Nightcap Vision: Short, Short Story

Her hair is fluttering in the air, dark burgundy, long and natural coils. This woman’s laughter refreshing the aura around them. The longing to catch up and grasp hold of her grows more intense.

But she is running. She is running away from him in this dream. Giggling playfully, but running in slow motion.

He realizes, while his vision adjusted to a panoramic view, that she ran naked on a clay path in a pecan orchard. Now, why would she do that? He is a homebody and open spaces he loves, but not the heat. Never the heat from the sun.

Then, he begins to run after this dark wine-colored hair beauty though he has yet to see her face. In all this, he has not set eyes on her chin, cheeks, eyes, or even connect to her soul.

This is dedicated to my special someone.

This original blog post was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her in January 2021 (C)

Death Stills: A Short Story Part One

The blue flashing lights of four black police sedans are silent in front of the two-story house. Everything seems perfect on the outside, embellished in blue siding with a charcoal colored roof and chimney. Yet, from the open front door, you can see dirt and blood commingled into the rug. Upon entering the foyer, there is a putrid blend of rotting flesh, urine and excrement. There is also bare footprints, of various sizes, going in and out of the house with the trail halting at the door’s entrance. The 35mm camera clicks go off throughout the house, capturing every moment of the past few hours.

The forensic photographer, Billie Adelson, does not blink an eye when he captures the first body on the living room floor. At the foot of the fireplace, the body of a middle-aged and overly tanned man lay face down, except–the neck and head are at an abnormal angle. The blue sweater and khaki pants he wore have no bloodstains, gashes or so much as a wrinkle. The man is wearing dress shoes which color closely resembles his khakis. Billie captures photos of the blood-mud fusion foot impressions smeared in a semi-circle around the deceased. There are no discernible signs of a struggle and a weapon to determine the cause of death. The dead man’s last cloudy gaze fixed directly into the entrance of the dining room and kitchen.

A detective wearing coverings over his shoes, stops to speak to Billie before he enters the dining room area. He motions to the top of the entrance, where the words are written by fingers in ash, “We EAT here?” Billie snaps some shots of the words written grotesquely on the wall and zooms in on the messy script. The detective moves past Billie and walk into the dining room.

The atmosphere is heavy with the blend of stagnant blood, decomposition of meat, and food left out on the table. Surrounding the elaborate dining room table, sat two more corpses. All are motionless and perched in their seats. A blonde woman in her thirties or early forties sat at the head of the table, farthest from the entrance. Her glassy eyes were so wide it seems as though it bulge from her head. Billie gulps loudly and the detective looks at him with concern but said nothing. He nods and Billie continues his tour of photos. The blonde had a black scarf with white and red roses which was made into a bow and wrapped tightly around her throat. Upon closer examination, Billie notices traces of blue-black bruises near her jawline. He also notices her posture seems posed, like a mannequin. As he examines her visually and notices that her hands lay on both sides of the salad bowl on the placemat in front of her. Her palms of her hands face up. On the right side of the blonde is a pallid brunette teen, judging from her development she was probably between the ages of thirteen to sixteen. Taking the time to close in with the focus on his camera, Billie captures the neck trauma and multiple puncture wounds. Her eyes, now glassy and almost colorless, stare downward but her chair was positioned towards the blonde rather than under the table. Her hands were also set with the palms up on the table as the blonde woman. Behind the teen is a large portion of blood that is still pooled on the tiled floor and gathers near the rear corner of the room.

Two detectives, a male, and a female are comparing notes. The female said, “I believe there was post-mortem manipulation of both bodies. I have a hypothesis that perhaps they were killed in or around the room and then were posed at the table for some significance which I am bewildered, but…another instance shows that there may be multiple murderers.” The male detective nods in agreement and moves to examine the slashes in the girl’s neck.

The female detective notifies Billie that there was a final body upstairs, in the bedroom adjacent to the staircase. Before taking the first step to climb the stairs, he sighs. He has been in the business of forensic photography for 12 years now, he is still fairly young in the business. The odors, blood and corpses do not unsettle or irritate him. But today, in particular, it is taking a toll. Just two weeks ago he buried his mother. A week before that he found her alone and dead in her apartment. After all these years seeing strangers dead, seeing a loved one dead that he has emotions and memories attached, gives him a different perspective on the business now. Everyone is someone, to someone else.

