“Yuh Must Always Christen d Children” by Xavier Barzey
Miss Meela wailed underneath her broad-brimmed hat as the pallbearers lowered the casket, carrying her young kin.
Miss Meela wailed underneath her broad-brimmed hat as the pallbearers lowered the casket, carrying her young kin.
The Mayfair was over, the lights turned off, the bran tub emptied, the decorations taken down and locked in cupboards safely. The bouncy castle stood still, awaiting the workmen who would remove it tomorrow. The gates to the schoolyard were shut, and the sentry assumed duty. No one saw the boy in black . . .
Ash Wednesday. The day after Carnival—the farewell to flesh, the not-so-greatest show on Earth . . .
The rain stops now and I shake my head to fling the last drop off my big straw hat. It have a freezing trickle of water running down my arm, a silver ball escaping down to the tip of my finger. Forest rain does be like that: cold in the humidity, shining like hell when the light touch it . . .
At night you lie awake, kept up by the sounds of running feet and children’s eerie laughter . . .
Jariah feels remnants of bickering trailing behind her like afterbirth, spotting at times, or falling out uninterrupted at others . . .
Download a copy of Pepperpot: Best New Stories from the Caribbeant for absolutely free through Tuesday, January 26!