You should check it out with the rest of the fine and alternative fiction on the site.
Here’s a taste:
“The next morning is different. I have a headache and when I leave the bungalow I cannot feel the wind. I know there is a breeze because I see leaves and scraps of paper moving along Lafia’s roads along with dust devils. I cannot hear the voices and this frightens me. There is a red jeep parked in front of the bungalow. I think it is red, but I no longer feel sure of the nature of colours or my ability to identify them. Is it red, or am I just calling it that because I can remember the word ‘red’? I touch it, touch the bonnet, but it is cold. The engine has not been running. The car has no side mirrors and peeking through the glass I see no rear view either. In fact, there are no mirrors in Lafia. I have been in every bathroom, living room, shop window and even the barber and hairdressers. Shiny surfaces reflect only light, not images. Water is dull. As a result I do not know what I look like. My legs are like reeds, my belly concave, my arms skinny. My forearm skin is light brown, café-au-lait. My nails are bitten down to non-existence, although I do not recall ever biting them.”
I waffle on in that vein.
It’s a reprint, or rather a reworked old story, but I think I finally figured out what made me slightly dissatisfied with the original version. I think I’ve fixed it. I’m not one of those people who endlessly rewrites and revises, but I could not let this go.
Come back and leave a comment if you like. I don’t bite. Often.