Once he arrives at the top of the stairs and looks straight into the room, where the final display must be recorded–the moment, the essence of departure, and what remains. The male investigator was working on lifting fingerprints on a mahogany desk near the window, which was open. The bed is directly in front of the door and a deceased young woman lay face-up across it. In bloodsoaked yellow sheets and comforter, her pearly arms and legs sprawled out to where they resemble a starfish on a beach. As though she prepared to sleep, she wore a nightgown, which was lavender in contrast to her pale white skin. The nightie is long and covers most of her limbs except for her head, thighs, and arms. She had a collection of blood on her dress where her heart rests silently in her chest. Then the camera flash goes off again, documenting the stills of her soft shoulders to her delicate but bloody fingers and feet. Billie shakes his head and then continues to take snapshots of her bloodstained feet. He focus on the possibility that the smeared footprints from the living room and foyer, some may belong to her. But hers are just some of the many barefoot impressions captured on his camera. Numerous footprints are bigger than his and he wears size twelve in men’s shoes.

He looks at the investigator and inquires, “who is she?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

This original blog post was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her in January 2021 (C)

Destination Allure — An Erotica (Short Story)

At this height, the balcony is slightly concealed from the public gaze. I purposely asked for the top floor, to look over the city and beyond. And also, to become a witness to this Cuban pink-orange sunset. The atmosphere was a little humid during the summer months, so I removed my clothing, took a cool shower. Then, I threw on an emerald green satin robe while my dark copper tone figure was still damp and dewy. My dark brown hair was dripping wet, with kinky, coil ringlets going down my neck, back, and breasts.

At first, The soothing West Indian breeze made me close my eyes as I stood up against the balcony. I inhaled the air and I was filled with the awakening of all my senses. The smell of Latin foods and spices, the light chatter from passerby’s below me, and the touch of the stacked stones that made up the balcony conjured something seductive about this scenery. At the moment, I was at a loss of words as to what it was that was guiding me–but it made my hands move sensually. They made a trail starting from my face, down to my neck, and cupping my buxom bosoms before I softly pressed my nipples with my fingers. They became erect and it made my honey pot throb. I found the chair closest to the glass sliding doors of the balcony and sat. With my mouth slightly agape, I took in an intense breath. I dared to touch my central part, under my robe, and between my lean and curvy thighs. My right hand and fingers found their way to that incited area and my eyes slid half-mast, as I am aroused.

A gust of wind caressed my robe and nudges my breasts delicately. The robe’s fibers grazing the nipple, as my right breast became exposed to the elements. I whined, at first and tried to cover my curvaceous bust, but an assertive force revealed my physique undoing the thin sash of my wrap. At this point, I should be alarmed but I was so impassioned that I pressed my fingers against my bud and massaged it even further. Elevating my breathing, in swells and falls as I came close to climax. This made me thrust my hips up, my buttocks tightened and raised from the seat, as I fervently peaked in satiated ecstasy.

This original blog post was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her in January 2021 (C)

Unfinished Business at Hollow Manor – A Short Story

A few weeks ago my mother was lowered into her final resting place of the EverGreen Memorial Park. My three siblings and I surrounded the hollowed burial place to mourn her passing. As I stood there with glass tears in my eyes, my mind filled with the bittersweet memories that still held images of my mother—her presence, her voice, her hugs, kisses, her love.

After the somber ceremony we went to my mother’s home. She hadn’t moved since we all lived together decades ago. Reluctantly, we walked into the house. None of us wanted to be there, but mom left some loose ends and we couldn’t decide who would be the one to tie them, so we all decided to work together. The house looked as if it was vacant for months—no dishes in the sink, brown house plants, stack of newspapers sitting on the coffee table. None of us were ever really good with keep up with her, so mom’s illness came as a total surprise for us. In some semblance of respect for her, we pooled money together to hire home care nurses to watch her. Some of us—two of us, came to visit on a monthly bases. Her passing was still a surprise, however. We separated and each took a room to complete. The emotions flowed heavily as we sorted and collected forgotten memories of our lives—joys, disappointments, successes and regrets.

