Counting 46

Linda, who had ripped herself off from her father when they had drawn closer to their car, was happy to have met her father’s smiley face. Curious also.

Linda was a child. Only eight, and she shouldn’t have read another meaning into the warm face of her father however, she did.

What’s making you smile so much daddy?” She said and run off a short distance to open up the driver car door with both hands. It wouldn’t. She took them off the handle cutely and played with her hair.

Gideon still smiled. He so much wanted to avoid his daughter’s question but, he knew Linda would come back with it. It didn’t matter how long. The locks of the car doors made a clack with one gentle turn. Picking her up, he put her in the driver seat and she rolled over to the next. He too sat down and stashed the teddy bear bag on the back.

“Linda” he called and started the engine. He almost hit a dog, going in reverse.

“Hm..?” as childishly, while looking outside the car’s window. Light rain showers still fell to the ground. Linda secretly hoped it wasn’t going to spoil ice cream day for her and her father.

“Does daddy always ask why you do something?”


“Oh, okay”

Communication Gideon. C-o-m-m-u-n-i-c-a-t-i-o-n! When and what to speak to a child. And not just verbal” Griffith would say. How could he answer the child like that? It didn’t sound right to himself after speaking either.

Linda still peeked out the window. Whatever her father meant by what he just said, she sure didn’t understand and did not care to know either. Children. Gideon sighed in relief.

Seat belt Linda”

He almost forgot about that one. Good thing they were no close to hitting the main road yet.

To be continued…

Counting is a book I am currently working on. Speaking of how a woman counts her misery, misfortunes and curses, she has a bitter view of life though she has been rewarded with a bounty blessing, she still refuses to see. Counting is addressing the ungrateful human side we have, racked under our selves. I would be joyed to see your comments coming in. Enjoy…



He would sing you a love song

He would call it California

It’s a colourful flora

Of love hits in one rhyme

He would sing you a love song

To be the chyme

In your belly

To charm up butterflies, buttercup

But you’d better come to California

For that song

Flora should be cared for too.


Counting 45

Long break from Counting. Hope you haven’t forgotten where we left off. If you have anyhow, please hit the menu button!


Gideon stared at the big metal blue painted gate before him. This certainly couldn’t be the home of a teacher. Not in Ghana.

He was guessing he had found his way to the wrong house, but Griffith’s mapping were as right as the colour of her nails. Damn, she painted them right! He scanned the area sharply and pressed the door bell, the light rain showers hitting him. A younger woman in her late thirties skidded the lock bar open. Her eyes sparkled when she met his gaze.

Mr Gideon Simmons?” she quarried politely, although it came more as a sure confirmation.

How did everyone in this town seem to know him? He was filled with astonishment. He only replied the younger woman with a smile and entered into the house behind her like she had motioned for him to.

Your daughter Linda hasn’t gotten a password for her mouth to stop talking about you, sir”


“Yes sir. She made me have an edge to want to meet you too”

Gideon raised his brow at that. He was made to wait on the beautifully tiled porch. There was a nice cane chair to sit on, but he opted to stand. He wished everything Linda thought and said of him was true. He knew he wasn’t always around, but he tried. Whenever Faya told he was doing good as a father, he felt his sister only said so to cheer him up.

Daddy! ” Linda gripped her father’s neck tightly, with her little legs wrapped around his torso. He allowed her stay glued to himself and took her enormous teddy bear pink bag from her teacher.

“Your wife has already sorted me out sir. It was nice seeing you. Please do take care of our Linda. Happy weekend.”

Just like that. A well rehearsed recital. So Griffith had taken the pains to detail her supposed husband to even Linda’s teacher? Amusing. It wasn’t like Gideon to have little to say, but he had absolutely nothing today. He spoke very little, including a bye when the teacher had seen them off at the gate. He still couldn’t get the husband part off his head.

To be continued…

Counting is a book I am currently working on. Speaking of how a woman counts her misery, misfortunes and curses, she has a bitter view of life though she has been rewarded with a bounty blessing, she still refuses to see. Counting is addressing the ungrateful human side we have, racked under our selves. I would be joyed to see your comments coming in. Enjoy…


The speedometer of the gray Honda Odyssey has its indicator on the 140 MPH mark. The spotless car had veered off from the only long tarred road, and had headed for the vast dusty, coarse red land deliberately.

The driver was a black, female, at the prime of her twenties. Her three strand braids, loose, long, and having the colours white, orange and black intertwined beautifully was put in a ponytail.

She has no piercings or tattoos. Her makeup is nude. She is clad in cream coloured sleeveless, thigh length jam suit. Her yellow cotton jacket is carelessly thrown on, revealing a part of her nice brown skin, bedecked by a customised silver metal chain, with the carefully curved Stephen name, hanging on the neck which dangled softly with each bump on the road. What she had else as a possession, was the Sony Ericsson Z770i mobile phone which had found itself under the passenger seat beside her, on account of the shaking of the car.

She appears numb. A female hoarse voice moves along her…

“If life was ever a movie, mine would be sci-fi. Or a horror movie. Or an action movie, like the Ninja Assassin. A movie with a lot of deaths. I have seen plenty deaths – like mine… Like this one.”

The vehicle’s right front tyre hits hard on a stone immediately after the words.


In a bolt out of the blue, the car somersaults four times before landing upside down in a rough slide on the land. A metal had found its way to the side of her head and blood gashed out unsteadily. Her breath is ceasing. Her vision is blurring. The damage isn’t as bad, only a few scratches, but the front and back screens are both shattered into a million pieces, some on her body and in the car, but the many on the red sand which had begun to redden even more. If only an ambulance could fly here quickly enough, her life could be spared, even if it would be only by the hair. The Sony Ericsson phone 2metres away from the Honda Odyssey is playing Beyoncé’s diva. The caller’s name is daddy.

Slowly drifting away into a coma, she shoots herself back some life when something quick had picked her phone up. Her breathing isn’t any better, but she struggles to get herself out of the car slowly and painfully. Her efforts prove futile. Dusk was now reaching so she wasn’t seeing things. Whatever it was that was coming, she knew what.

A pair of bloody burned legs appear before her and the figure takes its time to squat slowly before her. It looks like a man. One of his eyes ripped out of its socket and the blood he is covered in looks very sticky. From the time he made his announcement, the buzzing sound of the flies he tagged along never died down.

He tilts his head and reaches out her phone in his left hand.

“Call.” He spoke in a sad, small voice.


To be continued.

You want creepy? Lock yourself in here! BY THE LEFT is one of my closely finished books.

Be terrified! 😈

Roasted Plantain 7

Davida’s first thought was to turn up the light’s switch. The second was to creep in slowly on Margarita and scare the whispers of whatever out of her, then she remembered she wasn’t a fun of her cousin. The third, was to call out Margarita’s name in an unsure manner. She settled for the third card of options.

“Margarita. Is that you?”

There was quick silence and Davida turned on the switch which was an arm’s reach away from where she stood.

Nothing. There was no one there. Davida was puzzled but only turned the lights off and walked out quickly. She kept shaking her head as she did.

Margarita giggled as she swept the compound. Ama Benewaa noticed her giggles from the kitchen window and was happy Margarita had something to laugh about, although she didn’t know what. It was Friday today, and the twins tried to find an excuse to not want to be at school. Because of the injury David had inflicted on the side of Benedicta’s neck of course. They both slept in, but for their mother who is an early bird as Margarita. She hadn’t mentioned anything about the incident to any of the children, but the twins knew their mother was saving her speech for the next day.

“What kept you yesterday mum?” David spoke up first. She smiled.

“I had a very important meet up with someone”

“At the beach? Night beach. I could hear the tides. Mummy was relaxing” Davida spoke right after her mother.

“Mum, you said meet up. Like a date or you meant to say meeting?” David chipped in.

“And you look tired often times in the mornings when you get back from a meeting with someone”

“Yes… But you look cheerful. Extremely cheerful.”

Okay, this is not how Ama had planned breakfast with her children today. So it was either no school today like the twins wanted, or forgetting the incident at school yesterday.

