After The Storm

Eve had just stepped out of the bathroom when the doorbell rang. She tossed the towel on the bed and grabbed a dark brown Kanga, wrapped it around her chest and tiptoed to the door. She flushed Christopher a smile when she opened the door, said “hi,” and stepped aside to let him in but he did not move. Something seemed to have grabbed his attention and Eve could immediately tell what. The kanga covered only a small portion of her thighs, leaving the rest bare for Christopher to marvel at. Worried that he would think she was doing this on purpose, Eve cursed herself for not throwing on some random clothes before rushing to the door.

When Christopher didn’t look up or pretend he wasn’t ogling at her, Eve feigned a cough which snapped him out of his bewilderment. He smiled, his usual easy smile that lightened up his face and made his eyes appear bigger in a good way, mumbled something she couldn’t hear and stepped in.

After The Storm

Tony lay on his back with his left hand behind his head, looking at his cellmate who was way older than him. His cellmate, a short, staunch man with a shiny bald, was seated on the edge of his bed, a burning cigarette wedged between his left hand’s fingers and an open Bible balancing on his right thigh. He took a puff each time he wanted to turn a new page, the cigarette butt smouldering red as he drew in smoke, which he let out through his nose, eyes closed in what Tony imagined was sheer delight. Tony searched the man’s face, wondering when he was going to look his way and maybe strike a conversation with him. But the man bowed his head to his Bible and continued reading, tracing Bible lines with his finger, intriguing Tony the more. Who was this guy? How come he smoked in a cell while reading a Bible like it was a normal thing to do? And, perhaps most importantly, what was he doing his time for?

Gallery After The Storm

Her son, Damian, had fallen asleep on the couch again. Eve guiltily wished her husband were around to carry and tuck him in bed because she was tired of being the one to do it every night. At the age of seven, Damian was no longer tiny, and she felt his weight each time she lifted him. After contemplating letting him spend the night on the couch and deciding it was a terrible idea, she hoisted him, his head resting on her left shoulder, and walked him to his room. Damian opened his eyes and smiled at her as she placed him on the bed, forcing her to tickle him for tricking her into carrying him to bed. She loved how he roared with laughter and kicked his feet in the air, so she continued tickling him for a while before climbing in bed next to him and sang him the Itsy-Bitsy Spider song she had discovered on YouTube. He loved the song so much that he would not sleep until she sang it to him.