By the time we were done going through all the things that once mattered, the feeling of a life long lived seemed to flow about. It was her home. It was our home. Even though she’s gone, It will always feel like our home. We all lived most of our lives there. Some of us grew up, left, returned and left again. Our very beings were forged within those walls. As we gathered in the black SUV, still shedding our tears, our hearts were full. But grief took us in waves. I sat in the passenger seat, watching our home shrink away on the horizon and I smiled through the grief. I smiled as the happiness followed us from behind.

Credit to Jae Davis, as Editor of this story.

This original blog post was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her in January 2021 (C)

TOUCH HUNGRY: CHAPTER THREE – SHORT STORY

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER ONE

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER TWO

At the end of the work day, Frankia came home to relax, but first, the plants need to be tended to, watered and touched. Plant care created such a sense of tranquility and oxygen production within her studio apartment. During her encounters as a plant mama, she would feel her mood lighten up while the connection and appreciation of nature heightens. Touching all the plants reminded her of how precious life is, daily.

As she observed each plant she realized something. The Sliver Leaf blades were taller, it was not a drastic change but subtle.All the plants seemed to have shrunk…perhaps. She wasn’t sure now, that in one night one plant grew or the others became smaller. Her instincts told her to measure the mysterious flora that she purchased and see if her suspicions were correct. Immediately, she picked up a sheet of white paper, a pencil and measuring tape to record the data. The tallest leaf blade was 16.4 inches long.

Then suddenly, her fingers grazed the Sliver Leaf and she was paralyzed, frozen in her retreat. Everything within her was still, her heartbeat escalated. She thought, “what is happening?” She could not tell how long she was standing perpetually in place. It felt as though she was under a spell, which made her as a stone statue. The light from the window, declined into dusk as she stood. After what seemed like an eternity, she could feel her body slowly relieved of this hold.

When her body was, once again, fully in her own control, a sense of panic filled her chest. Confusion flooded her thoughts: Was it the plant that caused this reaction? How could a plant do this? No, no I may have to go see a doctor, I may be sick. She thought. Denial, disbelief and rationalizing what happened during this incident made her slow her movements and gently lower herself to sit on her couch. She was exhausted but decided to move towards the bed within her studio space to lay down. Surprisingly, she was able to drift to sleep as soon as her head laid on her pillow. Deep slumber took her and she did not realize that this was part of the enchantment.

TO BE CONTINUED…

This original blog post was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her in January 2021 (C)

SHORT STORY: AwAkEn (Limited)

It was a faint touch on the shoulder that stirred her from sleep. The sun crept across the window, but she wasn’t conscious of it in the least. The second touch was on her elbow, then on her ankle, then an aggressive tap on the brow. This rouse her from sleep abruptly.

She sat up quickly from the shock, realizing that no one was in the house she slept soundly in for the past several hours. Her breathing quickened and she searched around her bedroom, but there was no one.

All rights reserved to Juana M. Gumbs 08/2020

DREAMSCAPE: YOU ONLY VISIT ME IN MY DREAMS NOW (Short Story)

Strange, I became accustomed to dreams of you pleasuring yourself with other women. Some of their faces blurred, others were women that we knew. Genie of my dreams, you are my reality and within my reality you are pristine. I could not understand why my subconscious missunderstood you to being unfaithful.

Now you only visit me in my dreams. In reality, you started a fire in me and now it is too much, you want to back out. In this dream I had a few hours ago, the reality was different. You came to me in my dreams. You entered into my home while I slept soundly in my bed. I was nude under the covers, but you only watched me. Then I stirred and you came into my view. Genie, I was elated to see you and you came into the bed with me and we rolled around in my giant bed together. We laughed and smiled at each other. The sunbeams glowed around you and the moon reflected from your eyes. I caressed your face, my fingers drizzled over your beard. I kissed and held you tighter. You mde me feel in this dream that there is hope in us. I looked up at you as you stood at the edge of the bed, Genie. You stood radiant, more brilliant than ever and I cried.

I woke, being both in awe and saddened because In being a wake, I realize that I have lost you. Possibly forever. You will never remember the good times we did share.

Thank you for reading about my dream I had just this afternoon.

