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Storyteller

23th Installment of La Diablesse This Sunday

23th Installment of La Diablesse This Sunday

Well, it looks like more confusion for Ian, political unrest is gripping the island, now he has to taker care of his students. He can only hope that the La Disblesse stays away, keep her cursed ways away from him, he has more pressing matters to attend to at this time. Tune in to see how Ian deals with the changing world around him.

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Storyteller

From a work in progress

Andre was fourteen when he and his mother moved them Brooklyn New York. He did not talk much nor, did not try to make any friends. He had a hard time adjusting to the big streets, the tall buildings, and the constant flow of traffic. Back on the island, he had started to act out, burning down Mr. Jones’ corn field, getting into fights at school, being bullied by older boys turned him into real terror.  One morning, an older boy was bullying him, all the other boys stood around and laughed as the instigator unloaded a barrage of insults at Andre. Andre turned to face the bully and the boy blasted him with an opened hand. Andre blacked out for a second and when he came to he was surprised he was still standing. He turned and walked to the classroom, hoping he was not stumbling. When he came back out of the classroom they were still talking and laughing, Andre did not stop, he walked right up to the older boy, the bully turned around in time to see Andre’s arm coming down, he raised his hand and screamed, He staggered back, his hand raised to eye level, the pointed end of a compass from a geometry set was through the palm and projecting out of the other side. That incident was the last stray for Andre’s mother. His mother thought that moving to America would change him, but he just disappeared into himself. The school he went to was huge, so many children and none of them friendly. He was picked on because of the way he talked, or the clothes he wore. He never told his mother, he knew that she thought that this was the best thing for him and he did not want to disappoint her.

            It was between classes and he was walking in the hallway when one of the older boys approached him,

            Ohhh, look at the nasty Jamaican,” the boy said and all the other kids laughed. Before Andre could get away, a crowd formed and he was caught in the middle of jeering teenagers.

            “I is not Jamaican,” Andre stuttered, “I is Grenadian,”

            “What is the difference nigger; you are all the same rat eating jungle animals.” Andre stood surprised that a black boy just called him nigger.

            “Me name is Bob Marley and me eat rats for dinner,” The boy rapped in a forced Jamaican accent. And the crowd of children laughed. Andre tried to push his way past the boy, but the boy grabbed him by the throat and pushed him to the ground,

            “Where do you think you are going dawg, I am just trying to be friends,” the bully said and offered his hand. Andre reluctantly took it and the boy started to pull him up but let go and Andre fell onto his butt.,

            “Man, are you stupid,” the kids roared with laughter. Andre lay on the ground looking up, his face red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.  The boy looked at him,

            “Well, are you not going to fight back B?” he said, Andre just looked at him, not saying anything.

            ‘Forget you then, I don’t have time to deal with idiots like you,” the boy said then stepped over Andre, stomping him on his chest as he did. The crowd laughed. After the crowd had dissipated, one of the girls came over to Andre as he was picking up his books,

“My brother is a fool, don’t let him get to you,” she said then helped Andre pick up his books,

“Whats your name,” she asked, Andre did not respond, he just stood looking down at the ground. The girl smiled

“You have a nice day,” she said and walked away. Andre stood in the middle of the hallway as students brushed by him some snickering.

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Cool Runnings Storyteller

21th Installment od La Diablesse

CHAPTER 7

The traffic was sparse as I rode back to the city, that was normal for a Sunday but I sense that something was different. At times I passed groups of young people standing on the side of the street talking in hushed tones, bloody troublemakers. I dismissed what I saw happy that the ordeal of the frigging rituals were over.

I arrived at me house later that afternoon and went straight to the kitchen, I was real hungry. I got out some fish I had seasoning in a plastic bowl and tossed them into a pot, added some cabbage carrots and a touch of rum, yeah man, time for some real good eating. I turned on the stove and went to the bathroom the scent of the fish cooking filled the house almost immediately. I stepped under the shower letting the water run down me body cooling me down, I was sore and the gushing water bounced off me skin giving the effect of a massage, Ah yes, it felt real good to be home, for some reason the Obeah rituals had given me a strange sense of security, damn, I sure hoped it was not a false one.

