Through The Mango Tree Fields (part 1)



Chukwukwe Eugenia Adaku

As I drifted off to slumber, I recalled some of the strange things I had encountered on my travels, which I had recorded in my notebook in great detail. The first sight that caught my attention was a flower, whose appearance resembled a sunflower in every respect, save that the petals were pink in colour. And as I walked past, it grew incredibly tall, reaching a height of several stories only to wilt and die, turning to dust in a matter of minutes. I then took a couple sips of the water and the next thing I recall, I awoke to find myself in the filthy, unfinished basement of a rundown shack without windows. I checked my satchel to find that that the Mangoes had been replaced with what appeared to be stones and my crossbow had been replaced with a slingshot, the bolts missing. I took a fruit from one of my canteens and immediately spit the liquid from my mouth in disgust. It was vodka! I then tasted one of the strange stone-like objects from the satchel and concluded that they were, in fact, stones and made my way to the door
only to find that it was locked, but the hinges looked badly worn. I took several steps back, enough to get a running start at the door, and flung my body at it with everything I had. When I hit the door I hit it with such force that the rusty hinges snapped, the door fell, and I followed, landing flat on my face. A little shocked by the result at first, I rose to my feet, brushed myself off and looked around to find a barren, rocky field. “What the hell?” I exclaimed “what happened to my Mango tree field?” I wondered Where there had once been colourful flowers, giant mushrooms, midgets and shit there was now only bare, rocky earth with no signs of vegetation. And the sky, once all beautiful and blue and what not, was now just a dull, lifeless gray. Feeling all sad and stuff about it, I took a big-ass swig of the canteen and proceeded to cry like a whiney bitch as I walked in the opposite direction of the landmark I had been following the previous day, trying to retrace my steps.

© Aecons

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