This original blog post was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her April 2020 (C)

Nightmare: Viscious And Woke

Most of my life, I have been plagued with nightmares. Sometimes daily. This “nightmare” I just woke from an hour ago, but I still feel as though it is not done with me. The fear is so real that even now as I write these bothersome things to the internet, just to rid my mind. So come bare the load for me. I need to take it out of my consciousness and provide someone, at this point anyone that may care, the dark and dreaded corner of my subsciousness that haunts me in wake and sleep.

At first it was a struggle to sleep, since my mind was busy with failure and heartache. I wanted to sleep my worries away, sometimes my dreams can be a more than pleasant reasoning away for the “wake” reality that I step into, sometimes endless. Instead, I chanted a meditation spell and envisioned painting a sun with acrylic paint colors of orange, red, white and yellow. Strangely, I must have finally drifted…because I found myself abruptly waken to darkness. Delivered to the darkness of the room, I groggily sat up in bed and made motions to get out of the bed. The darkness was still there, but it was a dark, dark blue darkness staring back at me. It had no eyes, but it stared right through me as a sat at the edge of my bed. I sat frozen, paralyzed in fear when I realized I wasn’t actually in my room. It was another room, one from my childhood, but the bed I slept in was still the twin sized bed I sleep in every night. And that is when I realized…I’m dreaming…or nightmaring? The dark, dark blue darkness with no eyes, hands or feet, was at the bedroom door, perpendicular to where I now stood in the opposite end of the room. I was terrified. I was so mortified that I held my own throat with both hands, because I couldn’t scream as the dark, dark blue darkness came hurtling at me. Instinctively, I still gripped my throat. “What’s the matter voice, have I lost you.” I heard. It wasn’t from the thing that rushed me, it was from around me. Someone wanted to shut me up. No time for thoughts, because this time, the dark, dark blue was up in my face inspecting me with no eyes and this time I could see it for what it was up close. A monster.

Then, I woke up again. Startled by the nightmare I just had, I jolted awake. My god, that was terrifying and I thought I couldn’t, wouldn’t get out. So, I shook it off, but before I got to sit up in the bed of my dark room, in the dim light of my computer screen was a white egg the size of the Walmart variety egg in the dairy section. The egg was right where my tummy was as I laid on the left side of my body. I only lifted my head from my pillow to look at it in the dimly lit room. I looked around and I was still in my room where I slept. Curious, I propped myself up, still lying on my side to look at this thing that I was sure was not there when I fell asleep. I wouldn’t have an egg in the bed with me. It could break…I reached for the egg to feel it, gingerly. The egg was very white, even in the dark glow of the computer in the room. This is when the realization came that I was in a dream again. Waking from one nightmare into another illusion of my mind. While I held the egg, unconsciously I used the force of my fingers to crush the egg in that one hand and my hand was cut by all the pieces of the eggs shell…though the egg was hard boiled!

Another jolt, sitting up in the bed this time, with my heart racing and my eyes moving to all corners of the room. Still the dark glow of the computer screen. The computer screen had a picture of my sisters and myself, all staring back at me. Stories in their eyes. I caught my breath, comforting myself, which was self taught. I wondered about the dream, what was that about? I got up to go use the bathroom. Looking in the mirror only for a second before I plopped down on the toilet to pee. The relief of the streaming of these life fluids soothed me further. Once complete, wiping myself to then turn to the sink to wash my hands. No soap. Damn. I looked up to see myself in the mirror. To my surprise, there was nothing. No image at all. Just water running from the sink, hot and steaming the bottom portion of the mirror. At first I was so stunned I just stood there… I could feel my eyes widening but couldn’t see them for proof that they were probably bulging in disbelief! My consciousness began to fabricate reasoning at this point, as I panicked. No image in the mirror, oh shit! Outside of my head, at this point, I began palming the mirror, then scraping the mirror with my nails and fingers. Trying to tear through the irrationality that I was not there…I was not there at all. Then, in my panic and horror I started to beat upon the mirror. Pounding on it, but it had not broken, just bending like mirror and plexiglass hybrid. Then, something emerged. Something crawled from the corner of the mirror before me. It was something…something I have never seen in my life, but it was the cross of a slug larvae and spider so massive as though it was almost half my body. Black purple skin and the larvae parts had something withering under its skin. I screamed and sat down on the floor by the sink, out of the view of the mirror. I was shaking and frightened hoping it had not seen that I saw it was coming…oh god. For moments it seemed, I just sat and waited, sat and waited for an eternity. At this point, nothing rushed me or attacked. I got on my knees in front of the sink and peered up at the mirror. The creature was halfway through the mirror…it seemed to be coming from another dimension, a frightening scene as it slowly pushed its way through to my side of the world. It’s spider’s appendages, the pedipalps, were eagerly reaching for me and I fell back on my bottom, then quickly leapt to my feet. My body was up against the bathroom door and as soon as I had an opportunity, I grabed for the door knob, flung the door open and ran, but not before I felt a deep, sharp and painful slice across my back!