I got out of the bathroom dried meself and put on a fresh suit of clothes, man, I loved the scent of clothes washed in Ajax. I went into the kitchen to cheque on the fish it was simmering real nice into a broth so I added butter and left it to cook some more. I poured meself a glass of limejuice and went out into front yard the sun felt real good on me skin so I sat on a bench in the middle of the flower garden sipping the juice. I thought bout the events of the last two days, I mean, I was a little pleased that I had participated in the islands subculture, I knew that in some small way it would affect the way I thought me history classes in the future.

A humming bird flew by and hovered over a flower, its wings a blur in the hazy afternoon sunlight. I thought of Jane and me heart jumped a little so I got up and went inside picked up the telephone and dialed she number, man, she was real excited to hear me voice. We talked for bout ten minutes and made plans to spend the next weekend together. I loved that Appalachian twang in she voice, I mean, it was so melodic it made me skin tingle with excitement. I heard the food bubbling in the pot so I got off the phone and went to the kitchen, the room was filled with steam and the smell made me mouth water for so. I ate half the food saving the rest for the next day, man I tell you what, there is nothing better than a good fish broth to settle the stomach.

Slept was peaceful that night I woke up only once to go to the bathroom. I felt rejuvenated the next morning looking forward to a good day of teaching. I arrived half an hour early at the school so I can go ahead and plan for the days work, the students were strangely quiet but I did not try to find out why, I mean, teenagers who know what was on they mind. The bell rang and they filed in to their classes all with real serious looks on their faces.

All went well until bout ten o clock when I was sitting in the teachers lodge when I heard the sound of chairs being pushed round, this was not unusual but this time it sounded like every bloody chair in the building was being moved.

I got up and went into the hallway and looked round, students were filing out of the building and onto the streets, I walked over to the window trying to see what the hell they were up to. They walked down the street mingling with students from other schools, some of them were chanting but I could not make out a damn thing they were saying, others were holding banners stating they discontent with the way the country was being run. One banner read,

“The police are murderers” Further down the street I heard someone with a microphone leading the chants, he was urging the crowd to stand up for they rights fight against the oppressors, great, just what they needed a communist leader to fill they head with rubbish. Other teachers joined me at the window all talking in urgent whispers. Mr. Hopson stood next to me shaking he head.

“These young people will destroy this country with their communist ideas.” The rest of the teachers nodded in agreement. The chanting grew louder as more students joined the impromptu rally, everyone knew the opposition leaders were behind this action, I mean, there were rumours bout a demonstration against the government for weeks now, but no one expected the students to join in. The parade filed down the street and disappeared round the corner but they voices echoed through the small city, I mean, the whole damn thing was so surreal. Drivers honked their horns as they tried their best to negotiate the congested, narrow streets.

I left the window and walked back to the teachers lodge it was strange for the school to be this quiet in the middle of the day, no chairs being pushed, no coughing or sneezing just quiet like a ghost house. Mr. Hopson walked into the

lodge and sat down at his desk. I did not turn round because I had nothing I wanted to say to that bloody windbag, he mumbled to heself throwing pens and papers round on him desk.

We sat in silence for what seemed like hours when suddenly screams filled the street outside the school. I got up and ran to the window and saw students running their faces filled with fear, Smoke bellowed out of a building from the waterfront where they had gathered, men with sticks and machetes chased the student’s intent on punishing them. I saw a student running from the commotion she white shirt covered with blood, but no one paid any attention because they were busy trying to save theyselves. I heard the sound of a gun shot which sent the fleeing crowd into a bigger frenzy. I ran to the door pulling in as many of the students as I could, sticks of the attackers pounded against the door as I shut it, sharp edges of machetes bore through the thin wood and I thought for sure them bastards were going to cut their way in. Some of the students used desks to barricade the door and the men stopped trying to get in and turned they attention to the poor bastards outside.

