Lily Séjor
Bio
Lily is really not the best at describing herself, so she'll put this down for now and circle back when (if) she's inspired. For now, she wants you to know that she's your verbose friend who rarely knows what to say.
Stories (21/0)
The Harvest. Top Story - July 2024.
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor22 days ago in Fiction
Validation Is Not An Outside Thing. Top Story - June 2024.
Hey Baby, Can we start by taking a second to celebrate the fact that you are here today? Yes! For some of us, it’s a small victory on life that we get to claim every time we wake up. You and I both know we haven’t always wanted to be here. Choosing to stay is a victory. So, congratulations but also thank you! If you are anything like me at your age, I know you are rolling your eyes, right now. But give me a second. It’s a little sappy—I’m aware—but I believe that at every point in life, we all have something to contribute. It doesn’t have to be huge. It can be a simple word to a person who needs to hear it at that very moment. So there you go.
By Lily Séjorabout a month ago in Pride
Dreams of Fish. Runner-up in 3:00 AM Challenge.
“I been havin’ a strange dream, for weeks, Nana.” “Hmm…” Nana’s slender, wrinkled hands are slow but efficient. One by one, she fishes the pods out of the calabash, presses the center to separate the shells and shakes the cream-colored pigeon peas into an old pot.
By Lily Séjorabout a month ago in Fiction
Tell Them I Came Home. Runner-up in Travel Snaps Challenge.
More often than I’d want to confess, I speak to the wind. I picked up the habit as a child, in the Caribbean, where the trade winds constantly sweep across the islands, picking up scents from near and far—each smell, a nugget of information. On the backseat of my mother’s car, over the coastal road, heading to my grandmother’s, an inevitable gust would whisper to my nose and let me know whether or not a fresh batch of sargassum (brown algae) had landed on our shores. In early July, when we set foot on our family’s plot of land, gossips of ripe mangoes would buzz in my nostrils. I have no clear memory of when it started but, one day, I reciprocated and shared a secret with the wind. Today, I speak to my ancestors and send news to them on the flapping wings of birds made of air.
By Lily Séjor2 months ago in Wander
Two Wrinkles In Time. Top Story - May 2024.
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor3 months ago in Fiction
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