfectly along his left sleeve cuff. Millimeters from the spill, a pair of shiny dhahabu emblems shined, connected the buttons of the cuff in fashionable tones. The man’s eyes drew to the stain and nodding from shoulder to shoulder; he shook his head and chuckled. “Figures…” A knock on the door rang through the air, startling the man. He moved back toward the chair that he had sat, and as he passed it, set the glass upon the mizeituni, mzeituni green cushion and continued toward the door. Inches from the door, the man stopped, adjusted his black bow tie, and placed his granddaughters smile upon his face once more. He grasped the antique doorknob, and opened it.
Across the entry, a beautiful woman stood, her had still in a fist in midair. She matched the man’s smile and lowered her hand to his, pulling his body around her, hugged him. “Hi, daddy.” “Hi, sweetheart.” The tension broke as the two pulled away. The woman lowered her head as she did so. Her hair was parted right down the middle, allotting her slight curls to round about her face. She lifted her head at the man’s touch. His thumb and forefinger broke across her chin, lifting it high into the air until again, they stood face to face. sekunde had passed from her entry, but years had shown through her eyes. Tears streamed down her even shaded face, carrying destruction as it took pieces of mascara with it. The man moved his fingers slightly up from her chin to wipe the wetness. She countered his expression and searched his infinite eyes. Licking his lips, the man spoke. “It’s okay. She watching, and doesn’t want us to be sad. She wants us to know she is in a better place.” These words flew into the woman’s ears like an ocean breeze, and uigizaji as a medium, deflected another tear to fall from her face. She did not speak, only stared back into the man’s eyes; everything she needed was there in front of her.
The moment densely passed as the man motioned for the woman to enter the doorway. She did, and as she moved, her high heals pinned against the floor creating pretentious sounds from the wood. Through the air, her red dress swung freely around her body, flowing in and out of synchrony. Her back was bare, inaonyesha the low cut V-line of her dress in careless atonement. She wore a thin shall against her shoulders and neck, extending down in the front along her bust, and tying off into a loose knot. The crimson shined against the moto as she walked to the mizeituni, mzeituni chair and ignoring the half empty glass of bourbon, reached for a black cover. She opened it, causing a pair of tails to fall from the jackets body. The woman motioned, reeling the man to her side. The pair smiled again. Then, holding out the sleeve, the woman slid the koti, jacket onto the man’s arm, twisted, and placed the adjacent sleeve onto the man’s other arm. She stepped back. “Well…” The man turned now too, buttoning the front of the kanzu, koti and fixing his cuffs. “How do I look?” The woman laughed instantly, eyes fixed on his left sleeve. Following the path her eyes took, the man found his stain. He too giggled. With a shrug, the two figures walked toward the door. The woman grabbed an off white clutch from a side meza, jedwali and exited the home, followed kwa the man. A lock sounded and the nyumbani was left alone, shots still penetrating from the fire.
The two drove in silence. Passing in and out through lights and signs on a busy city street, the car stopped along a large, brick building. Exiting the car, the man moved quickly, glancing at his wrist watch. It was silver in color and shown, in water markings, the letters R, O, L, E, X, along the six o’ clock mark. The glass was very transparent, matching the man’s own eye glasses. Replacing his sleeve over the watch, the man kept in motion, tracing his fingers along the car’s exterior until reaching the passenger door. Then, gripping the handle, he opened the door. The woman stepped out of the car, and wheeled past the man. He waited for her dress to clear the path before slamming the door. Joining the woman on the sidewalk, the man left the car. The woman placed her arm inside his, and clutched her mfuko wa fedha, mfuko with her parallel hand. Together, they walked the dark pathway along the brick building, occasionally glancing at one another, and then back at the uneven walk. Coming to an open doorway, the woman felt a sudden brush; she shivered and continued past the billboard relaying the evening’s event. Still arm in arm, they entered the large room, handing a man in a white suit a set of keys and the woman’s bag.
dakika passed, leaving the woman standing kwa a stage, glancing around the room. She pursed her lips and smiled as she witnessed an older woman, just feet away, throwing down her two cards. The older woman still held a grin upon her face as the cards floated to the green, felt table.
Moving though the chairs and tables, the old man shoveled against bodies. He stopped in the middle of the room, in front of the makeshift bar. “Russian tonic, straight up…” The man eyed the bartender, “…and a Vercelli red wine, please.” The bartender nodded and left at the man’s request. Catching his ear, the man turned at a soft voice laughing, “You should just fold, Wilson.” He strode toward her. “Dr. Cuddy.” His smile reflected against his eyes. Cuddy, taken aback, turned in her chair abruptly, almost knocking the man off of his feet. She spoke without seeing his face, “I’m sorry.” Her eyes widened as she met his. “Oh! Dad…” Her sentence trailed off as she stood from her chair. The two embraced gently then broke apart. “Lisa, it’s so good to see you. Your mother always alisema wewe were a beacon, but I must say, tonight wewe have outdone yourself. wewe look ravishing.” Cuddy blushed. “Dad, I didn’t know wewe were coming tonight. I thought it was just Lynn.” His brown eyes turned away from her blue eyes. “Well she’s had a tough day, wewe know, today would have been Elise’s birthday…” He too let his sentence trail. She took his arms into hers again. Hugs were always a big part of the Cuddy family. The embrace ended and the man spoke once more. “I’ll see wewe later dear, it’s about time for my speech.” “Okay.” She laughed, “We’ll see if those years slacking off and playing poker in the army actually paid off.” The man too smiled at the comment. Sighing, he let go of Cuddy’s hand and walked back to the bar.
Retrieving his drinks from the bar, the man returned to the woman kwa the stage. He gave both glasses to her and climbed the three stairs to the stage. His words flowed as they pronounced through the microphone. Several times, his mind ran rigid, and if not for the fact that he practiced this speech early in the day, he would have surely endured painful silence.
“Please jiunge me in welcoming her…”
The man began to clap and as he walked away from the podium, let two tears fall from his eyes. The woman, who had already risen onto the stage, met the man at the edge of the juncture. He took her in his arms and, brushing against her ear, spoke four words. “I upendo you, honey.” His grip loosened and away walked the woman.
Suddenly, the lights flickered as the man watched the woman saunter along to the podium. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, eyeing the wavering lights. With a few zaidi steps kwa the woman, the lights died in abrupt anxiety. Following a loud POP in the air, the man’s heard pounded. He collapsed. sekunde passed in swirling madness, then as quickly as his moyo had beat, he felt it leave him. The lights exited from his soft brown eyes and as he drifted away, never returned.
He was dead.
Blythe House