The screams were deafening as the men attacked them, I mean, there is nothing worse than a child screaming in pain and there was nothing that could be done bout it. I looked round the classroom and instinctively began tending to the wounded, one student was bleeding profusely from the head he eyes rolled back in its sockets, I tried me best to stop the bleeding using he white shirt as a

bandage, I motioned to one of the students to grab hold of the make shift bandage and went round making sure that the rest of the students were all right. I was shocked at what I saw blooded bodies and frightened children clustered together, I mean, even some of the teachers were crying. I heard the door being dragged open so I ran over expecting to see the hooligans charging in, but instead some of the students had moved the desks, I cautiously followed them outside looking round for any attackers.

The machete wielding hooligans were nowhere in sight and Policemen were walking round trying to tend to the wounded. I stumbled across the street being careful not to step on any of the fallen students. Just as I was bout halfway across the street I saw Alison lying on the ground, I ran over to she and cradled she head in me arms, blood streamed out of she mouth mixing with the black lipstick. She was mumbling something, but I hushed she and reached into me pocket took out me handkerchief and wiped some of the crimson red from she eyes. The sound of sirens bellowed through the chaos as doctors and nurses arrived from the hospital on the other side of the small town. Someone pulled me away from Alison and knelt down beside she.

“Is she going to be O.K?” I asked. He waved me off shaking his head letting me know that she would be. I walked away aimlessly trying me best not to get in the way of the medical workers, policemen tried to contain the anger of the students, just like the damn police, they got to the scene after the damage was done, I mean, them police and them were not some of the most popular people on the island. They have always been accused of being part of the hooligans that routinely attacked young people.

I saw mist from teargas rising from the buildings on the waterfront it settled above the houses like rain clouds about to burst, screams were coming from down there as the hooligans mopped up the remnants of the protesting students.

I walked back to the teachers lodge and sat in me desk, Mr. Hopson came through the door and I could tell by the look on his face he though the students got what they deserved. I tried my best to avoid eye contact with him as he sat down in his chair and mumbled something I did not ask what, then he slowly turned he chair to face me.

“You are such an ass,” I screamed. He looked at me surprised he eyes were big and he had this bewildered look on he face.

“Do you think those children deserved what happened to them,’ I screamed, he started to get up but I placed the palm of me hands on he chest stopping him.

“Don’t,” I shouted, pushed him back and walked out of the lodge. I maneuvered me way through the students in the hallway and out onto the street. I had no affiliation with the opposition party in fact I grew up with parents who were supporters of the ruling government but this was barbaric.

I walked down the street being bumped by men in uniform hurrying to help the students, it was real hot and my being angry did not help. Me mind was racing thinking bout all the political rallies I had went to with me mother, back then the leader seemed harmless enough. I never really paid attention to his politics I guess I was safe from any hassling from the police or the hooligans because my parents were supporters of the leader. My mother was not one to condole violence but I had heard stories of me father, damn man was known for beating up young people who would disagree with the government.

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Stories Storyteller

At the Catholic Boys School

My sister was a teacher at the all-boys school I went to. Now the school was a two story concrete building that was shaped like a squared U. I had just finished playing cricket in the grassy middle and was on my way to meet my sister in her classroom. As I was about to go up the stairs I heard her shout, “Andy run!” I stopped and looked up, “What?” I shouted back, “Run!” she shouted, suddenly I heard a thump and I was struggling to breathe. I turned around and saw the meanest bully in the school, Ricky, that boy was the devil himself. His eyes was red from being in the sun, his hand raised, and before I could react his hand crashed into my chest, I stumbled back just as my sister ran up. Ricky turned and ran off. You see back then teachers were allowed to spank students and guess punished Ricky the bully, yes my sister. After that day it seemed that the word spread, Mrs. Charles had a skinny brother with bird legs, as a matter of fact I still have those bird legs, why do you think you all never see me in shorts. I spent a lot of time running from bullies. My skinny ass was not going to get licks every day. I was the fastest moving stick you ever seen.

