Exploring Black experience through story
By Shertease Wheeler: 1: THE HOLDING-- I thought we’d only be here a few hours at max, and my nerves were barely hanging on the edge then. But those hours turned into days, and today I’m high on terror. I know the longer we’re held here without release, the worse it’s going to be... Continue Reading →
By Shertease Wheeler: I submerge my hands in the dirt and gravelto root myself; to know myself again.Every second I'm alive, it's a constant battle.Fighting myself and fighting them, I may not ever win. I suffer, then bare my everything to the mystical,words into the darkness; releasing spiritual toxins.But the anger remains, red as rage,... Continue Reading →
By Shertease Wheeler: JOY-- Look at her belly, all swollen, bursting with the freshness of new love. This is the third time for her. The third time she’s complained, not about the feelings of continued wonder as a women may feel when carrying life, but of the burden that has suddenly been cast upon her.... Continue Reading →
By Shertease Wheeler: Sharon Amos, better known to her community as “Taxi”, sat on the porch in her old wooden rocker, humming a tune she fondly remembered from her glory days of the 1950's. It was mid afternoon on a blindingly sunny day in May, and the birds were having an argument in the tree... Continue Reading →
By Shertease Wheeler: I surf on the crowded trains, steady, to keep from falling into the abyss of grime. I weave, like a threaded needle, in and out of human traffic taking care of caution and aware of time. I sit and stare into the blank souls of strangers, wondering of their most secretive thoughts Then... Continue Reading →
BlackLight Fiction 