Stories shared through a Carib-Jamericanadian lens, featuring a vibrant blend of playful language, amusing wordplay, and Jamaican Patois.

This entry marks the conclusion of this segment. However, it's not the end of the "Twisted Tales" series just yet. We are transitioning into another book in the trilogy. If you've journeyed with us this far, we hope you're enjoying these tales. Consider grabbing a copy of “Twisted Tales from the Big Fail” to uncover how everything unfolds. For now, enjoy today’s (final) offering.

Believe it or not, this was the rhythm of the day, from dawn to dusk, and yes, even into the night. The first brother penned the quirky writings of the eighties, scribbling away on parchment for everyone, big and small alike. Yet tonight, all eyes were on the wrong Wong in the KD's, but that didn’t faze him. He was the sole keeper of wisdom in the room. Meanwhile, brother two, an avid reader, spun tales for whom? Certainly not you, but for Billie B. Leave, whose ears seem to be thinning with each passing day, and the world knows you don't fit that description.

“Right.”

You don’t belong to those who obediently follow orders. Unlike you, he strives to please even in a home where secrets spill like a sieve, especially on New Year’s Eve. Quite different from those bulging arms peeking from your sleeves. Yes, that’s his style—leaving a gaping hole in the household attire, whether it belongs to his empress or himself.

“Yes?”

“You better believe it, because nothing matters unless…” Unless she’s sporting the bare sleeve with heels peeking from under your sleeves. No less, no more.

“Oh, wasn’t it ours?”

“Man, I can’t speak for that, but believe what you will, Be Leave. You’re all right with this. Even as the world of Kingsland opened its eyes to new shows, his stayed shut. He often wipes his nose away from sneezes, feeling the chill. Listen closely to how the leaves blow through the trees. “Boy, that wind is colder than a freezer.”

“What, the fallen leaves?”

Oh please. No. The wind. C’mon, let’s head inside. Look, the rain is about to pour.

“Look but don’t touch,” they warned us that day. But this is the new mash-up. Breaking hard on news from the doctors. Now look up; see those ballroom gowns dressed down? That was more than enough for those craving a touch, until onlookers yearned to reach out. The real trendsetters had enough energy from last night’s meal to feel alive.

Now, the high-flying chapter is heating up and becoming chaotic. Honk E wanted to step out of line and cross borders, but he heard the command, “Stay in your house, stay in your corner.” That was the message from the speaker of the day—okay. Well, here’s what they were saying: “Look through the glass window at us—okay.” But tell me, what else do you see while you gaze up at the TV?

Young ladies were winning Miss Stress of the world, cradled in the palm as Leigh served tea to me, yes, yes—my girl. You’ll be surprised when you begin to feel this warmth, right? Right. It happened while someone was winning more prizes on TV, which isn’t a surprise. Close your eyes, not even a little—my friends, if you wish to see. You’re sure to witness more than that and this Mister Priestly Broad bore, because.

While someone approached hunky chaps, flaunting sculpted six-packs beneath their T-shirts, complete with matching caps. Those T-shirts, sometimes called “shut” by folks from the other side of the yard. Those who are tightly confined, (or not,) and in a hot seat, waiting to be released. Yes—my dear, those over there are not you. So, shake off that frown, and move on. You’ve been sitting there alone, while others may choose to turn and glance your way, or not.

Spreading everything they desire, like leggings anew if you fancy, and anything else that can be stretched thinner than you. While absorbing news from the bat chillers pod, I’m glued tonight. Longing to be held tightly, just to feel even half as bright, you see?

“Yeah man, I see.”

Yeah, right. Rolling the eyes though. Bright!

“On screen even, and in the bright lights too.”

“Yuh mussy mad feh true. ‘This, is, Crazy!’” He exclaimed, slapping his palms against his leg. Too bright, are you.

“Says who?”

“You.” Stare as much as you like, but don’t come within two meters of touching the plant, shush, slap that blight.

“That’s right. ‘Blow.’ Keep those hands of yours at arm’s length.” So says Aunt Clore’s reasoning.