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Storyteller

A Portion from the new book The old Man’s Shadow

He walked into the classroom; the teacher was already at her desk.  The bully snickered as he walked in. Andre sat at his desk not looking at anyone. No sooner the teacher began to talk Andre felt a wet piece of paper hit him on the neck and rolled down into his shirt. He did not move. Another piece of paper hit him, then another and another followed by the snickering of his classmates.

“Yuh go let he do dat to you?” The shadow said almost transparent in the light that came in from the windows.

“Leave me alone,” Andre whispered. The teacher stopped talking,

“Is there something you want to say Andre?” the teacher asked, Andre looked down at his desk. The teacher walked over to him but said nothing, turned and walked back to the front of the class.

“Boi you is a fraidy-cat, do sumting, I go help yuh, show yuh how to fight,” The shadow said. Another piece of paper hit Andre on the neck, then the snickers. Andre looked down at his shadow on the floor.

“Wha yuh want me to do?” He asked in a horse whisper,

“You book, it big enough to hit him real hard,” The shadow said. Andre looked at the teacher, then back to the shadow. Slowly he picked up the book,

“Yes man, now yuh go show he who is bigman nah,” the shadow said. Andre got up, his heart pounding, sweat rolled down his forehead,

“Andre, what are you doing?” the teacher asked. Andre ignored her and stopped in front of the bully. The boy smiled,

“What are you going to do with that book?” the bully asked, confident that Andre would do nothing. Andre raised the book and smashed it against the boy’s head. He fell to the floor, a drizzle of blood floated in the air after he fell. He looked up at Andre,  a stunned look in his eyes,

“Andre, what has gotten into to you?” the teacher screamed. Andre swung the book again hitting the bully behind the head. The boy curled up and began whimpering. The teacher was behind Andre grabbing at his arm. Andre threw the book onto the bully. The teacher bear hugged and dragged him away. Andre kicked knocking over a desk.

“Dat’s the way to do de ting boi!” the shadow shouted. Andre broke loose from the teachers hold and ran at the bully. The boy was sitting up, Andre kicked him in the face and a tooth flew into the air, one small square followed by  a line of blood that culminated with drops at the end of it. The teacher grabbed him again and pulled him out of the room.

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Cool Runnings

6th Installment La Diablesse Chapter 3

Early afternoon was always busy on the island, the streets were buzzing with traffic as people rushed to and from work and school. There was a policeman at the intersection just down the street from the school directing traffic, he stood in a small booth perched fifteen feet up on a wall dividing two streets, from his vantage point he looked down onto an intersection with streets that ran at a strange angle into each other, the constant stream of cars kept the policeman busy as he tried to keep them moving in an orderly flow.

The streets were lined with old English and French styled buildings they wooden walls beginning to deteriorate from years of mechanical weathering, at night, a still darkness engulfs these relics as if trying to hide the secrets of their past occupants, I used to live in one of them houses, inside, metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, I tell you what, them bloody old time metal fixtures were always malfunctioning. I remember we handyman being electrocuted the poor fella was hanging from the bloody thing he eyes so big he looked like a sick fish.

I walked past the policeman his white gloves signaling the cars as they went by their horns blaring, he black pants were pressed with a sharp crease, the red stripe that ran down the sides a great contrast to the black and gray pinstriped shirt, he hat was tipped down over he eyes a futile attempt to keep them protected from the sun.

Anyway I loved living in the old house because of its history, but it was built into the side of a hill and bullfrogs and rats used to get into the back room. Once when I was nine years old I woke up in the middle of the night and was accosted by two beady red eyes staring at me, man, I swear that stinking rat was smiling at me.

