Hey you,
Happy June! It’s been a while since I shared some of my writing. During my final semester of uni, I took a creative writing class and it was hands down my favourite class of my university experience.
In that class, we had one 3,000 word short story submission that was worth 100% of our final grade. We’ve just received our feedback so I’m going to share the story with you.
Where the spear lands follows Makinde, the reluctant leader of a group of runaways, as he navigates social tensions and an ongoing jaguar threat. My inspiration for this piece was colonisation and a line from Things Fall Apart1 that describes the Western invaders as arriving one by one then all at once like locusts. I thought that was a very powerful image and I wanted to write a story about the mass displacement that would have followed these invasions.
I shared an early draft of this piece last year but, without further ado, here are the first 1,000 words of the third(ish) draft.
Where the spear lands
Six black bodies lie glistening, sprawled out on the dark, grainy ground, fanning themselves in the humid heat. They speak over each other, starting sentences they are too tired to finish. Giving up, the group resigns themselves to listening to the rumbling rain. In the corner, guarding the opening of their makeshift camp, two men lie an arm’s throw away from each other. Aban rolls from side to side, trying to get comfortable as he picks soggy dirt off his flaky, sunburnt back. Makinde, who is the only one with his eyes open, sits cross-legged with his spear in hand. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, Makinde watches the opening to their shrubbery hideout, waiting.
The leaves shudder. Makinde jerks up, his hand twitching over his spear. He peers over the border. Something is moving towards them. In this deep night, only his sallow eyes can be seen as he perches on his heels behind a tree.
‘Stop fussing Makinde,’ Aban sighs. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’. Makinde grips his spear; Aban is not the one with the searing blistering scab running across his back. Sensing his annoyance, Aban scurries over to Makinde and whispers in his ear like a persistent fly.
‘You can stop sulking like a child now. I’ll even take the first watch for you, eh?’
‘Why would I let you do that when this group couldn’t even watch my back in broad daylight?’ Makinde snaps.
He angles his shoulder down to show the large, red, blistering wound. Aban retches but masks it with a cough. He nudges Makinde’s back away with an easy smile.
‘Don’t blame that on me. I told Hasani to keep watch,’ Aban says.
The rustling dies down but Makinde keeps his eyes on the shrubs.
‘Aban, what kind of apology is that? I’m still waiting for one,’ Makinde says.
‘Then go find the jaguar that scratched you. It’s not my fault Hasani had to piss,’ Aban says with a shrug.
Makinde kisses his teeth, muttering Aban’s words back to himself in disbelief. Without turning his gaze from the shrubs, he nods his head to the sleeping man.
‘Why don’t we wake up your friend and see what he has to say about the matter?’ Makinde says.
Lying flat on his back with his long arms outstretched, Hasani is as a human barricade between them and the two women in the group. He and Makinde have around the same height and build but Makinde is sure that he is the taller of the two. Pressed into the corner of the enclosure, the two women steal glances at Makinde while the smallest member of the group, a young boy, sleeps in between them. Aban frowns, taking a second look at the yellowing blisters.
‘Besides you’re healing quite nicely.’
‘Do not lie to me,’ Makinde snaps.
Ahead of them, there is a low growl. Gripping his spear, Makinde angles his arm back and keeps still. Aban perches just behind Makinde and shivers despite the heat. They wait. After a while, Aban scrambles in front of Makinde, blocking his view.
‘That predator has moved on. If you stay up all night, you won’t be able to fish for us in the morning. Let me take first watch,’ Aban says.
Makinde pushes Aban out of his way.
‘How are you supposed to entertain the kid if you’re exhausted?’ Aban says.
‘You’ve started again. What are you saying now?’ Makinde says. He wipes his brow and flicks the sweat into Aban’s eyes.
‘At first, I thought it was an odd way to get the mother. You should just come and say what you want like a man. I wouldn’t have minded that at all but now,’ Aban nudges him. ‘But now, I understand your tactic.’
‘Tactic?’ Makinde whispers. He sits cross-legged waiting for Aban to explain but Aban only smiles harder while nodding his head. Confused, Makinde glances over at the woman at the far end of the camp. Their eyes meet for a moment before they both look away. Curled up in her arms, Makinde can just about see the boy’s outline. Her tight grip is almost smothering her sleeping son.
‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you,’ Aban says. ‘Don’t roll your eyes at me. Even in complete darkness, I’d be able to see those eyes.’
‘This is nonsense,’ Makinde says.
‘You deny it, eh? I understand your tactic now. You were looking for her heart and found it in the kid’s laugh. I have a gift for this, you know. She wants you too. I can tell. She won’t stop looking at you. I see things.’
‘Well, does your gift work two ways because I have never looked at her in that way? The kid won’t leave me alone,’ Makinde trails off, looking at the child again. ‘That is all there is to it.’
There is a sudden clatter of noise as an animal scuttles towards them. Its loud, frantic whines wake Hasani and brings the rest of the group to their feet. Silent, they observe Makinde’s lean build as he stands ready to attack.
In a blink, he launches his weapon through the air just as a screaming capybara pushes itself out of the canopy’s cover into the clearing. The spear lands in between the capybara’s eyes.
‘Glory!’ Aban shouts.
‘Perfect,’ Makinde whispers.
Stunned, the two women huddle together and whisper questions about what kind of village this man must be running from if he can land a perfect shot in near complete darkness. Though Makinde cannot understand the language they are speaking, he senses that they are talking about him, so he edges closer to the women but they only back further away from him. Zainab and the mother do not look at him, instead they stare at the trickle of blood cascading down his spear.
‘That’s why we need him,’ Zainab says to the mother in Makinde’s language. He asks her what she means but Zainab ignores him, repeating herself in her native tongue for the mother to understand. The mother does not reply but that does not make a difference to Makinde. Zainab never translates what the mother says. In fact, Zainab has not even told the group what the other woman’s name is. Sighing, the mother looks up at Makinde with wide, moist eyes. Perhaps this is what Aban is referring to, but, to Makinde, the mother’s eyes only ever seem weary. His interest in the two women curdles.
Part 2 will be next week. Coming next will be a section brimming with social tensions and unrest.
What do you think of the story so far?
I’m always super open to feedback. Let me know what you think works and doesn’t quite land.
Shall I do a post explaining more of my motivation behind this post? Writing takes a long time and involves many edits and drafts so would you be interested in a behind-the-scenes look at how this piece came to be? I can even give you a list of the novels that inspired me to write this…
PS. This newsletter grows by word of mouth. If you know someone who’d love it, send them this link or put this in your group chat.
I hope you have a wonderful week.
Remember, progress is spelt one letter at a time.
With Love,
Maxine Riike Brigue
Achebe, Chinua, Things Fall Apart (London: Penguin, 2010).