Awaken again…this time no jolt, just clear pain. Pain in my heart like the beating of my heart was a ticking bomb. Awaken to pain. Pain in the chest. Before I could open my eyes, I felt my chest. I could not feel my breasts. They were numb…that scared me awake. My eyes fluttered open in deep protest of my body. My mind left me tired even from sleep. What could ease my mind from the horrors? The horrors in sleep and in this reality? This time it was realtime, where you and me are on opposite ends of this computer screen. Me writing, you reading. Hoping you can understand why I needed to share this with you.

Disclaimer: This nightmare crawled out my ear and onto this post by my own doing. All photography and original art for this post was created or captured by Hetheru Mer Djehuty.

This is an original and was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her.

Short Story: Black Hearts Depart

Within the last dark hours before departure, Melvin Vantamore stared through the large living room window reminiscing about the events of the night before. In the background the wall clock kept it’s ticks and tock to a minimum, but the crackling of the logs in the fireplace would often snap Melvin out of his dream state. As he stared at nothing in particular outside, he questioned everything that happened between himself and Natalia. She said that this was the last time they were to see each other in secret. Hearing her repeat this sentence in his mind made him light headed. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes slowly. Breathing in and out deliberately to calm and soothe himself.

Melvin played out the first time he met Natalia in his head. His eyes traced over every aspect of her physique, noting the way she moved her hands when she talked, observing her nose crinkled while she laughed at his dark humor. He couldn’t recall anyone that fond of him. Usually, he was not very social to approach someone, especially a woman, to engage in casual banter. For some reason, Natalia was very alluring. He hair in one swoop of a ponytail. Every now and again, her hair would sometimes fall near her almond shaped eyes, laden with a deep black mascara. During their engagements, after a while, he would find himself just listening to her speak so that he could take in all of her beauty. Her cheekbones high and soft, the fingers slender with the tips of her fingers manicured and nails clipped low. Her teeth were so white and straight, he would then follow the corners of her lips as they curled into a smile. Everything was breathtaking and pleased his senses as he stood at attention to all of her words she spoke. But some things bothered him.

The crackling in the fireplace snapped him out of the memory. He moved from the window. It was dark in the house that he lived in with his wife and two children. They have been gone for some time now. Their photos still on the mantle above the fireplace. He would glance at the photos every now and again. They were so far gone now, he would not be able to reach them. Melvin made his way into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to see if he can nibble on something, but his stomach was so weak. Instead he just sat at the dining room table, pulling at his nail cuticles until they bled.

The dining room was ghastly silent, as he sat there susceptible to the darkness of his own mind and went into memories of Natalia again. He was obsessed with her energy and wanted to be in her presense again, but the darkness kept reminding him of yesterday’s events. First, there was the phone call in the morning. She told Melvin that there was something they needed to discuss and she wanted to be certain that they were still meeting at the café. He obliged her request, wanting to know where she has been for the past week since he had not heard from her for some time. Insanity set in after three days of no phone calls, texts in response to him. On the fourth day, he sent a text to her as his desparate moment to get through to her. The text read, “Please, I need to hear from you. I don’t know what to do without you.” After three hours, he texted her again. “I’m looking at a bottle of pills right now, wondering if I should empty its contents in my body.” Instantly, Natalia replied. ” Please, please don’t do anything to hurt yourself.” He smirked a little.

