The Menacing Hedges:350-Word Story, By Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah
His body is that house. His body is opened and
everything is dark though the moon is full with the halo of wreath, his body is
hanging about with tapestry which is now looping up in many directions. There
is a door apparent, which has been concealed. This door is open and a light is
shone out of the room within. I hear a snaring sound, almost like a dog
growling at the wind blowing. “Wait a minute when I look for the next
entrance!” a voice says and I see a man in a visor going forward to the inner
apartment. Someone starts coughing and sneezing. The dust is everywhere. I snag
a parking space in the air in the last row. Because I do not want to fall into
the same snare again. The thicket of thorny flowers grows on the floor and
within the walls and the space above us. These thorny flowers grow butterflies
and moths, making some sort of arrangement without speaking. A woman, almost in
naked, draws curtains concealing a considerable portion of her boudoir. I
recognize in her pale and seemingly lifeless eyes. A stranger with his
gentleman, for an hour, or perhaps a whole day, walks about in the glass of
water on that stand close to his nose. Passersby use the foot bright from a
room to another room. Elsewhere there is a traffic jam behind the horizon. A
bookshop is opened and the keeper is not in. I sit at a table. The millet is
almost cold on the plate and I pick a little of it up in a spoon. I begin to
bite slowly at the brown bread and butter. I lift my face with the slightest
movement of your shy response from the next metal plate still floating. We stop
looking at each other. “Wait a minute when I look for the next entrance!” A
truck, glaring inscrutably beyond the terraces, beyond the rocks, is drifting
about in the wet air and now clinging to the low section of the clouds in a
white cockscomb. It rains.
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