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Knotted Roots - Part 13. Top Story - October 2025.
I held onto Jasper, for what felt like hours, but it was only a matter of a few minutes. “I’ll be right back, Jasper.” I slipped out of his limp arms, as he slouched back to the couch. I made my way to the kitchen to brew up some coffee, hoping the warmth and energy would bring some kind of life back to Jasper’s eyes. I wasn’t sure what else to do, but I knew Jasper needed someone. Had he told Jane? Did anyone else know? Even I was in disbelief over the shattering news of his father’s passing. He was doing so well, enjoying the most of his life, especially recently, with Jasper being home. I needed to remain strong, for Jasper. His world just broke, the only family he had left was his father. He was all that remained of the Black family. While the coffee brewed, and the warm roasted smell wafted aimlessly in the air, I returned to Jasper, who had his phone back in his hands. It looked like he had just sent a message to someone, but I wasn’t sure. “Jasper?” He didn’t look up, his fingers slowly gliding over his glass screen. I sat down beside him again, and saw him looking at the few photos of him and Pa he was staring at. He clicked on one in particular, a photo with him, Pa, Jane and her parents, seemingly enjoying a barbeque. “You guys look great together…” I breathed, “He finally went to church that day.” Jasper croaked, his voice gritty. I didn’t know what to say, so I just leaned on Jasper’s arm, hoping it brought him comfort. We sat there, silently leaning against one another until I heard the coffee maker ding. “I’ll grab us a cup.” As I poured the hot brew into two coffee mugs I heard Jasper’s phone ring briefly, followed by his footsteps moving outside as he answered the phone. I sat patiently at the kitchen table awaiting his return but was soon spooked by Jasper slamming the front door shut, his steps rapidly approaching like thunder. “Who was that?” I asked, nervous that he was in such a rage, he had just lost his father, what else could have possibly happened?! “Like you don’t already know.” He gritted through his teeth as he leaned angrily over the kitchen sink. “Jasper, I…” “Why are you here Grace?” “I heard the sirens and saw them turning into your driveway. What happened just now?” My voice rose with confusion, slightly defensive with the way Jasper’s unpredictable anger grew. His body was tense, as if he was trying to control every muscle, every reaction. His hands gripped the basin of the sink like he relied on it for support, for stability. “Jasper, why don’t you just breathe, calm down.” “Calm down?” He scoffed, as he turned so that I could see his face, I took a step back. There was a darkness in his eyes, his face contorted and unrecognizable. “Jasper, you’re not…” “No! I know why you’re here Grace. You can stop pretending now.” “Pretending?!” “You and your slimeball of a fiance are so eager to take this ranch, my heritage, my life!” Jasper’s anger was explosive, as if a nuclear reaction had just occurred. “I tried to love you Grace. I really did, and yet, I’ve been a fool this entire time. I was so blinded that I didn’t realize how bad you’ve manipulated me.” “Manipulated you?!” Jasper let out an exhausted, breathy, laugh. “Greg told me everything.” He said slowly, his eyes like a predator on mine, I was frozen. I wasn’t scared of Jasper, but there was an aura in the way he stalked around the kitchen table towards me, that made me tremble for a moment. “You and Greg think you can take this ranch from me.” His voice was low, twisted. His arm pinning me against a nearby wall in the kitchen, his face sinking so we were on even eye level with one another. “You thought you had this perfect plan, the way I crawled like a puppy to you, the way we made love that night. Oh, it was almost perfectly thought out.” “Jasper…” “No! You don’t get to play with my feelings anymore! I’m done tormenting myself for you!” Could he honestly believe that was why I was here? Have I not hurt as well? Or did he forget how it was when he left? I knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, influenced by Greg’s vile lies, if I had any ounce of love left for him, it was gone. I couldn’t love anyone who would intentionally destroy one’s reason for existing, to so carelessly attack one’s soul. Jasper needed to see the truth, that I never wanted his ranch, that I was here for him! “Who was on the phone?” I asked coldly, now that there was space between us. I was beginning to feel more secure, more bold. “Answer me Jasper!” “Like you didn’t tell him.” He said exhausted, his chest heaving. His eyes low, not even looking at me anymore. His muscles, slowly relaxing. It was as if I was watching him give up, to submit to something. That wasn’t the Jasper I knew. Sorrow swirled in my heart, and it was then that everything had begun to make sense. Greg was in town talking with the bankers, he must’ve seen the ambulance! “Jasper, I haven’t spoken to anyone! I’ve only been here, with you!” “Liar! He told me how you’ve been hoping for this day to come. How you only ever wanted him!” “Jasper, that’s not true! You know that!” “I don’t believe you!” “Jasper, I’m here because I love you! I know you don’t want to admit your feelings for me after everything you’ve been through! I know you’re trying to change yourself! To be different, to be with Jane. But you don’t need to change for me, Jasper! I loved you then, like I love you now, recklessly.” I shouted, a pure emotional release, no longer able to restrain myself. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have crawled into bed with another man!” His hands slamming against the wall behind me, pinning me once more. “It’s not like I was yours to lose! Besides, I made a mistake, Jasper!” “I gave you every piece of me, Grace! For once, I wanted you to love me, without me begging for it!” I stood astonished, speechless. The black envelope, the bantering, how he held me in his room, against the sheets, the passion burning like an inferno. Looking upwards at his shadowy expression, that’s when I saw the tears that had been running down his face. “I think it’s time you left Grace.” “Surely you don’t…” “Leave!” Jasper’s booming anger was evident, and perhaps he needed space, time. He just lost his father, Greg calling him in his darkest hour and stirring things up in the midst of everything. As I slipped out underneath his arm, I slowly made my way to the front door, grabbing the cold doorknob. I looked back to Jasper in the kitchen. He had slumped down to the ground, head in his hands, and my heart churned with torment as I couldn’t ease his pain. I couldn’t because I was part of what caused it, and that tore my heartstrings like a broken chord on a guitar. When I got home, I ran straight to my room slamming my bedroom door and landing on my bed, trying to smother my sobs in my pillow. “Grace, dear?” It was my father, he rarely ever comes into my room, he always knew it was when I needed space, but his presence seemed to bring relief. “Papa! He’s gone!” My father just wrapped me in his arms as I curled into him like a little girl, and sobbed violently in his chest. “I know honeybee, I know.”
By Sibley Shamra11 months ago in Chapters
Cultural appropriation and White women wearing dreadlocks and braids. Top Story - October 2025.
Nappy by nature is not a choice Is it imitation (the best form of flattery) or cultural misappropriation when White males and females wear dreadlocks and braids. Some African American women think it is.
By Cheryl E Preston11 months ago in FYI
The Archives. Top Story - October 2025.
The Archives Walking to her post she noticed her manager shuffling through papers. “What’s wrong?” She asked. The stern stare in her manager’s eyes made her forget she showed interest. Her boss has always been a hardcore man, when he walked you can tell he was going somewhere important. When he talked you can tell he meant business. He was always dressed and had a significant amount of respect throughout the company. He was mean but in the right way, a way that earned him the title of boss. Lately, she has noticed this has been disorganized, and she strolled in today to see what was going on, his desk was messy, he didn’t smile like his usual self, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks.
By Charelle Landers10 months ago in Fiction
Thank You. Top Story - October 2025.
I have been open about how my mother’s death has affected me since it happened in July. I have shown how depressed it has made me, how disoriented it has made, and how, in an odd way, it has made me stronger. Through mostly my poetry and at least one piece of fiction, I have laid my heart bare for everyone to see—and, for the most part, you have all been very receptive to it. You have made me feel accepted and loved in a way that I have not felt from a community in a long time. And for that, I want to tell you all, thank you.
By Stephanie Hoogstad11 months ago in Humans
A Time For Everything. Top Story - October 2025.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled and smiled as I opened my eyes. Seeing stalks sprouting gracefully and vines colliding into each other in unity as they tangle their way through the mosses with force made me to realize that bare land can even surprise you over time when graced with dew and time.
By Emos Sibu Poriei (Kaya)11 months ago in Chapters
Who's Knocking?. Top Story - October 2025.
My grandmother once told me that she didn't much like cats because they were too demanding. But I don't think she knew the character of all cats. It's true that some are a bit needy, though. But not Whiskers. He was purely just a yellow mass of fuzzy politeness and sincerity. And this story is about him; how he changed my life since meeting him early one unassuming and very ordinary Sunday morning in October.
By Shirley Belk11 months ago in Fiction
Thermometer. Top Story - October 2025.
Three sharp pings alerted Emily that the oven had completed its preheating cycle. Donning two protective potholders, she inserted a large tray of muenster cheese-topped chicken breasts and an equally large tray of thoroughly seasoned Brussels sprouts. Two blood orange Le Creuset pots began to bubble on the stovetop, prompting the sous chef to slightly turn down the heat. With her left hand, Emily thoroughly folded the truffle-buttered mashed potatoes with a heart-shaped wooden spoon while her right hand unraveled the frozen slab of spinach with a three-pronged silver fork.
