The Wistful Petal
Chapter One I am writing this from the shore where the black ink has finally receded, my ribs a cage of broken glass, and I remember the day the stranger bought the failing cocoa business, the day the mill wheel freed itself for the season with a groan that sounded like a man clearing his throat. I was Kojo Boadu, thirty-four, a border guard in this nameless town where the river ran with black...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews