Saja Bo Storm
Stories (43/0)
DREAM SEQUENCE
Dream Sequence SFS 2 Dream Two: Anansi, the spider and the Dreamcatcher A voice from the speaker spoke calmly but firm. “Cheyenne Lightfoot your dream story. Please.” The voice came from the moderator of the Dream Study she and seven other participants signed up for in anticipation of receiving a generous monetary award. Cheyenne had just gulped the entire bottle of spring water after gobbling down a slice of decadent ‘to die for’ chocolate cake off the refreshment table. Her mouth was full as she pleaded for more time with the voice which appeared to be quite annoyed. “Miss Lightfoot, you are late and unprepared. Should I call on someone else?” With a muffled voice, Cheyenne begged for forgiveness. “I'm so sorry. I'm ready now. That chocolate cake was soooo delicious.” Cheyenne smacked her lips, wiped her mouth with the soiled napkin and plunged into the details of her dream. “At the beginning of my dream, I sat in the center of a circle of ten toddlers with my legs crossed like a fried chicken wing.” She cleared her throat and continued when no one laughed. “I was telling them the legend of the dreamcatcher. Once upon a time, a grandmother was sewing and doing cross stitching or maybe it was needlepoint.” Cheyenne shrugged her shoulders. “Her grandson stopped by with some food. He noticed a spider and was about to squash him when his grandmother stopped him. In turn for saving his life, the spider wove a web which would catch all the good and bad dreams, but only the good ones would come through the web and drop down through the feathers. From that point on, the tribes made dreamcatchers to protect the sleeping children. I held up a dream catcher to show the children how powerfully crafted it was. Can you see? Here, the spider’s web catches all the dreams both good and bad. The beads represented the seven directions called upon them to bless you. Good dreams flowed through the webbing and reach the feathers down to all of you while you're sleeping. Are we ready to make dream catchers?” I asked them. In my dream I sat them down in the art room and provided them with all the materials they needed to make dreamcatchers. I gave them colorful beads, feathers, strings, one wide circle which represents Mother Earth, four smaller ones used to enhance the largest circle. I walked around the tables helping out any child who needed assistance. They were having a lot of fun. So was I. Until everything went south. Suddenly, a loud booming crash was heard outside of the room. All the lights went out. ‘Hello, I think that's dumb. Who turned out the lights? You’re scaring us! I mean, the children.’ The children stopped their crafts and began running in circles. I calmed them down. Some pulled at my clothes, some hid behind me, and others cried out, mommy I need you. I think I was the one yelling mommy. I said to the children, don’t worry I'll protect you. I turned the lights on and said, ‘Everybody, follow me to the back door’. I gathered and herded all the children to the back door where all their parents and guardians were miraculously waiting. As soon as I turned back around, the intense stare of two red eyes from the back of the art room pierced my very being. I still had the dreamcatcher in my hand, and it surprised me when I heard a small voice. I looked down at the center of the dreamcatcher and noticed a spider. It was not just any old spider; it was Anansi the spider of African folklore fame. Anansi is a great trickster who professes than no matter how small you are, you can think to outwit your greatest enemy. Anansi whispered, ‘don't move. Any sudden moves will be seen as a threat.’ In my dream, a bad dream surfaced and escaped from the center of the dreamcatcher. The sun’s rays were overcome from the tremendous number of bad dreams the night before and a demon slipped through the vortex and now it was after me. Anansi told me that no weapon would be strong enough to defeat the demon. He also told me that I had to find a way to fool him. ‘How do I fool a demon?’ I asked him. ‘I don't know’, Anansi said with a gleam in his eye, ‘How do you?’ Anansi chuckled and continued, ‘I would offer him a reason for not destroying me.’ I asked him, ‘what do I have to offer?’ ‘Hmmm’, Anansi said, ‘you really don't have to offer him anything. You have to make him think that you're offering him something that he desires.’ ‘Umm, I know what I can offer him…my soul.’ Well, Anansi said, ‘that's quite a valuable commodity. Are you sure you want to offer it?’ ‘It's just an offer.’ I said. ‘I intend to keep my soul forever.’ I approached the demon ready for the negotiations of a lifetime. My lifetime at least. I gathered up my courage and marched toward the demon holding the dreamcatcher close to my chest. ‘How dare you approach me You are but a mere human.’ The demon grumbled. ‘Yes, but I know you want something from me…unbelievably valuable…my soul. I have an offer…’ Just that quickly in an instant, in a blink of a red eye, Anansi hopped from the dreamcatcher to the demon and bit him leaving a venomous toxin that devoured the insides of the demon. He imploded immediately. ‘What! Anansi, why didn’t you tell me your plan? You let me risk my life to defeat a demon when all you had to do was bite it?’ ‘Well,’ Anansi said rubbing his hind legs. ‘I needed you to distract the demon. Teamwork is the best plan. I needed you and you needed me. Your soul is intact. Check one. I remain unsquashed. Check two. One demon defeated. Checkmate.’