“But, why?”

“Here’s what I mean—my guy,” she replied. “It’s because we don’t want any more columns and bars reaching for the stars. We don’t want curves to ascend too high, to a deluxe apartment somewhere far and wide. While ringing in the signs and much more. Not any higher than slant but, before…”

“But before what?”

“Before that happens, we must refrain from doing this or scouting. Because we want to level the curves first, don’t forget to,” Hey. Stop. Look at that, it’s almost time up.

“Yes?”

“Indeed, but the frock,” look, at, that. He’s sneaking a peek. But then, after lowering it to the lowest possible rascal flat, boardwalkable, slow as a mountable dash, he continued. “We must shift our focus to ground it down to earth. On your account first and foremost. The curve we’re discussing here is the birth rate on the tarmac.”

“It is? I thought it was about halting the demise of the old and sickly.”

“No. Not that, but this, as it stands. Yes. Those are the first on the lists, maybe. But no—kids. Don’t be misled by a baby, like this, your baby even. Not even during her tantrums and fits of rage, all evening.”

So, I went out on that first date and didn’t make it past the girl’s front gate. Yes, I glimpsed the maker’s face as fate devoured one-eighth of her disdain. “Taste, hmmm, so good.” Yet, I was forced to stay two meters away from the cake, sir. Never got close to the delicacies from Jah make her.

Yeah man, the one that the Jamaican savored. At least, they enjoy it roasted on the plate. With roasted codfish and a cup of hot chocolate as stated. Never went as planned—sister.

I thought I’d hide the one-eyed goat and surprise her with a splash of sanitizer. Then they started blaming things on either Heider. Like, on everyone else, and wider.

Never on him, you know, their god and king. Not on his eyes, nor on their daddy’s backsides still bearing scars from them stripping the hide off his git ore. But why should they? Their gods are fine, wouldn’t have done such half-hearted things to them after all; he wouldn’t have any reason to call. Nor to visit them with wicked “e mi fren” sins, such as retribution protocols, not as they are. They’re wonderfully good people, the smart ones thus far. All of them over there in the Kingsland-bound vehicle, mi star, yes, they are. Like, real superstars.

“Yes, you mean, all of them?”

“Yes, they are. By far mi Breda man.” Not like those loose Czars over yonder stars who choose her over har, she over there at the bar. Nor the weatherman. Like, like those other wicked guys coming over the news grammar. Can’t say whose they are, I’m hers. Playing the guitar to soothe somebody’s grandma, at times. So, blame it all on that other guy behind my bad grammar, as usual. Never on you nor your blue gal mama, she’s mine. She who’s there singing a new song to soothe them all from behind. And then again, listen to all of them. They know full well that trouble will soon cease. Just a few more days to labor before we revert to normalcy as ever amen. Just as we’ve always done.

“Safer?”

“Of course, say ‘sure.’” Because great, and even greater things await after we rid ourselves of the rotten plague. By a slip of the tongue, I mean, I should have said, the pen, even. “Don’t worry my friend,” said some of them, it’s just taking longer than them and their long-time gal friend. Or something longer than expected, for them, to wake from their slumber. Just a few more have been infected by some mutated strains off those already inspected and declared injected and protected.

“Mi gut. How is that even possible?” he asked.

“I thought it might be good to wax an ax at this too, because we were home good and comfortable and all that, and you?”

“No, not me at all. But I’d like you to tell me more about it as we go, because it’s, it’s, I mean, this tale of yours is so tall.”

“Yes, I will.” We’ve got quite a few more miles to go before the final call for the kill comes. Because we must protect the unprotected with the protection that didn’t shield the protected ones, ‘so long.’ Get moving man, we can’t waste any more time. Go get your protection game on. So that the unprotected, like you and me, won’t jeopardize the protected ones anymore.” Yes, we can. We’ve got all the ammunition we need right here in our hands, and we’re offering it freely to you and them, just this once. But as you can see, this is just some sort of a rut to push us back to rawtid e.

“What, did he just say that?”

“I guess you’re hearing right, he did.”

“The solution,” they said, “is coming out one day, and it’s moving swiftly, just hit a rough patch of war.”

“To the skid beyond the savior’s star?”

“Yes indeed.” When it’s all over, we’ll be able to discover whoever it was. Like, we’re going to do an investigation to find whoever the man was. Or call in a woman, upon an order to go far and farther outward.

Much, much wider than that, in fact, to find out from her the size of her frock, I mean, how to start, how to begin. To try and find out how to start doing this thing, and see if we can get her to help us understand how it all spiraled out of control around the bus. So we can place the blame where it rightfully belongs. Like, squarely on the head of that one called Chop Pan. That bad, bad come Yunis man, stop dragging your feet. Come on, mek wee galang. We’re going to find him, he whom we all want to be rid of from 19 however long—Hingh.

But somehow, he managed to evade us and cling to the carriage, growing stronger than the caved-up cow and us to rawtid.

“Who? Who is stronger than you?”

“Well, let’s just say, ‘someone with a noble name like you,’ and far-reaching arms length too.” Okay, Brenton Woo?

“Oh boy! I never knew…”

“No need to repent. I’m almost done.” When this investigation wraps up, it will be clear to see everyone enjoying the plum-plum pan tea pudding with red rum. And then, we’ll discover what went awry with what he was wooding on, I mean, doing wrong. What else was he up to while chopping away at splitting the ax behind the dragon Blues Inn?

The bottom ends up on the wall long sin ting, or something. Like, like when one of them was heard saying, “Long time nuh see yuh—‘buddy.’” And he would have managed to get it done, subtly. All hinged on you and me. To bring all this nuisance over on everybody. Wright or Wong. Yeah man, come, let’s blame it all on that chap named Chop Pan. He lives across the pond on the borderland.

In the meantime, though, “our econo mystic must continue to grow.” So, we’ve got to work on a stimulotus pack ages ago for them and us. and a whole lot more of such gut-busting good luck. But fuss and fore must, as a nation plus. The two terms house is in a ruckus. The people of Kingsland must become willing hand dead enough to bite the bullet dust. Look, it’s there on the notice board where…

“Where, where is it?”

“Look man, look nuh, look nuh. Open your eyes and stare. If you somehow can’t see, then listen to what the man said and agree with me on what you hear.”

“But, I can’t read that; I don’t speak the language act.”

“Well, “we cannot go back to business as usual,” that’s what it says. Like, looting like your blue gal, trust me, it’s the new gal who’d sinned. As it’s become the new trend for them to go raving. A few more gals may become too craven, and hence, will have to be brought up to the gate and reined in. But just. Just a few, and just the way we were going to do before the plague brute hit upon a one-hit wonder like you, and us. This is unsustainable, and not good anymore—Mister Wayne Able. We must not allow ourselves to be like that chap, what’s his name again?

“Who, you mean; Chop Pan?”

Just the same as that clap hands holey rolling along, my brother, rolling along. Yes. We’re better than that one.

“I guess.”

“Or two?”

“Still no contest.”

“After all, we’re the mighty people of Kingsland. That’s who we are, yes. Shout Paul Rue. ‘Roarrrr,’ came the uproar. Now, close the door. Push hitman, push, push it in the bush, I mean, in. Push it in just a bit more. Yeah, that’s it. Close the gate too. Then Chew.”

“Phew,” goes the wolf whistle, again. That was a bit much though, nuh true mi fren, tell me, isn’t it true?

“Yes, it’s true.”

That’s it for the “Twisted Tales stories.” Be sure to join us again tomorrow or any time thereafter, for another glimpse at another book in the series, as we continue with these stories. Don’t forget to like, share, and comment. We’d truly appreciate it if you’d subscribe and follow us somewhere too, thank you.

Just an excerpt from my book called “Twisted Tales from the Big Fail.” A Novel: Real Inky Trails Series.

By writingelk, All Rights Reserved.