Introduction to my first published short story, Ile', by Niamahmi111-gctid59499

[Niamahmi111]

Dear Abusua:

I want to share with you the first step in this journey of a thounited snakesnd miles. I have many more to go, many rivers to cross, many bridges to build as I move through my life and into my purpose.

I wrote and submitted a short story to an anthology entitled REDLINES: Baltimore 2028. There are so many friends and family members who have encouraged me throughout the years to WRITE THE BOOK KENISHA! My reasons for not doing so simply collapsed under the weight of destiny AND I found myself channeling the story of a young woman who represented everything that I am and everything that I want to be. Her name is STRONG. This is the story of her home, known as "Ile'".

Here is an excerpt from the intro to Ile. I hope it sparks your imagination and edutains you at the same time.

Love, peace, and blessings!

Kenisha aka Niamahmi111

Omi tutu...Cool Water.

From the water comes the beginning of everything.

I am young.

I am Black.

I am a female.

I grew up in the Inner City.

I grew up without a father.

My city had walls, boundaries, and borders.

But those walls were not marred by graffiti or murals to fallen souls.

My city had sidewalks, but no litter.

My city had limited access to the outside world, but not because politics or socioeconomics kept

us apart from others.

Our boundaries kept us safe from the outside. We were trying to keep them OUT.

And those once on the inside, found guilty of the greatest offenses, were sent away. To the OUT.

To a life of unimaginable, unspeakable horror.

My father was one of those that had been sent away.

I was determined to find him.

In the previous world, anyone who read my bio, would think I was a statistic. In this world, that

which did not kill those before me made me ...

Strong.

It was not a wonderful world outside anymore. The sky, so beautiful and blue in the

archived portraits in the library, now held up an angry sun that burned our skin if we did not

wear the appropriate protective clothing. We wore light and heat reflective uniforms, with long

sleeves and pants, in the color scheme of the old U.S. military camouflaged fatigues. We wore

lightweight helmets made of high impact absorption plastic, though the need to protect our heads

from bullets, arrows, or stones was quickly becoming obsolete. Our helmets also housed frozen

packets of gel coolant, offering 6 hours of cooling so that we would not overheat during longer

excursions.

The air was hot and heavy and stagnant. Never a breeze. It was difficult to breathe, the

stench of dead, dying, and drying plants, animals, and...people...was a new, macabre potpourri

that greeted us when we stepped out of our armored vehicles. Street lights long burned out

and power lines without electrical currents pulsing through their interiors were strewn across

the roads and walkways. Abandoned buildings, some gutted, some burned out, all greatly

vandalized, stood defiantly against the decay, begging us, it seemed, to remember when they

were beautiful. But we would not be deceived. You are not a home anymore, I imagine my

chastisement would be. You are not a store. You are a corpse. Dead. Like everything and

everyone outside of our walls.

We were paradise. They were paradise lost. It was hell on earth. Those of us that

travelled outside, under heavy guard, were known as Angels. We brought hope. We brought

life. We brought chance. And they wanted us to deliver. They wanted us for deliverance. Or

they would want us for dinner.

I'm thankful for our city. I'm thankful for our elders. If it were not for them, we too

would have been lost. Left to fight for our lives against the dwindling resources of a dying

planet. We knew that our city too, one day, would die. But we are the children of the ones who

decided to do something about it before it was too late.