Creative Writing: Bimba's Things Fall Apart

Bimba was now running without any thought toward moving quietly. His foot was beginning to loosen up and his pace through the dense brush and thick fog picked up considerably. The mists wove an impenetrable wall of concealment rising inches above his head. It only reached waist high on his pursuers so he got an occasional glimpse of their whereabouts in addition to his sensing them.

He could hear the chopping of the machetes to the either side and behind, as the men battled the bush to outflank him. Bimba moved beneath most of the entangling lianas and other creeping vines. His broad body moved like that of a dancer through the forest, the forest-sense allowing him the path of least resistance.

He turned away from the direction

The rain was already rinsing his T-shirt plastered to his body. He had to get back and tell the elders about the Slavers and their captives. Though the war had ended months ago, the violence had not. While the strange Ghost men wore no uniforms, it was clear to him what they were.

He climbed his way back up from the gully that was now a swift moving stream, grabbing vines and pulling himself up the slick sides of the ravine. His upper body strength helped hold onto the slippery plants as he dragged himself up through the ferns. Standing at the top of the small hill, he closed his eyes to gain a more complete sense of the forest.

The men were gone, moved beyond the perimeter of his ancestral forest home. He quickly figured out the direction the village lay in and began to walk toward home. His march was smooth, despite his disability, as he made his way to the inner sanctum of the Desolate Forest. He thanked Komba, the God of the forest, for keeping him safe.

As Bimba entered the village, he saw his uncle Teleabo, his late father's older brother. He appeared to be drunk already this morning, although he could have just been feeling the effects from the previous night. He noticed Bimba but did not acknowledge

The shelters were ideal when they were on the move since it was quick work to erect and dismantled them.

Branches, bent to form a dome and lashed together with vines, the broad flat Phrynium leaves gathered from the surrounding forest layered carefully to make them mostly watertight. There is no such thing as a dry mongulu in the rainforest. Since the Aka have become more apathetic about migrating throughout the forest to hunt and most families now live in these shelters year round.

"And where have you been all morning," his Aunt Mada inquired in an accusatory tone? I need you to watch your cousin Parasol while I go into the forest to make some medicine with Komba's blessing."

Bimba's gaze went to his baby cousin lying listless on the ground inside the mongulu. She had not been well in many days and he was beginning to worry about her. So many babies her age were sickening and dying these days.

"I brought you some fruit from the canary