He got up from the dining table now, to stand and walk towards the living room and walked up the stairs. She was not coming. He remembered stroking her throat and staring in her eyes as they pleaded silently. No words could escape her as Melvin tightened his grip. “You will never leave me…” He managed to say through his teeth, “Do you understand, Nat”. In a gasp, she managed to say yes. Her eyes were wide with fear and tears rolled down her face, he beautiful face that he cherished when he first saw her. He let go of her, abruptly, and watched as she stabilized herself after the assault. She was on her knees on the living room floor, gasping and crying. He stood there for which felt like an eternity, no emotion on his face. “Nat, you are breaking my heart. Stop breaking my heart!” Defeated, Natalia used the coffee table to bring herself to stand before him. She said nothing as she held her own throat and wiped her tears.

Melvin found himself in the master bedroom of his three bedroom house. He made love to her in here. It was the most beautiful thing he has ever done, he thought. Natalia’s moans and gasps of pleasure reverberated in his mind. He wanted to live in that moment again. Her hair falling over her breasts and she rode him. He would reach up and hold her waist and breasts. He would climb on top of her and make her climax over and over again. She would orgasm under him and he would stare at her pleasure, then he would bury his head between her neck to suck and kiss that slender neck of hers. He now found himself standing in this empty cold room. He walked around to the left side of the bed to open the safe that held important things. His passport, birth certificate his nine millimeter and the box of ammo when it was necessary. After this long day, haunted by the insanity that she had left him, he reached in to grab the gun and bullets.

Disclaimer: This short story came as an inspiration of the poem I just submitted. All photography and original art for this post was created or captured by Hetheru Mer Djehuty. Thank you so much for your support. Please feel free to like, comment, criticize, make suggestions or say “hi”.

This is an original story was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her.

DreamScape: Leave The Lights On

I met him in my dreams…

Suddenly, I was there, in the silence of night with giant trees looming and stretching as shadows on its walls. The house was still, but spoke to me through my subconscious awareness. Through my own eyes, I glided towards the back of the house to the double doors that I remembered from my childhood home, so long ago. Though it was night, only the full moon’s illumination was present to guide me, while the trees on the walls of the house continued to yawn and stretch as a monstrosity, stalking. The concrete rectangle that was a path before the red painted double doors, still had etchings from chalk that displayed a childhood game called *Maryl that we played with boxes drawn and golf balls. There was light in all the windows, protruding through all the louvers of every window in the back of this house. I stopped gliding towards the house abruptly. My limbs as if I was immersed in water, but I was not swimming though.

The lights were bright through the red painted double doors as well as the kitchen window and the window that represented my parents room, the master bedroom. All brightly light, it seems as though the lights were pulsating. In my current state of floating I watched as they made a display of call and response, one shining brighter than another, and they continued to do this for a few moments as I floated about the concrete floor outside. Waiting. Then all the lights ceased and there was one that burned the brightest, the dining room. There was a shadow that slowly materialized as I was finally allowed to float into the house. This family place I called home in what seemed like lifetimes ago. I visit on occasion, but only in dream as though when I occupied the space as a child, it was a dream then.

The dining room was the brightest I have ever seen it, in life and in dream. It seemed as the though the light emanated from the walls and roof of the room, and it burned my eyes at first, but then my eyes adjusted to the illumination as I entered. I was not alone in the room, they was another with me. It was him, my lover and friend, standing near the back wall of the room. He has never been here before, but this is the brightest I have ever seen this house. When he realized it was me, he reached up to take hold of me by my waist, tearing me from my floating state of being. His touch became real to us both, it seems. I wish he was sleeping next to me right now. Consciously, outside the realm of dream, I felt my hands grab hold of the sheets next to me, with fists curled tightly around them, I pull them near. We were both relieved to see each other. He was wearing the same clothes from earlier and I was wearing a chiffon night gown my subconscious dreamed up and we held each other forever…

The illumination, which I still was curious as to where it came from. Did it come from him? My mind eased, taking this scene as my current reality, I felt so elated to be with him, taking him now, where I go as I sleep. I can have him in both worlds and relish in our playful banter and whimsical adventures together, lost in timelessness…

*Maryl a game played in the Caribbean during my childhood. Square boxes would be drawn with chalk on concrete and players would take turns, rolling the golf balls and catch them in the drawn boxes.

Disclaimer: this dreamscape was created by my subconscious mind and cannot be replicated. All photography and original art for this post was created or captured by Hetheru Mer Djehuty. Thank you so much for your support. Please feel free to like, comment, criticize, make suggestions or say “hi”.

This is an original work imagined, written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her.