TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY
Bio
When I was a young child, I would wake up in the night screaming because of nightmares. As time went on, I realized that I was looking forward to my dreams. They were much more exciting than my real life. So now, I write about my dreams...
Stories (9/0)
The Man Who Made Me
The Man Who Made Me… I keep my paintings in the spare room and while cataloguing some for my website lately, I came across my old horse racing ribbons and martial arts belts – I had to stop what I was doing for a moment, while remembering the person, the reason, I had such things, stored away with my paintings, and memories…
By TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY8 months ago in Humans
The Dark Place
The Dark Place By Tanika Smith Wheatley Prologue Donna and The Dark Forest I have always loved horse riding, usually galloping through the woods, across meadows or along the beach; but today, I found myself pleasantly and slowly riding a horse down a narrow country lane lined with fragrant Camellia which had been one of my grandmother’s favourite plants; she had had several Camellia in her garden, when alive. The sun shone warmly on my face and I turned my face upwards, to enjoy its warmth - I breathed in the flower’s enchanted fragrance deeply - I was so captivated with the pleasant ride that I almost fell from the horse when my grandmother suddenly ran out from between the Camellia plants and grabbing the bridle, abruptly stopped my horse – naturally I was pleased to see her; but I was also perplexed and wanted to say, ‘but…you’re supposed to be dead…’ but I felt afraid that my words might break the spell of her ethereal presence s0 I silently let her lead us down a tiny (and narrowing) path through a darkening forest – no more pretty Camelia plants - until we reached a clearing and I had to blink from the sudden brightness after being in the dark woods before I realized - we were in the middle of a cemetery – still; we continued in silence, until she stopped - and pointed - and I gasped – I had to climb down from my horse to take a closer look to be sure I was seeing correctly – two identical simple white tombstones standing side by side - one with my name on it, and the other blank – but when I turned to question her about this strange phenomenon, she’d vanished…
By TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY8 months ago in Fiction
STRIKE
STRIKE By Tanika Smith Wheatley Ironically, it was one of those brilliant sunsets, with pink and orange clouds smeared across a crimson canvass sky. Hardly a breeze stirred, hardly a sound could be heard. Cool and silent, like the calm before the storm. I was hardly aware of anything around me, including my own existence – so still the atmosphere - so hypnotic the scene. This is probably the last beautiful view I will ever witness.
By TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY8 months ago in Fiction
