Hello, I’m Zoe Molloy, a writer from east London, with an interest in people and their stories. Welcome to week three, where we continue with our theme of Difference. The three pieces are very different in style and form, but all possess vivid imagery, providing a rich emotional landscape to take you on an escapism journey, during this wet October.

The first piece is a poem, Summer, by Amaka Obioji, which can be interpreted as differences or changes in or between the natural elements. The symbolism is beautifully crafted and evocative. 

 Summer

This is how the moon
falls out of love with Earth.

Longer day
as if the night is
afraid to return home

Flowers break from their
stem landing on Earth,
trampled
by passersby,
tired from holding on.

The sun burns endlessly
into midnight, angry.

© Amaka Obioji, 2024

Connect with Amaka on Facebook: facebook.com/amakafelly.obioji, X: @AmakaFelly and on Instagram: @amaka_felly

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The second piece of prose is A Glimpse by Jo Webb, featuring a mother reflecting on her past and the difficult decisions she made regarding her marriage and her future.

The simple enjoyment between mother and son in nature’s beauty allows excitement and a new bond to be formed, after distance had set in during her husband’s illness. The difference at the beginning of the piece to the end, displays an emotional transformation and determination to search for more fulfilment in life and I really enjoyed the sense of freedom this portrayed.

A Glimpse

Every Sunday, Laura went to Brixham to help run the sea swim. These mornings were respite, a relief from home life. Though he wasn’t usually interested in even going to the beach, let alone in the sea, with his dad now being away, The Boy came too. Laura reminded herself  he wouldn’t have the same feelings about home as she did and he was probably missing his dad already, even though it had only been three days.

The house was big, although it didn’t feel empty with just the three of them: The Boy, Pup and herself; it felt light, airy, happy. Not repressed, sullen or hard work, as it had before he’d gone. Her husband’s all-consuming moods usually left her feeling exhausted. With him gone, though, now was the time to focus on the positivity and light The Boy’s incessant chatter contributed to.

Feeling the effects of a long day, they both went to bed at the same time, The Boy climbing in with Laura. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Realising just how lonely she’d been sleeping on her own, she put her arm around him. The comfort of having another body beside her was overwhelming. As her eyes closed, tears fell silently down her cheeks and she was asleep before they had dried.

“Where are we going today, Mum?” asked The Boy.

“We’re off to the Blue Lagoon,” his mum replied.

Last year, Laura had spent much of her summer at the lagoon. It offered an escape from the house. By taking The Boy there, she was including him in a part of her life she’d kept separate up until now. Showing him the cove signified the start of their life together.

As they moved towards it, the sky’s overarching blue, spattered with fluffy white clouds, lifted their mood. The sun was high and bright, shining on everyone and the calm sea, a dark blue in contrast to the dark greens of the leaves on the trees and the bright greens of the ferns, framed the incredible view perfectly. The Boy’s exclamation of: “Wow! How beautiful!” was reward enough.

Already changed, Laura and The Boy left their things on the beach and went straight in; The Boy on his body board and Laura with her snorkel and mask. They swam for the next hour, just enjoying each other’s company; something they hadn’t done for a long time, as The Boy had usually preferred being at home with his invalid Dad, just in case he was needed.

While waiting for onion rings and chips, Laura surveyed the other families around them and noted how their pleasure in each other’s company seemed perfectly normal for them. This is what The Boy’s childhood should have been about.

After arriving home, they collapsed on the sofa. It was the kind of tired that happened after a wholesome healthy day; a day well spent.

Snuggled up alongside The Boy, with Pup at the other end of the sofa, Laura felt content and complete. The decisions she’d made were the right ones. Though she’d tried to downplay their significance, it had not been easy and was, in fact, huge in terms of the impact on the lives of her and The Boy.

Though daunting, this new phase was a life Laura now had control over; her destiny once again in her own hands. For the first time in a long while, she felt confident things would get better for her and The Boy. Today was all the proof she’d needed.

© Jo Webb, 2024

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The final piece is Royal Pestilence by Priyanka Nawathe and is a jewel. I adored the richness of the language, which transported me to a place so visual and vivid, I could see the detail in the surroundings. This is a cautionary tale about leadership, trust and power and, ultimately, for our narrator, unrewarded sacrifice.

Royal Pestilence

I bring you a tale of a time lost aeons ago. A time when men slept, leaving us to guard their lives. A time when we sat by their beds watching over them as they travelled in dreams. Do you see it? Can you imagine the peace in their hearts? The rhythm in their breaths? The smile on their sleeping faces? Good. Now hold on to that. Because what I’m about to tell you isn’t for the faint-hearted.