I was almost hit by a car as I crossed the street, jumping out of the way just in time as the driver yelled at me as he went by and I shook me fist at him, bloody idiot. I stood there me heart pounding like crazy, and it was then I got a strange feeling that someone was following me. I looked round and there she was standing on the sidewalk staring at me, she eyes locked to mine as if trying to hypnotize me or something. The crowd of students walking by was like shadows, inconsequential to the psychological war waging between Alison and me. I wanted to go over and talk to she, but instead I turned and walked down one of the side streets. I did not feel hidden enough so I turned down an alley, its cobblestone surface was real slick and I was cautious not to slip, seven feet was a long way to fall.

I passed small shops as I walked trying to concentrate on them so I don’t think bout Alison. There were colourful displays of tropical shirts and shorts neatly placed on racks sitting on the sidewalk in front of the stores. The names of the shops reflected the Middle Eastern immigrants that live on the island; names like Abuds and Kerpalanies were painted on the glass windows and on the walls above the doors. I walked by a Barbour shop, a small boy was squirming in the chair he mother stood beside him adamant that he get he hair trimmed, Music filled the air from one of the stores a clerk was singing lyrics to a Jimmy cliff song as he swept the sidewalk in front of he store.

I left the Alley and walked into the market square, there was a cluster of mini buses in they designated area, red, green and gold colours reflected off they metallic bodies. Each bus had a name painted on the front or on the side, names like Charlie’s Pride and Hurricane Victory, I mean, them fellas really took care of they busses. There were also big wooden busses made from flatbed trucks and they traveled mainly to the Northern part of the island, they were real practical for the venders who carried big loads of fruit and vegetable to the marketplace.

I stopped and surveyed the venders me mouth started to water a little, I mean, there were Mangoes, Guavas, pawpaws, chinups, oranges, red and yellow plumbs, Mammie Apples and bananas all displayed on wooden trays or on the ground on caucus bags, venders haggled over prices with their customers they gestures emphatic, they voices rose above the melee. There was a large building behind the venders, inside, different types of meat were being sold, pig snout, Blood pudding and salted fish, even some of the wild meat on the island could be found in there. The fresh scent of Manique, Tatoo and Mountain Chicken filled the air; I tell you what, smelling that fresh meat always brought me to the verge of being sick. I walked across the square and onto the street that ran parallel to it and I stood in the doorway of a shop that sold chickens and chicken feed, the fowls clucked and chirped as workers and patrons walked by they cages.

There were lots of students from various schools milling round the square, it was one thirty in the afternoon and all of the secondary schools had let out for the day. The mixture of uniforms made it seem like there was a student rally going on, some of them wore white shirts with dark green pants while the girls were dressed in white blouses and dark blue pleated skirts. I smiled to myself as I looked at their uncomfortable faces, poor bastards, eighty degrees out here and they had to wear ties and blazers aimlessly walking about waiting for they respective buses.

People who worked in the stores nearby mingled with the students and I could tell by the looks on their faces they were annoyed by the student’s presence. Most of the young men were sporting big Afros and bellbottom pants, they hair fluttering in the slight breeze.

I was a little more relaxed now, observing the activities in the square was one of me favorite things to do, still, I found meself thinking bout Alison. It was not uncommon for some of the islanders to practice the religion that came out of the slave trade, most of the practitioners lived on the Northern side of the island where all those county people live, Alison grew up with she grandmother in a small village where the old lady was known as an Obeah Priestess, I had never met she, but some of me students who lived in the same village were truly afraid of she. I was interrupted from me thoughts by the sound of the young men round me whistling, so I turned me head to the right trying to see what was causing the commotion and found meself looking directly into the eyes of this beautiful young lady. She beige coloured blouse barely able to cover she bosoms, she full lips complimented she perfect Afro centric face, she skirt came to just above she knees showing off she long brown legs. As she went by, the scent of she perfume filled the air surrounding me, she hips swaying from side to side as she made a path through the hoard of admiring young men. I closed me eyes trying to store that image in me mind but when I opened me eyes I was startled to see Alison standing in front of me, man, why wouldn’t this obeah princess leave me alone? For a moment I did not move, the image of the young lady’s swaying hips bounced round in me mind like a tennis ball at Wimbledon.

