Hey guys,
I finally have some more resource credits to post part 3 of the story that I have been writing...
I've been a little busy and I'm not 100% satisfied yet with this part... But I will post it and hear your feedback....
also, I'm still looking for a name.
*I've you've missed it, here are Parts 1 & 2*
Part 1:
https://ecency.com/hive-161155/@cloeetjuh/my-short-story-for-which?referral=cloeetjuh
Part 2:
https://ecency.com/hive-161155/@cloeetjuh/part-2-of-my-short?referral=cloeetjuh
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Part 3
Kraw, one of my dear friends in the other world (he was a trickster demon who eats lies and speaks bluntly) oozed from the shadows, his dark eyes narrowed.
“This Blade stinks of kunu-rage, ” he rasped. “Dark. Pain. Envy. ”
That was all the proof I needed. I reached for my power, ready to confront and attack Leba’s fake calm. But before I got to it, Liran gripped my wrist. Her touch was ice cold. “Look deeper, bridge-builder.” And before I could do anything else, she sang three notes into Neri’s wound.... a “begi” (chant) older than plantations.
The darkness dissolved. Neri sat up, unharmed. Leba’s mangrove knife hit the floorboards… and dissolved into nothing, a trick.
“No theft, ” Liran said softly. “Only a mirror held to your fears. ” Leba’s voice was the Corantijn’s midnight current: “You called my rags ‘garbage. ’ Said stillness meant emptiness. So I wore the villain’s mask… to show you its weight. ” Neri squeezed my hand apologetically .
“We needed you to see… your doubt. ” Liran’s hourglass eye focussed on me. “Your gifts are blades, child. You cut deep into energies… but not truths. Leba’s stillness isn’t emptiness. It’s depth. Like riverbeds which no light ever touches. ”
Memories flashed:
● Leba offering me fresh mango at the spirit-market last summer. I’d refused, because it felt too perfect. Almost like the plastic rags he wore.
● Them standing guard during the Eclipse Riot, plastic bags fluttering like battle flags while spirits fled.
“You push away what feels crafted, ” Liran murmured. “But in the crossroads, we know: plastic bags catch rain for thirsty ghosts. Rags mend broken wings and help seal wounds.”
Leba untied a strip of blue plastic from their sleeve, he picked it up after fishermen discarded it on Suriname’s beaches. Folded it. Twisted. A lopsided flower bloomed in their palm, glowing with trapped moonlight. “For you, ” they said. “Not perfect."
I looked at it And even though crafted it’s still felt… real. Something shifted in me... I took it. The plastic was cool. Brittle. But inside hummed a warmth like a mother’s hand on fevered skin. The Lounge sighed. Flowers uncurled. Ghost-orchids pulsed soft gold.
Kraw snorted. “Lies taste sweet. Truths stick in your teeth. ” He faded into smoke, leaving the scent of burnt sugar. Neri squeezed my shoulder, her touch cool and forgiving. And Leba? They just stood. Still. Solid. Like a tree rooted deep in dark, good earth.
Liran’s smile was like a crescent moon. “The Elevator’s fixed. But stay awhile. Leba knows paths even stars forget.” I tucked the plastic flower into my braid. Felt its crafted energy against my temple. But today it felt real. “Yeah, ” I said, breathing in salt and ozone and something like trust. "I think I will"
But before I could speak, the hotel shuddered. Leba’s plastic-clad hand seized mine. Let me show you a story, for you to better understand… Saltwater surged from the baseboards. We plunged through the stained wallpaper of the hotel. Reality bled away like ink in water. One heartbeat I smelled ozone and old paper; the next, thick, mud filled river water smelling of rotting fish and rusted chains. My crocs sank into river mud as we emerged at the heart of the Corantijn, where Suriname’s greatest river vanishes into unmapped jungle. No villages. No roads. Just green silence pressing like damp velvet, and water so black it swallowed the light whole. This was a threshold in the living world: where freshwater surrendered to the Sea of Ancestors.
Kunu: Spiritual force or power, Mystical energy, often linked to nature, ancestors, or rituals, A protective or harmful force depending on its use and intention
Begi: Prayer, Act of praying, A blessing ritual
Image generated by AI to give the story more life
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