It was a night of merriment for the Royal Guards as they celebrated their King’s victories, frolicking till their bones grew weary and drinking wine till their souls slipped into a deep slumber. We were the elite and, as their protectors, it was our duty to stand by their sides watching for any signs of disturbance as they travelled through dreams. But that night brought bad omens, as a swarm of locusts attacked our masters. Buzzing, biting, sneaking around us every time we tried catching them. They were truly creatures from Hell. But we’d pledged our lives to the Royal Guards.

As the sun rose, we licked their wounds, placed healing leaves on their swollen limbs, bruised bellies and scratched backs. Their fever rose and merriment ceased, alerting the King of his soldiers’ predicament. He ordered his subjects to shut their homes and close any holes, fearing the locusts would attack again. We stood by every door, keeping an eye on the sleepers.

At sunset, the buzzing alerted us. This time, we were prepared. We swept past the tables, where plates with spoons, knives and forks rested after a busy dinner. As the buzzing grew louder, we gripped the knives and forks. Our breaths slowing, we sharpened our gaze for any light creeping out from even the tiniest of holes. As the King had commanded, all the homes were now dark. We stood next to our masters as locusts swarmed around each house, their buzzing intensifying with the flap of their wings, as if they were seeking revenge.

That night, I locked every door in my master’s house, sealed every hole and slipped out through the tunnel I’d been digging all day. I knew that, in their suffering, the townsfolk wouldn’t have noticed a servant using his claws in this way. As I dug my way through the tunnel leading to the palace, the buzzing became fainter. Could it be that those guarding the King were stronger than the rest of us?

I broke the stone floor with all my strength, rocks threatening to bury me alive; pushing them back, throwing them at the attackers like cannon balls. I was afraid I’d made noise enough for the locusts to attack me or, worse, lead them to our King. But there was no buzz or zap, or even the flap of  wings. Wearily, I tiptoed through the palace. No guards. No locusts. Complete silence. What did it mean? Was the King protected? Or was he hiding while the rest of us became food?

Ready for any kind of attacker, I sharpened my knife on the stone floor. As it scraped across the stone, I felt a chill on the back of my neck, followed by ragged breaths. Was there someone too close, or was it just me trying to push through my fear? Either way, it was of the utmost importance I reach the High Floor, which held the grandest bedroom of the palace. The one where the King slept.

I crept towards the grand door, hearing the flapping of wings and buzzing of locusts. They were in the room, their sound becoming higher and faster. I couldn’t let them get to the King. I kicked the doors, watching them fall apart like rotten wood. The locusts had swarmed over the bed, covering every inch and hiding the Royal body, making him look like an entombed mummy. All I could see were the hanging bedcovers, which were royal purple marked with the golden emblem. The Royal Guards hadn’t protected him. They simply enjoyed his treasures and victories. We were the ones providing the real protection.

Fuming with defiance and pride, I carried my knife to the bed, trying to force the locusts to leave. They hovered around me as I slashed at their wings. Some of them fell. Some entered my ears. Some dared to enter my nostrils. But my sneezes threw them far enough away. Soon, the grand bedroom walls were covered in slime and dead locusts. Amidst all this fight, the King hadn’t stirred; he was snoring loudly.  Afraid they’d hurt him by entering his nostrils or ears, I inched towards his face. One locust was leading the others, their attacks showing precision. I had to remove the threat. It was now or never. As they buzzed around his placid face, I brought my knife down on their flapping wings. It slashed right through each locust, dropping them to the floor. I stood victorious over the King’s bed.

However, something wasn’t right. The King woke up screaming, blood on his face. I tried telling him it belonged to the locusts, but instead, he shouted for the guards who’d hidden themselves from the creatures. Nobody came. I pleaded my innocence with my desire to protect the King. But he wouldn’t listen.

The next day, he stood before the Kingdom. His eyes covered in bandages and purple silk cloth, he proclaimed us to be the real threats, consorting with the locusts to gain footing in the kingdom. We were banished forthwith. From then on, the Royal Guards stayed awake night after night, while locusts buzzed in the King’s ears, reminding him of the threat to his Kingdom.

© Priyanka Nawathe, 2024

Connect with Priyanka on X: @PriyankaNawathe, Instagram: @priyankanawathewriter and via their website: rumpledtalesnfrappeangel.com/

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