A few more days to take advantage of the literary promotion I have in remembrance of Hurricane Katrina. I went to college in Louisiana, Grambling State University, and the devastation touched me through friends it effected directly. I wrote a short story book, Mississippi Window Cracks, that linked characters traveling through Mississippi and Louisiana. (New Orleans in particular)
Through August 29th if you buy an autographed copy of my new novel, The Town Dance, and post a review on Amazon or Goodreads by September 19th, I will GIFT you with a copy of Mississippi Window Cracks. (Hey, as indie artists we have to stay creative on how to promote!)
Enjoy an excerpt from the short story, Southern Betrayal, from the book Mississippi Window Cracks.
The store was smaller than I imagined it would be. All of the walls were red, with one of them adorning a large American flag that had two black heads on top. The two heads were smiling and holding rods with snakes wrapped around them. Another wall that led towards the hall way, had a shirt incased in a wooden box. I later learned this was a spell for trapping someone or to capture certain types of spirits when they walked in the store.
Since the curtain was open, I walked in the room. There was a strong smell of lavender incense flowing and white candles were lite everywhere. The furniture was arranged so the room gave a circular appearance. After giving the room a quick glance, I figured the person giving the readings was only available by appointment so I turned to walk out.
“Chu been travelin?,” someone asked from within the room.
“Yes, I have. Not long though,” I responded looking for the person in the room.
“Ya name be revenge, ha?,” the voice asked me again.
“I guess you could consider a to be the reason why I’m here,” I answered walking back into the room still trying to locate the person talking to me.
“Chu’ be da’ woman in me orange dreams. Close da’ curtain, I need to hear ya’ own wurds.”
I obeyed the voice and pulled the curtain closed. When I turned back around, the voice finally began to move to my near left. She was sitting next to a portrait of some type of African mask. Her facial features were so strong. They had to be the sharpest and shiniest I’d ever seen. That is why I never would’ve seen her, her face looked like a beautifully perfected piece of African art.
“Me can’t take ya’ money cause I don already knowed ya’ not not it’s mudah, yeah. Nuttin’ else on da’ shelf fa’ ya’?,” she asked as she rose from her seat not taking her eyes away from mine. She walked across the room and sat down behind a table.
“Sit down but me need ya’ ta walk ovah here snail like,” she asserted.
I walked very slowly to the table just as she had instructed. She observed me from head to toe and was mumbling something to herself that I did not understand. She then spoke loudly as I pulled a chair to sit down.
“Ya’ real heavy in here ya’ know? Ya’ legs already take part snake.” She leaned on the table and looked at me. “Ya’ not here ta’ to talk to me or da odahs in here. Ya’ want Petro,” she said this with force.
“Who?,” I asked her.
“I say Petro! Revenge fa’ somedin bad don to ya’. In me dreams ya’ come orange ridin’ undah da’ sunset. Tole me ya’ soul is gone. Nuttin’ above need anymore. Tell me in ya’ wurds why ya’ here?” she asked me this while observing every corner of my eyes.
“A man has done me very wrong and accused me of things I did not do. I served time away from my family and friends for it. More than anything in the world I want to see him suffer the way I did…,” I rambled on.
“No kundalini inside cha’? Ya’ do not believe in karma ha’?”, she turned her head sideways as if she really wanted a deep answer from me.
“No river in ya” no more, just dry land poof set afire. Petro no like a lot of wurds so in a few, tell me what ya’ want from Petro?,” she asked me in almost a whisper.