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Fiction
DREAM SEQUENCE
Dream Sequence SFS 1 Dream One: Policy Pete's Dream Number Book. Eight strangers formed a wide circle around the center of the room. There were no windows, bare walls, and subdued amber light. The room temperature was a moderate seventy two degrees. David Kensington sat in the center of the Queen Anne’s chair reminiscent of his grandmother’s gold upholstered reading chair. He used to watch his favorite programs in her room when his four brothers and three sisters refused to let him watch what he wanted. He was the youngest and the last child to get his say. So, he always ran up the flight of twenty odd steps to the third floor and knocked softly on his grandmother’s bedroom door. He could watch whatever he wanted while she smiled up from her Agatha Christie paperback and enjoyed his company. David scanned the room. He was observing the seven other people. Wondering what they had in common. Dreams, he thought silently. Our dreams. Someone sat perched on the edge of their seat., others were relaxed and comfortable, and the rest appeared comatose or sleep. A soft calm voice from the speaker located in the far upper right corner of the ceiling greeted the strangers. It thanked them again for being punctual and congratulated them for being selected for the unique dream study. At the end of the session, you will be awarded a generous cash payment for your participation. It asked if anyone had any questions and when no one responded the voice said, “David Kensington, you may begin with Dream One.” David squirmed in the comfortable chair and cleared his throat. He pushed up from the chair and walked over to the refreshment table grabbing a bottle of spring water and a granola bar. He took a sip from the bottle and walked casually back to his seat. “Should I tell you all about my dream?” “Yes, Mr. Kensington, if you would begin. We will start with you. Dream One.” “Well, I'm a city boy. I grew up in a rowhouse located in the heart of the city not far from the Inner Harbor and downtown. When I thought about my dream, I remembered that my grandmother playing numbers. She always had a dream book and when she dreamed about certain things like a pair of old shoes, running from a stranger, a cup of hot chocolate. It could be anything. Sometimes it was even a number. Almost every adult in our neighborhood played numbers on the street. And if your number came out, you won money. When I grew up, I did research on the numbers. Many people had dream books they referred to. In fact, I looked up the dream book on the website and I found Policy Pete's dream book written in 1933. Now Pete lived in Harlem, New York and he had a book that you could refer to for help in picking the perfect number. It coincided with anything that you dreamed about though. I looked and looked through that book, but I couldn't find any number for an old barn. 647 is the number for tractor though. He laughed, There’s a tractor in my dream.” “Mr. Kensington, the voice interjected, we’re waiting to hear about your dream.” “Oh, my bad. I almost forgot. As I was saying, I grew up in the city. There weren't many trees or other forms of greenery in my neighborhood. A lot of dirty white concrete, dusty brown bricks, and pasty gray cement. But I remembered that my mother planted sunflowers in the backyard and those flowers were beautiful. They had humongous yellow petals with brown centers. Hey, they were almost taller than me. It was very surprising that I had a dream about a farm. In my dream I remember seeing chickens and pigs, cows, and goats. There were about six or seven horses grazing at the top of the hill. The sky was as blue as the bluest blueberries. The air was fresh, and you could just breathe it in enjoying the sweet nectar. There was a slight breeze blowing and the sun warmed your body like a thin cotton blanket. The pungent smells of the farm contrasted with the horrible smells of the city like the car exhaust and the factory smoke. In the middle of the farm set a large old red barn. Sing so far away. I wondered where everybody