This is just a small section of a fictional tale I'm working on which is based on snippets of my life in Africa.
He waded quietly through the swamp, careful not to alert his quarry. His jeans tucked into his boots protecting his legs from the sharp adhesive shrubs beneath the water. With every guarded step, the water behind him bubbled & gurgled releasing the air the plants had managed to secure over time.
The gun held across his chest, the blue of the gunmetal glimmering in the blazing sun. With his finger resting anxiously on the safety, in readiness for the instant he was within range.
He approached a Mobola tree a few metres away. The foliage drooping down to the waters’ surface amongst the water lilies, throwing off reflections, becoming distorted by his movement as he gradually drew closer.
Under the scorching midday sun, even the fresh water was unable to quench the irritable heat upon him but the tree would provide a brief respite. The sweat ran down his body like rivulets accelerated by his anticipation, his sodden dark hair sat immovable and his sight interrupted by the occasional sting of salty perspiration.
When he reached the tree, he paused for a while to slow his racing heartbeat.
Wiping his face to clear his vision, he spotted a kingfisher perched on an old stump by the waters’ edge.
‘J
ake, don’t move’, came the shout from behind.
Caught up in the thrill of the hunt and the beauty of his surroundings, he had been totally oblivious of any presence behind him.
Before he could react, a thunderous shot rang out so close that it shook him to his bones and left his ears as though they had been immersed in fathomless waters.
He looked at his gun thinking it had somehow fired of its own will and just beyond where he stood, the ducks erupted from the water, darkening the sky with their sheer number like an undulating swarm of locust.
There was a splash just beside him and when the water calmed, the creature was thrashing about, throwing its green scaly body into convulsions until it stilled and turned on its yellow underside.
The hissing sound grew louder as his ears recovered and instinctively looked up expecting another mamba to hurl itself from the tree.
‘Are you alright my boy’? The voice was one of paternal concern.
‘I’m fine, but that snake was near invisible’.
Tom Noble chuckled as he patted his son on the back.
‘Another second you would have got yourself a nasty bite although not venomous enough to kill you’.
‘Just as well it wasn’t the black variety’, said Jake thoughtfully.
They both looked up at the tree, following the eerie hissing that was now beginning to diminish.
‘Our people call it the talking tree’, Atuga explained, taking a bite from his kola nut, recalling the time when he had been initiated into the secret society.
‘They believe that the spirits of our ancestors live within’.
He stepped forward and placed a dark muscular arm on the bark where it had been stripped and gently stroked it as if to ask forgiveness and placate the spirits.
Tell us your story! 
) were against it but hey, I can be stubborn. Having promised my mother I would study, I ended up enrolling at La Laguna University where I finished my degree in English philology in 2006. Married hubby last year in March (and they said it wouldn't last). Tenerife has become home. I am very lucky, I think. I have a loving and wonderful and funny husband and I now have my own business (apartment management). No kids (thank you). Just contentment
arty21:
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