2008 Woodie Awards
Featured Stories
Where have all the Parents Gone? Part 1
Stanley Onyewuchi
Issue date: 2/18/08 Section: Features
The winds whisper, their sound like the rumbling of tea. They sweep dry sand as they speed along the way. The mountains loom, tall and shadowy, silhouetted against the cloudless sky. The sun burns ill-temperedly, successive heat waves bear down exponentially.
Today the sky is spotted with flying dots moving slowly across the horizon. In spite of this, there is silence. Even as the vultures come into view, their shaven heads held by malformed necks, even then, there is still no sound. Nothing.
The bald birds hover, tight-lipped, saving their breaths for flying. Suddenly, as if on cue, they all close in, rocketing towards the ground at unbelievable pace.
On the ground, a lizard perks its ears: its primordial instincts scream at it. The lizard jerks its head from side to side, searching frantically for danger. Finally, it looks up, too late. The three vultures swarm the lizard, each one eager to draw first blood. They stomp down on the dusty ground in a flurry of feathers at the same time. Each of them knows that this is a fight for survival. In a burst of speed, one of the vultures flies off; the transmogrified lizard hangs, its neck torn open by the piscean talons. The other vultures give chase, leaving behind a splat of reptilian blood on the bare sand. Again, all is silent.
In the distance, a sharp sound breaks the silence. The cold, dry winds tear off in that direction, spraying sand and dust in the stark emptiness that is the desert.
In the distance, she coughs again, a hollow searing sound that eats into the barren air. Her rheumatic pain triggers as she bends over to spit, letting fly blood-lined mucus. The wind arrives, just in time, slamming the phlegm into her face. She reacts spontaneously, throwing her hands in the way, but she is too late. She claws desperately, fighting for breath, tearing the vile substance off her face. As she does this, another cough spasm kicks in, throwing her off balance onto the ground. She looks down at her grazed leg, and rubs snot into her open wound because she knows she cannot afford to lose blood. She limps back towards the shack and as she approaches it, she sighs. The children should not be living here.
Today the sky is spotted with flying dots moving slowly across the horizon. In spite of this, there is silence. Even as the vultures come into view, their shaven heads held by malformed necks, even then, there is still no sound. Nothing.
The bald birds hover, tight-lipped, saving their breaths for flying. Suddenly, as if on cue, they all close in, rocketing towards the ground at unbelievable pace.
On the ground, a lizard perks its ears: its primordial instincts scream at it. The lizard jerks its head from side to side, searching frantically for danger. Finally, it looks up, too late. The three vultures swarm the lizard, each one eager to draw first blood. They stomp down on the dusty ground in a flurry of feathers at the same time. Each of them knows that this is a fight for survival. In a burst of speed, one of the vultures flies off; the transmogrified lizard hangs, its neck torn open by the piscean talons. The other vultures give chase, leaving behind a splat of reptilian blood on the bare sand. Again, all is silent.
In the distance, a sharp sound breaks the silence. The cold, dry winds tear off in that direction, spraying sand and dust in the stark emptiness that is the desert.
In the distance, she coughs again, a hollow searing sound that eats into the barren air. Her rheumatic pain triggers as she bends over to spit, letting fly blood-lined mucus. The wind arrives, just in time, slamming the phlegm into her face. She reacts spontaneously, throwing her hands in the way, but she is too late. She claws desperately, fighting for breath, tearing the vile substance off her face. As she does this, another cough spasm kicks in, throwing her off balance onto the ground. She looks down at her grazed leg, and rubs snot into her open wound because she knows she cannot afford to lose blood. She limps back towards the shack and as she approaches it, she sighs. The children should not be living here.
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