had disappeared to because early in the morning most people who lived on a farm were awake doing farm chores. Of course, I knew nothing about what they did. I only read about it. Milking the cows, slopping the pigs, feeding the chickens and goats, and grooming the horses. In my dream, I couldn't feel my legs after a while, and I realized I was sweating buckets of stale liquid. The walk was getting difficult because the barn was situated at the top of the hill. The more I walked, the further it appeared. I stopped, put my head down, placed my hands on my knees and took a few quick breaths. I inhaled and exhaled several times before I continued my journey. The old barn on closer speculation was brand new. It didn't quite fit in with the rest of the scenery. It looked as if someone had just built it or placed it there for ambiance because everybody knows you need an old barn on a farm. I mean there were tractors and other farming equipment and the animals so it wouldn't be right if there wasn’t a barn.” David continued while the others looked at him incredulously, some with questions reflected in their eyes. Someone shouted, “Just get on with it. Listen the suspense is killing me.” Yeah, someone else chirped in, “What’s in the stupid old barn?” “Oh. Ok, I'm sorry. I just recalled and recollected the details in my dream. You know how if you don't do that as soon as you wake up, you'll forget everything. Of course, I didn't forget anything. Now I was in front of the barn. There were no knobs only a board across the two wide doors. I tried to lift the wooden bar and secured with unknotted dangling rope which hung from the other door. The doors were extremely heavy. I wasn't sure I could lift them. I held my breath and gathered up some residual strength. I finally was able to push the door open. I slowly stepped in and noticed that the barn had windows but no light from the outside illuminated it. There was a huge crowd of people standing in the dimness of the interior. Some were sitting on the bales of hay. As I approached them, their eyes signaled me with expressions of trepidation, maybe fear. Some made hand gestures as if they cautioned me to stop. Although no one made a sound. It was quiet and still. The air inside was stuffy still and thick. Something in the back of the bar loomed over the crowd. Pairs of round spheres appeared motionless in the backdrop at the top of the barn’s highest point. I wasn't sure if I should continue or turn around and run.” David blew out a deep breath. “So, what did you do?” someone shouted from the circle. “Yeah, what happened?” another voice yelled. The room grew energetic with the sounds of anxious voices. The hum and the buzz of the crowd grew intense. A few of the strangers headed for the door. The voice interjected, “Everyone please quiet down. Calm down and remain seated. Mr. Kensington, finish your dream, please.” David stood up. He threw up his hands and frowned. “I don't know what I did, David said, I woke up.”
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Fiction
don't think, just breathe
Bree Cerra pulled on her silver heart shaped locket which hung low around her swan-like neck. She wondered why she reached for it. She never took it off. It was a symbol of her creativity. She absentmindedly scanned the grocery products on the conveyor belt and occasionally glanced at the timer. It was almost over. She could join her friends in a couple of hours. She didn't know what she would wear tonight. It was a casual night out with her closest friends. Wednesday was social night for her group. Her section had to wear blue outer garments for identification. She remembered the blue denim jacket that her best friend, Jayce had made for her. That's what I’ll wear tonight. She recalled that she wore a blue leather jacket last month She clocked out and jumped in her pink Beretta. She pushed through the doors of her apartment and took a quick shower, brushed her teeth, and slipped on a khaki jumpsuit and her jacket. When she arrived at the Purple Hibiscus café, all her friends were outside laughing and passing around drinks.
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Futurism
The Dream of a Lifetime
The Dream of a Lifetime Bringing Journalism to You! I wanted to enter the challenge because I am a retired person who has an abundance of time and lot of ideas about how I want to help others. The concept I have is to create a place for people to journal. It is something like this concept of Vocal. As a writer, I found out that vocal presents an avenue for me to receive weekly prompts to write about my ideas and feelings about various interesting subjects. Before the pandemic, I was able to volunteer at a senior recreation center as a teacher of students who wanted to journal. for two months, I was able to engage with people who wanted to write about their challenges navigating through life. I am passionate about any form of writing. As I have stated, vocal allows me to keep writing an activity that I am extremely passionate about. These activities fuel my desire to continue writing and finish things that I have already begun in my hope to find readers to engage with in the world. My plan for my project is to engage with people who wish to journal in the hopes to get them to realize larger goals. some of the students in my class wanted to know more about the creative process of writing. In fact, a few of them wanted to learn how to begin writing their memoirs. By no means do I think that journaling should be confined to the elderly. I want to open these classes for people of all ages. Their all many benefits of journaling. One of them is the fact that it is a stress-free activity that cannot be extremely therapeutic. The physical act of journaling provides a heathy benefit as well. It enables the body to connect to the brain and send signals which provide a healthier body. Journaling also can help organize feelings we have about your family and friends. You can get a chance to put in writing how you really feel about people. Some of your feelings go unsaid but can be written down in your journal and discarded later if you wish. A journal also gives you a chance to write about family traditions in the hopes of leaving a legacy for future generations. Writing by hand can have similar benefits to medication. In an article called the simple joy of writing by hand, Barbara bash writes it is something about the physical act the holding of the hand and pen that is meditative, bringing me to the present. Also, writing by hand can help enhance creative expression. A journal can help work out self-doubts frustrations uncertainties or other feelings that are part of the creative process. The rhythm of and flow of journaling is handwriting with words which allows you to be calmer, and focused. It is an activity which is extremely soothing.
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Humans
A Fish Out of Water
A Fish out of Water Not a Social Butterfly by any means Floundering during social occurrences was always second nature to me. I remember my very first instance of landing flat on my face in public. I was a freshman in college just graduating from high school that summer. It didn't help that I was shy, afraid, and new to all things socially relevant. When I appeared in the public eye, I kept my textbooks close to my breast. They acted as shields between me and other people. I never ventured out into the world of the college campus until this day. This day, I wanted more than cheese peanut butter crackers and cola from the machine. I had an early class at 8:00 a.m. and my next class wasn't until 3 p.m. It was a Monday morning, and I was eager to continue studying for a Social Studies exam later that afternoon. I needed more nourishment. The only time I stepped out of Holmes Hall was to go to my gym class. I had a swimming class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. All my other classes were near Holmes Hall. I had no need to venture across the bridge that day because I had no gym classes. I have no idea why I decided to break all my rules. All the rules news that kept me bottled inside my box of social assuredness. Because I would be assured that I could avoid a social faux pas if I stayed within the confines of my rules. My stomach was growling, and I knew peanut butter and cheese crackers would not do. I had gone to bed without dinner because I was so exhausted from studying all Sunday for my three o’clock social Studies class. I gathered up my frightened body and walked purposefully to the front entrance of Holmes Hall. I was determined to go to the Canteen. The social hangout of the college. Keep in mind the only time I'd ever been to the Canteen was well come to think of it I had never been there. I wondered if I could even get there without directions. I could never ask for directions because that would make me the most foolish person on earth let alone the college campus of Morgan State University. I walked across the bridge and glanced up at the clock situated in front of the building. Could I do this? I don't know. Surely, everybody in the canteen would be occupied with eating studying or maybe even resting, listening to music from the jukebox. You could always hear music playing from the jukebox. No one will be paying attention to me. I looked down at my plaid jumper and scout why did I wear this today. I looked like a child in elementary school. white button-down blouse. it was awful I looked like adult of rag doll. You can do this. All you need to do is fit in. They're all like you. Everybody in the canteen is either hungry, relaxing, talking, or studying. In fact, they are socializing on their breaks in between classes, and they won't even notice you. I walk in and I guess. These people are not my people. Look at the girls. They have beautiful blow out Afros and are wearing jeans and sandals. Some of them have jewelry studded headbands and are wearing their hair in two braids. They look so casual and comfortable. I have on black and whites and am wearing a green sweater with green buttons. I am carrying four books…three textbooks and a big loose-leaf notebook. I don't belong. I can't walk any further. No one's looking at me but no one's smiling either. And my stomach is still growling. I'm sure the whole place has heard it now but I'm not sure because the music's very loud. I hear a lot of chatter, a lot of laughter and there are some students sleeping and others cuddling in the corners of the canteen. All I need to do, is walk with some confidence to the counter and order. I'll just get a hamburger and fries. I can do this. Remember no one's paying attention to you. all you have to do is fit in. You are the same age. You're all here for the same thing. You're a grown-up college student getting ready to order a hamburger and some fries. Nobody cares about you. They have their own lives. Who knows maybe you can spot someone who's in one of your classes? That would be the answer. Find somebody who has the same interests you do. I don’t see anybody I know. Okay, get your food and find a seat. Good. I see an empty table. Now sit down and eat your food and go. You can do this. The sounds of the music, laughter, and chatter has enveloped you. You barely hear the voice that asks, is it okay if I sit at your table? You look up and smile. Yes. You push aside your textbooks, please have a seat. Are you ready for the test? I think I am, but after we eat maybe we can study together. Hey, that’s good, I was so afraid that I almost didn’t come inside. Maybe one day I’ll be as bold as you were. I smiled and said. Yeah, I think you already are. Would you like some fries?
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Confessions
Freedom is NOT Free!
Freedom is not Free. As told by a fighter in the 60’s Civil Rights Movement Freedom is not free. Many decades ago, I sat my seventeen-year-old body in the streets in front of my college campus. Praying that the moving cars would indeed halt and not crush my young body, I knew I was fighting for freedom. I also knew that there was a risk I had to take to gain this freedom.
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in The Swamp
The Joyful Art of Scrapbooking
The Joyful Art of Scrapbooking Every picture cut, snipped and clipped by scissors tells a story. The world-renowned artist Romare Bearden would have been a great scrap-booker. Since the concept of Scrapbooking is about taking scraps, and other pieces of material to create a visionary explosion of cohesive imagery, the ‘Father of Collage’ would have excelled at the craft. He was also an author and songwriter heavily influenced by the artists of the Harlem Renaissance. His art especially collage and photomontage prove that colorful images can impact its audience and tell a story, evoke an emotion, and relay a powerful message about the community and even the world. That's what Scrapbooking does for me. The inspiration from Romare Bearden encouraged me, someone who is not a renowned artist or even a professional one to create art through my scrapbooking. When I look at his collages whether it be The Block, Jazz, Kansas City, Mother and Child, Young Students, Carolina Shout, or any other of his collages, I am inspired to create.
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Families
Birds of a Feather
The Northern Cardinal A birder is a birdwatcher. As a young child, I became a bird watcher years ago when I was a member of the National Autobahn Society. One hot day after Mother's Day and before the arrival of the 17-year cicadas, I decided to do some gardening. A day earlier I had spotted a beautiful red bird with a crest and black face. A bird that I believed was a Cardinal. That bird inspired me to go outside. I hadn't engaged in many outside activities since the pandemic, but I had received my best inspiration and motivation to engage with the world again that day. I felt a little more comfortable engaging with nature. The one constant in this chaos of the pandemic has been the continuing cycle of nature. The seasons changed, the sun shined, the snow and rain fell, and the leaves of the trees still changed colors. When I spotted the bird the first time, with my naked eye I quickly grabbed my phone and quietly snapped a picture through my screen door. The next day I gathered up my materials for gardening and a few bushes I needed to plant. I also had a packet of wildflower seeds to plant to attract honeybees. the most important task at hand was to rid my garden of weeds. I had a bird nest above my awning, and they chirped most of the day. They kept me company.
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Photography
I'll always Love my Mama
Marion Elizabeth Matthews Bruce taught me many unforgettable life lessons. Lessons I’ve shared with my four children and four grandchildren. The woman I called Nana set a formidable foundation for who I was and would become. As a timid, shy bookworm, I needed direction and parenting from a woman who proved to be a force to be reckoned with on any occasion. There was one spectacular lesson that resonated throughout my adult years. When I was a young teen, she told me that I should always work hard to achieve everything I want in life on my own... that everything else given to me would be extra. I live my life following that especially important doctrine. The message helped me at the time when women were struggling to attain both career success as well as success as a wives and mothers. I always I believed if I were the best woman, I would be a better wife and mother. In the 70s, most businesses were determined to keep women in a tight financially closed box. A place where we were unable to purchase cars, homes, appliances, and other possessions without the assistance and consent of a man, mainly a husband. In my personal desire to purchase those things, I found opposition from various companies. They all presented one probing question--- where is your husband? So, I spent a lot of time against the wall until I decided to marry for love and approval from the men who believed that my mother's advice was unwarranted. Most of the lessons I learned from my mother were unspoken. I watched her form a strong romantic relationship with my stepfather. She always took the time to take care of his well-being. She would wash and iron his clothes. She would cook his meals while she worked and made the time to spread her love throughout the family of a husband and six children. Another lesson learned from my mother involved her love of cooking. She always prepared delicious home cooked meals and when I got older, I learned how to cook and make the same meals just by standing by her side in the kitchen. The one thing I never learned to do was clean and gut fish. So, after I married, I continued to bring fresh fish to my mother's house so she could cut off the heads and scrape off the scales. She also showed me how to bake and at the early age of 13 I was making fancy Lady Baltimore cakes. No easy task. I became the family birthday cake baker and continued to bake cakes for everybody's birthday until I passed the baton to my baby sister who abandoned the cake baking for the more prestigious baking experience--- the family Christmas cookie baker for the family. The tradition still stands today. One of the more important lessons my mother taught me was how to maintain loyal friendships. She always had a multitude of coworkers, friends, relatives, and neighbors who respected and cherished her kindness and generosity. This lesson taught me how to care and respect people in all aspects of my life whether it be career, church, work, and other social engagements. Ultimately, the best lesson my mother taught me was how to be a grandmother. When I talked to my children about their grandmother, they always expressed the caring they received from her. She would fix them lunches including delectable sandwiches that she had never even prepared for me. She had them watching her favorite soap operas and engaging in other hobbies she enjoyed. These lessons taught me how to be a better wife, mother, friend, neighbor, co-worker and above all a better grandmother. Thank you, Nana, for the love, life lessons and for everything else you’ve given to me and our family.
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Families
Save the Birds and the Bees
Save the birds and the bees! Listen to the water. As a young child, I have always cared about nature and how it affected our environment. I had already traveled barefoot down the path to reduce my carbon footprint. Even though I lived in an asphalt jungle, the Gilmor projects, I became a member of The National Audubon Society. This organization protects birds and the places they need today and tomorrow throughout the world using science advocacy and education. Many species need our protection from habitat loss and climate change. Living near the Chesapeake Bay, I have realized the need to contribute and provide initiatives to strengthen these important waters. The National Audubon Society has provided help with their conservation work to restore the shrinking saltmarshes. The Black Rail’s ‘ki ki ki kerr’ call was monitored by audio recorders donated by the National Audubon Society to record them so that they could determine whether the species needed to be added to the endangered species list. One of the ways to protect birds is to choose native plants for our yards and public spaces. We can restore vital habitats for birds in our communities and help them adapt and survive in the face of climate change. I used money for chores to sign up to become a member of the National Audubon Society as a child. The simplest thing I could do as an adult was to continue my support by providing a financial donation to the society and research their initiatives for providing a healthy environment for birds in my community.
By Saja Bo Storm3 years ago in Earth