By Kale Sinclair11 months ago in Fiction
Etha and May. Top Story - October 2025.
Etha and May are as different as night is to day. If we are to be particular, we would say one wore red and the other, shades of mild yellow. Both are strong willed, set in their ways, motherly Black women. Etha lives upstairs in the quaint three story house in the Brookdale neighborhood of East 55th street of Brooklyn, NY. May occupied the apartment somewhere between the ground floor and the middle of the house.
By Antoni De'Leon11 months ago in Fiction
Daria's Mum. Top Story - October 2025.
It started weeks ago. Daria was smiling more. Little, private smiles, like she was in on a joke nobody else knew about. She spent more time in her room. More time on her phone. I’d knock to ask about dinner and she’d shout "I’m busy!" like I’d interrupted something sacred. I figured it was a boy. I didn't love it, but there was no manual for how to navigate these waters. If I get really strict, she will just pull away. If I clamp down on her phone use, she'll get sneaky. If I snoop, I'll destroy her trust. This puts me over a barrel, doesn't it? That’s how dating works these days, through screens and usernames and coded emojis. Something she would no doubt remind me of if I did try to broach the subject. So I don't want you to think I was a neglectful mother that I didn’t interfere. I did agonise over how best to parent through this. Don't forget, she is sixteen. At some point, you don’t get to vet their crushes anymore. I'll be honest, I didn't think it would happen this early. But I suppose, all those little endings come sooner than you expect, right out of left field. When she was really small, and we'd been away somewhere, sometimes she would fall asleep in the car on the way back. When we got home, I'd carry her inside to bed. Her little arms draped around my neck, her lashes long and thick over her cheeks. It's the dad who often does that, so I understand it. But it's always just been her and me, what with one thing and another. I've had to do the things dads might normally do, and I haven't regretted a moment of it. Actually, as much as I'd dreaded the single parent life, I wouldn't change it for the world now. I look back on those precious times and I think, perhaps it was a blessing after all, that I didn't have to share them. I don't know why I'm so maudlin, really. Maybe because your first real heartbreak is an even bigger milestone than your first love, and it's looks like that's where we are now. She was banging about in the kitchen the other night, and then she went out "for a walk". That was a bit odd on the face of it. I wondered if she was going to meet him. Whoever he was. Did she look a bit strained when she popped her head round the door before she left? Or was I imagining it? I regretted letting her go. Wished I'd stopped her. Imagined all kinds of awful things... But no. My anxiety was for nothing. She came home after barely twenty five minutes, and went straight to her room. I heard the thlump that meant she'd flopped down on to her bed. I thought I heard her crying, but when I knocked on the door, she squeaked at me to go away. My own heart broke, and I think it stung worse than my own first break up, all those years ago. Her pain has always been worse to me than my own pain. Since then, she’s been dry-eyed, but flat. I asked if she was okay and she said “fine” without looking up. I asked if it was a boy and she said "no". A bit too quickly if you ask me. When I told her last night we were having shepherds pie for dinner, she didn't even pull a face. That's how bad it's got. I checked the tracker app. I know, I know... boundaries. But I needed to know if she was safe. She’s been messaging someone called “Aster.” Who is he? Or I should say, who was he; she hasn't said a word to him since that night. It looks like there are new messages from him, but I don't dare look because I'm not familiar with this messaging app. Will Aster know his messages have been read? Will Daria be able to tell? Would I be able to cover my tracks? It's not worth risking it. A deep frown has replaced that secret smile, and another piece of my little girl has slipped away. I suggested a movie night, and she resisted at first, but I pressed it. "Come on," I said, "When was the last time we sat together and watched a film?" I got some clean blankets, popped some corn, and told her we would do it every week. "You can choose," I said, "but next time it's my pick." I say this cheerily, as if I'm not mourning for a time when her troubles were simpler , and I could fix them so easily. As if I'm not racking my brain to remember the last time I carried her, not knowing it would actually be the last. She smiled at me, a feeble thing, as if she carried the weight of the world in the corners of her mouth... But it was a start. I know it's no good telling her she can talk to me. I have to show it. I have to make the right conditions. So I seized on that smile like a life raft, like she's the one rescuing me, hauling me in. I'm right here, kid. Talk to me. Maybe I can't even help, but please just talk to me.
By L.C. Schäfer12 months ago in Fiction
