Month: November 2016

THE VASE

THE VASE By Johannes Adriaan Snyman “You always say its business! Do you think I’m stupid?” Adele Darling shouted at the top of her voice while Tony, her husband, looked at her in utter bewilderment. “Business, business, business,” she continued with velocity. “Really, what makes you come home this time of the night? Every night! Do you have any idea how slow and dreadful my evenings have become, while you, in you vain imagination, throwing yourself at every possible woman out there?” “Honey…” Tony said but she continued her tirade. “Don’t ‘Honey’ me, you know I hate it when you suddenly switch to your pitiful sweet words! Now tell me, what pathetic excuse have you thought up now? Huh? Where were you last night? Adele using the words “last night” raising her eyebrows in such a way that Tony should have realized that whatever comes out of his mouth next, would only escalate into further fury and vehemence from his wife. But he didn’t come to the realization. “Well! First of all,” he exclaimed, raising his voice, “It’s not ‘always’ business! Last week I got caught up with the invitation to see the opera, of which you my dear, were very well aware of! And secondly, last night was not work at all, but the necessary maintenance and nurturing of some of our business relations.” A look of utter...

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Seclusion

SECLUSION By Johannes Adriaan Snyman Hopping from Facebook to twitter to Instagram and back to Facebook again. It wasn’t always like that. Gemma remembered a time not so long ago when she, and all others in her life, took the friendly and joyous companionship they had, for granted. She remember the Sunday picnics by the lake after church, and the early evening dinners by candle light in the garden, in front of the white plantation house. The white double story plantation house, full of love and good memories. They told her that moving to Yorkshire in England will be lonely. But she didn’t think it felt like this. There was the dream. The dream of becoming a world famous writer. Or at least the notion of making a name for herself. So at first Gemma had tons of music to keep her company. But it lasted for about a month or so before becoming mundane. Then the entertainment of YouTube videos kept the mind from darkening. It was not that the local people in Barnsley were unfriendly. Not even remotely, for the Yorkshire countryside presented itself as hospitable and openhearted as any region in the Northern hemisphere can be. People actually went out of their way to welcome this young Zimbabwean girl who came all the way for the prospects of a better life, after having heard the cruel...

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THE MOVE

THE MOVE By Johannes Adriaan Snyman “So how about it then, Miss Arlington? Do you not think we should muse this one over?” It was Markus Duvenhage speaking in the most casual manner possible, amid the slight restlessness he felt as he looked upon the fine figure of a tremendously smartly dressed lady in front of him. “Come now Mr Duvenhage, this is not at all like you, now is it?” Miss Arlington said, turning about in the two bedroom apartment which was meant to serve as their home for the following year. “What, my dear,” she continued in a most distinct manner, “could be your objection to this fine place we found ourselves? Oh! Would you look at that!” Sliding over the floor of the living room, her voice almost went into the high pitched notes of a soprano singing, “Dark wooden floors, white walls, high ceilings and windows tall and wide!” She stopped and frowned, jestingly, tightening her elegant red lips, pretending to be serious. “Miss Arlington! You know very well that is not what I’m referring to. The apartment is most surly a splendid place indeed,” Markus said while moving to the middle of the empty room, as if to give his manly prominence more meaning. “A splendid place indeed, I say!” “What is it then Mr Duvenhage? Tell me this instant, what it is that...

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THE HOME COMING

THE HOME COMING By Johannes Adriaan Snyman Only twice before, could Rada remember tears building up for days, before releasing the emotion into the anticipated moment. This time however, her body reacted in a quite different manner, as she couldn’t keep her hands from shaking and the feeling of something stuck in her thought kept her from speaking. Her eyes displaying a constant state of redness, revealed to the airport personal, and anybody else for that matter, that having any form of communication with her was out of the question. ‘If I just wouldn’t be so stubborn,’ she kept repeating to herself, over and over again. That is something her mom brought her up with. The notion of her stubbornness being an unfortunate inheritance from her father, and Rada in turn developing her obstinacy into perfection. “I just don’t know how I am like this,” She argued with herself. “I want to change, I really want to change, but I don’t know how…” Knowing that if she uttered one more word in her speech to herself, she will start to cry uncontrollably. She couldn’t have that, as she needed to stay calm and focused. She was going home now. No turning back. No excuses. No self-righteousness. No Arguments. Oh! The argument when she left Nathan that day. She could see the hurt in his eyes, but what was he...

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THE LIGHTBULB

THE LIGHTBULB By Johannes Adriaan Snyman “Honey, Darling…” Lisa muttered with a husky voice which she knew Jacques adored. Jacques, having known Lisa for only a couple of weeks, was lying comfortably on his white sofa, feet in the air, reading some old music magazine with an overwhelmingly sense of calm on his face. He attributed his light-hearted peace, and calm state of mind to the strong white balance in his decorating tastes, which the French apartment in Cormeilles-en-Vexin was furnished with. It was around eleven o’clock on a very warm Sunday morning, and with the tall, old-fashioned windows in the living room open, Lisa appreciated the slight breeze filling the room periodically, which provided a refreshing coolness that she in turn accredited to Jacques’ pleasant state of being. “Honey, Darling…” she said again, in the same tone as before, with no enthusiasm and no expectation of an exciting response from him. She knew he was quite at his leisure, but she, having in her heart a particular feeling of joy, took some mischievous and silly pleasure in disturbing his line of thought. She searched for a sign of reaction on his face, but wasn’t disappointed when she found none. Her lazy attitude on this perfect day was as comfortable as his lying on the sofa, she herself with her bare feet on the light grey coffee table in...

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