“She go come back,” Alison said she eyes wild and shifty.

“I hope so,” I said unconsciously.

“Not she, Ah talking bout de La Diablesse, she go come back and take you away.” She was close to me now she mint scented breath tickling me face.

“You have to stop this nonsense right now. Those stories are just that, stories, there is no La Diablesse, no spirits that would come and take you away at night!” I shouted and started walking across the street to the buses, I bet me damn face turned dark purple as she followed me shouting.

“You go learn, and when you do, it go be too late.” I climbed onto the nearest bus trying to hide meself in the small seats. The bus driver climbed in behind the wheel and to me great relief drove out of the square, Alison stood at the corner, she face contorted with determination as she watched the bus pull away. The driver navigated his way through the narrow streets and out of the market square.

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Cool Runnings

4th installment, La Diablesse

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I tried to forget how uncomfortable I was by looking past the tinted windows, small wooden houses painted in red, yellow, green and blue flashed by even they tinned roofs were painted in a rainbow of colours. They all had big wooden doors painted in bright Caribbean colours; I tell you what those doors were the biggest things on them houses. Manicured flowerbeds surrounded the houses a testament to the pride that the islanders took in they humble dwellings, the scent of the flowers permeated the air as the warm wind rushed through the bus, yeah man, that breeze felt real good. At intervals I saw the ocean, man I tell you what, is like the ocean was everywhere you go.

We were close to the little city now I saw the habour ahead and the banana boat with its green and white body stood among countless smaller boats bobbing on the waves. When I was a boy me mother took me brother and me to the docks to watch the bananas being loaded onto the hull of the massive ship, as they disappeared into the dark hole, I would wave goodbye to every box then I stood on the edge of the dock and watched as the ship disappeared into the horizon. I always wished that someone on that bloody ship would take me with them so I could see some far away place. I was still looking at the boats when I thought bout the police and the blood in the gutter, I wondered what the hell could have happened?

I was jolted back to reality when the bus narrowly escaped hitting an oncoming car and I winched in pain as needles and pins ran through me legs, damn drunken fool, was he trying to break me legs or something? The men on either side of me rolled and bounced yelling obsinities at the driver. I was grateful when we finally stopped in the market square and I unfolded meself from the seat and stepped off the bus landing in a puddle of muddy water. I made me way through the mass of students rushing to their respective schools.

I stood across from the school building waiting for the stream of cars to go by, the old structure with its gray walls gave the impression that inside was a sad and dreary place but really, it was a happy environment. A couple of me uncles had gone to school in this very building, back then it was an Anglican high school, now the Methodists had bought the building and started they own school. There were no windows on the walls facing the street thus blocking out the noise from the constant flow of cars. I crossed the street and opened the big doors they squeaked real loud echoing through the school, students in they chalk white shirts and blouses, brown pants and skirts stood round waiting for the bell to ring. Some of them were talking in whispers and stopped talking when I walked past them I hung me head and negotiated a path through the cluster of bodies and made me way to the teacher’s lodge.

I walked into the small room and sat at me desk and lay me head on a pile of papers trying to compose meself, what a night, what a frigging morning. I sat up and surveyed the desks that lined the room, piles of papers were on each desk waiting for the teachers to grade, I tell you what, them snobby bastards were sure messy I closed me eyes but the image of the woman in white lingered in me head and I felt real faint and me body was as cold as ice. There was a big window on the other side of the room so I got up and walked over to it, man, that sun felt real good. The Methodist church stood a little ways down the hill its steeple pointed up to the blue sky its stained windows sparkling in the sun, seagulls flew by their loud squawking filled the city with a strange melody that drown out every other sound. I heard a voice behind me and turned round, it was Mr. Hopson.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked, with that fake British accent, he hazel eyes piecing through me. His hair was neatly trimmed into a large Afro and thick long sideburns, he was bout forty-three years old and his hair looked like god had sprinkled salt all over it, he chin was a hard square line that usually accommodated his equally well-trimmed goatee. For some reason he and I had a decent rapport so I decided to tell him bout the woman in white, he had moved and was now standing over his desk gathering he books for his first class.

“I would like to talk to you about something,” I said hesitantly. He turned round and looked at me.

“Last night round two in the morning I saw a woman in white standing in my yard, a strange feeling came over me and I could not move or speak, even now as I talk to you I can somehow feel she presence.” Mr. Hopson said nothing; he just looked at me as if waiting for me to say more.

“I know that this sounds stupid, but on my way here this morning I thought about the old folktale about the woman in white and how she seduces men.” Mr. Hopson stood expressionless at first then a smile erupted.

“Mr. Dickens, why are you telling stories especially now,”

I looked at him surprised at his answer I thought that he would have at least been frigging objective.

“Have you not heard? One of them communists got shot last night he was found dead shot in the head, some of the kids saw him laying there with a big hole in his head and parts of his brain seeping out.” I sat looking past him to the window, so that was the pop I heard last night; Mr. Hopson was talking again, “Listen, you have students who look up to you and they need you to be strong for them, look, all them communists are trying to steal their minds from us but we can not let those ungodly demons corrupt their minds so pull your damn self together because they need you right now.” I walked over to me desk and sat down me face felt as if someone had dipped me head in a bucket full of steaming hot water. Mr. Hopson turned back to his desk that bloody man was always telling us younger teachers how to do we work.

“Surely you don’t believe you were visited by one of them La Diablesse phantoms?’ he asked, he lips twisting in disdain, I did not answer him I just sat there feeling like an uneducated fool, Oh hell, why did I let this bagawire make me fell like a damn fool? Still he was right, I mean, all those years of colonialist schooling and I was still somehow being taken by the islands folktales. Mr. Hopson looked at me with that arrogant smirk I saw on the faces them politicians. I sat at me desk with me head in me hands then slowly I got me books together and walked to me first class.

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Stories Storyteller

Revenge on the Bully

Brian Smith, one of the biggest bullies I ever encountered, that boy used to beat up anybody he could get his hands on. I once saw him give this other boy so much licks he turned the boys shot pants into a mini skirt. When you have a father who is a cop every bully love to take turns testing you. I do not remember why but Brian accosted me in the classroom. He stepped towards me, a menacing look i…n his eyes, “Teacher’s liccle brudda eh? I backed up until I was against the wall. I wanted to fight back but my skinny butt was not trying to get licks. “Wah, you fraiiidddd?” he asked smiling. “You touch me an I go tell me sista,” I said, that made him vex for so, “An wah she go do eh, I could beat he up too you know,”  I balled my fist up and took a swing, he ducked and everything went black and a rainbow of colors exploded in my head. “wah you tink eh? You tink you go beat me” I heard Brian say. His figure materialized surrounded by bright light. His shadowy figure walked away from me laughing. I leaned against the wall rubbing my face, he had slapped me so hard I felt imprints of his fingers on my face. I found my brother and told him what had happened. Rafi was vexed for so, but fighting was not an option, Mommy Charles always said, no fighting. We went home and when Mommy Charles saw the marks on my face he was real mad. She looked at us and said “Give dat buoy good licks tomorrow. We stood surprised, Mommy Charles said give him licks? The next day we followed Brian from school, stalking him like a lions would its pret. We got to the courthouse  and that is where we got our chance. We attacked and a crowd soon gathered. Brain was taken by surprised as me and Rafi punched, slapped and kicked at him. He rolled into the gutter and I jumped on him. A policeman came out of the courthouse to see what was going on then went back inside. I was sitting on Brain’s chest going Ralphie from the Movie A Christmas Story when the policeman came back out and pull us off Brian. “Ah go tell alyou mudda, stop dat fighting.” Brain stood up, a stunned look on his face. Without saying a word he took off running. Years later I saw Brian, he walked up to me and stopped. Slowly he lifted his hand, “You want a liccle weed?” He asked and smiled.