“Your people are not in yet I can see”

“Your tongue is still not tamed Benedicta, I can see”

“Just ask your Davida to let her brother know he has a score to settle with my mother.”

Benedicta walked away in style after barking her last words. Queenly watched her mate walk away in disgust. She would never learn, would she? And where were the twins already? Lateness was their thing but it seemed a bit more of it today. Or they planned to absent themselves from school today?

The thought of it made Queenly cringe. She hug herself on the school’s bench where Benedicta had come to attack her.

How long had it been she and Joe crossed paths? Forever? It seemed so. They were both taken aback briefly on sighting each other after a long time. Ama was amazed at how Joe had managed to add on way too much pounds from her perspective. Joe was dazzled by her beauty curse.

In the traffic, it felt like they had spoken at length. He had seen her first and only stared until she turned her head in the long traffic, only to meet his face in the other line of waiting vehicles. She smiled and waved at him. He shouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to forget her smile ever again.

The day seemed to have been going his way, until he rolled down his glass to have a chat with her. Her line begun to move. She made an awful face and waved at him lastly, whispering bye. Why had he settled down for her friend? The guilt had begun to hunt him years ago and now it was worse. She didn’t look hurt. She wasn’t an angry woman. She still was the cheerful and strong woman he had known her to be. Maybe it was the reason Clancy’s hatred for her grew with each passing day. They both never broke Ama Benewaa down.

The first class lesson period was hitting the 45minutes time mark and the twins now entered into their class. The maths teacher didn’t seem to care. Maybe because both brother and sister were good at the subject. Or maybe, he knew the trouble with twins. Especially with this pair. Especially with the one who was bleaching.

Queenly managed a smile. David wore sadness on his face. Augustine’s seat was empty. It meant he was going to be all by himself again.

David and Davida’s plan on getting their mother to change her mind had failed. Where had their mother learned courage against them both, when they suspected her of something they considered wrong?

To be continued…

The author, Trudy.K, actual name Afua Opare-Djan, is a drama, humorous and annoyingly nice person. You would find all of these characters and more in this short, unplanned scene, put together in a book. Please comment, comment, comment!


Poetry review 2

Happy Sunday everyone! Especially if you are in the same time zone with Ghana.

The past week has been long, tiresome and quite boring for me, but I hope yours was better.

Yes? No?

The poem under review today is… Oh, that’s right, that one wasn’t titled.

This one explains itself better than sigh which was the first poem under review. Not seen it? Go here

The writer, me, had human character at thought when writing this. We all know we could be very unpredictable at times. A minute we want the world, the next we prefer nothing at all.

At times it is warming to be nice. You talk, not necessarily because you are talkative, but because you can and also because if you don’t, who would? Unfortunately enough, however, it appears to annoy some persons when a friend or just anyone seems to be nice all the time. I have been shut down a couple of times so I understand this well. Haha.

So, the first two verses of the poem is saying I haven’t stop being nice. It’s only a balance for talkative and quitetive 😀(somberly impressive) now so I don’t get scolded like the baby I am not. I could yell back so let me balance.

The third and fourth verses stress on say the love we have for someone or something. You would fight for that person, or status, or values, or whatever. But really ain’t you tired of acting strong all… the time? So these verses are saying I’m tired of the explaining myself and fighting everyday. I could equally be a cat and ignore and still get the fish!

Mad goals! Hence, my feet aren’t weary of labour… in the third verse don’t mean work, like physical activity. It is only a metaphor.

The last two verses ends the poem sooo well!

Taking the first definition of tapestry;
A heavy woven cloth, often with decorative pictorial designs, normally hung on walls, the writer meant life is full of trials which are as heavy, and as brightly and beautifully worn on our hearts. Trails are a heavy, annoying clothing on us which could catch us a lot of attention, but we glow in our worries, making people admire such strength.

Maybe trails aren’t as bad. They make us better. Maybe the fire is the only answer to glitter gold after all.

Basically the poem is about why a person would have to change, for a number of reasons. And albeit the same reasons to change would mumble back, much wouldn’t be done afterwards. The mind of the protagonist in this poem has already been made up!

The end.

Till another publishing, cheers!